by Royston Wood
Chapter Three
Cretin the Cruel
The large werewolf tosses his torch so that it lands a metre in front of me, casting flickering light into my face.
“Hah! If it isn’t Victor the Victor!” grates the werewolf, whilst motioning with his hands (paws?) for the others to spread out further and surround me, cutting off any chance I might have of retreating into the tunnel. His voice sounds like someone swirling gravel around in the bottom of a bucket. “I thought you’d come to try and stop me.”
Who the heck is Victor the Victor? I glance behind me but there’s no one there.
“Er…do you mean me,” I ask. Whoa! My voice is really deep and loud.
“Of course I mean you!” snaps the werewolf. “What are you playing at Victor?”
“Er…I’m not Victor,” I boom, thinking that, actually, I don’t sound like me either. “You must have me mixed up with someone else.”
“Howhowhowhowwlll!” The werewolf’s laugh sounds more like a howl. “You won’t trick me that easily Victor my old enemy. If you want to pretend to be someone else, at least come in disguise!”
Come in disguise? Well, I certainly don’t look like me. Am I someone else? How can I be someone else? I’m me! Whilst I’m thinking this my body seems to be acting on its own. Crouched low, with the sword before me, I’m circling slowly, trying to keep all four of these werebeasts in sight.
“I don’t know how you managed to get in front of us Victor but it will do you no good. It’s four against one. Face it – this time you’ve lost!” continues the werewolf. “I have the Portal of Infinite Power and with it I will crush the Fantasy Realm.”
I’ve circled away from the werewolf but out of the corner of my eye I can see him waving around what looks like a plastic model of some fancy doorway, the sort of door you’d get on a church or something.
What is he going on about? Is that thing the Portal of Infinite Power? And where is the Fantasy Realm?
“Victor! Are you listening to me!” the werewolf snaps.
“Er...Sorry, I’m a bit confused! Who are you?” I ask. By this time I’ve circled back round to face him.
“Who am I? Who am I! What is wrong with you Victor? Have you had a bang on the head?” snarls the werewolf, tapping the plastic model thing against his own head. “I am Cretin the Cruel, your arch enemy – remember?!” he drawls sarcastically. “Now stop trying to fool me into thinking you are someone else!”
Cretin the Cruel! Victor the Victor! This isn’t real. It can’t be. “What is going on here?” I mutter, wondering if perhaps I have had a bang on the head.
“Ok, enough games,” snarls Cretin. “You know what is going on! I’ve stolen the Portal of Infinite Power so I can open a doorway to Horrorville and unleash my Werebeast Army. And you’re...” his voice trails off and a frown creases his brow, or at least I think it does, it’s hard to tell under all that hair. “...and you’re trying to stall us! Quick, get him!” he barks at the others. “The guards can’t be far behind and we’re wasting time!”
The other three werebeasts dump their flaming torches to the stone floor of the cavern and surge forward all at once. My body spins and slashes out with the sword, making them jump back. At the same time my left hand drops the iRate4 to the floor and grasps the hilt of one of the knives strapped across my body, yanking it free. Before I know what has happened my left hand flies up and then snaps down, the knife hissing through the air and stabbing up to the hilt into the wererat’s shoulder.
My body leaps into the injured wererat, smashing it to the ground. It doesn’t get back up. I back into the space where it had stood and can now turn to face the other three werebeasts all at once, without one lurking behind me.
All of this has happened in moments, my mind hardly able to keep up with what my body is doing. Which is just freaky! Surely my mind should be telling my body what to do! It feels like I’m in one of those simulation rides at a theme park where they strap you in the dark and whizz you through simulated space or race you around a formula one Grand Prix. There’s nothing you can do to control it, you just get hurtled around. Which is fine in a theme park; it’s not so great when it’s in your own head!
The smaller werewolf launches an attack against my right side. My arm automatically swings the sword up. A clanging clash of steel on steel echoes around the cavern as the attack is blocked but my mind is screaming that it wants to be in control! Even as it does, my left hand snakes up to grab another knife and lifts it, ready to let fly.
I rebel and force it to stop.
It does! Hooray! I am in control.
Wham!
