The old Roskerloc castle ruins had always sat quiet in the night. It rested peacefully on border of Scotland, alone for miles around, safe from human hands. It was a vast structure and while crumbling, a secure sanctuary for lycanthrope of all races. Or at least it once was. That was until the Black Wraith descended.
Blood splattered its halls and monsters wept and screamed. They rampaged around the ruins in a deranged panic, desperately scrambling for an escape. But to their dismay no such thing existed in the presence of the Wraith, not until he got what he came for.
His hellfire eyes stalked the ruins searching for one thing only, an answer, and any creature unfortunate to cross his path would be forced to provide one.
"What is it?" the Wraith questioned, for the fifteenth time that night.
"I don't know," it whimpered. The creature's form was still human, terror stitched across its crying face.
"That's unfortunate," the Wraith muttered. Before the lycanspawn could even react, his sword soared, and blood was painted across the wall. Without a second glance, the Black Wraith moved on.
It came across a tightly sealed door, with a simple kick he launched it off its hinges and let it crash down inside the room. In the corner was a family of lycanspawn, they all wore their human appearance. The father guarded his huddled family, behind was his spouse tightly clinging onto their two offspring. Neither child could've been older than ten years.
"We've never harmed anyone," the father pleaded, his voice a shaky mess and he attempted to stand up to the Wraith. He was telling the truth.
"What is it?" the Wraith questioned again. "What killed James Elacti."
"We don't know," the father exclaimed. "I'm sorry."
The Wraith left the room without a word and carried on down the castle's passageway, leaving the family to their shivers.