The wererabbit, given my moment of hesitation, has slammed into my left side. Instantly the smaller werewolf smashes his sword into the hand guard of my own, stunning my fingers, and my sword clatters to the cold stone floor. They grab my arms, one to each and haul them behind me, forcing them up high.
“ARRRGGH!”
I have to stand on tip toe to ease the wrenching pain in my shoulders: it feels like my arms are about to be twisted out of their sockets.
“Howhowhowhowwlll!” laughs Cretin, swaggering up in front of me. He thrusts his head forward so he is nose to nose with me. I can smell his rancid breath and feel the heat from his nostrils as he snorts, “Victor the Victor? Not this time!”
Strangely, despite the danger, all I can think is that he must be a very healthy dog because he’s got a nice wet nose. But that thought explodes from my head and I’m suddenly buckling over, the wind knocked out of me by a thunderous punch to my stomach. As I bend over, coughing violently, my arms are wrenched even more and hot, tearing pain sears through my shoulders. If I had any breath left in my body I’d be screaming in agony.
“So many times you have thwarted me Victor! And so many times I have thought about revenge! And now I have you…”
There is a blur of sudden movement and a second punch hammers into my bruised middle. If I wasn’t being held up by the two werebeasts behind me I’d be on my knees. I desperately try to suck in air. My mind is a whirr of pain and panic: it doesn’t feel like a simulation ride anymore.
Cretin grabs me by the hair and yanks my head up. He has a knife in his hand! What is he going to do with that?!
“I’ve got lots of ideas,” he growls, as if he heard my desperate thoughts. “There are all sorts of bits I could cut off. Of course, eventually you’ll die as all your blood leaks away…but I think I can make it last an agonising day or two.”
He slowly guides the knife up to my face until the tip is resting high on my check, angled towards my right eye. Heart pounding, throat tight, body pouring out sweat, I’m frantic to get away but daren’t move!
“Perhaps I’ll start with your eyes. Just ease the point of my knife gently in until…pthurppp…they burst!!”
I’m almost panting now, trying to breathe whilst my heart is racing. Sweat is trickling from my forehead, stinging my eyes. I don’t blink, my eyes are fixed in terror on the knife tip edging ever closer, my vision filled with the glinting point.
Cretin can obviously read the horror in my face because he starts to laugh again, “Howhowhowhowwlll! But that will never do! If I gouge out your eyes you won’t be able to see the other treats I have lined up for you.” With a lightening movement the knife is whipped away from my face but I can feel the sharp edge against my right ear. “So, maybe an ear first? Howhowhowhowwlll! What do you think Victor?” he snarls in my face, flecks of werewolf spit splattering my face. His breath is truly rotten and, even in the face of terror, I can’t stop the thought that he could do with trying some of those doggy dental chews. “Eyes or ears first?” he continues. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Ah! Tongue! Now there’s an idea…”
I can’t keep the image of Cretin curled up in a dog bed gnawing on a dental chew out of my head. Strangely, it cuts through my panic and I feel like I’ve been released from so
me kind of spell. I start to struggle and heave against the werebeasts holding me. Ignoring the pain in my shoulders I twist to my left. I think the grip of the werebeast holding my right arm might be loosening. If I can just get that arm free I can…
“AARRGH!”
Hot searing pain across my face!
Cretin’s hand rakes down at my face again but I thrust my head back and his blooded claws skitter across the chain mail stitched to my leather top instead. He jerks his hand back for another slashing attack but, just as he is about to lash out, his head jerks up and he stares across the cavern in the direction they had been running from.
“Guards!” he growls. “Quick, we must escape with the Portal!”
I strain my ears but can’t hear anything: but then I don’t have a wolf’s sensitive hearing.
“I truly wish I could take my time over this but…” Cretin’s knife flashes towards my face. My body takes over again and darts to the side, jerking free of the werebeasts holding me. The blade slashes along my already clawed and blooded cheek and the hilt thuds into the side of my head, stunning me and knocking me to the floor.
In my dazed state I can hear the fading sound of booted feet thudding down the tunnel I had entered the cavern from. Cretin and the other werebeasts have fled, leaving me for dead.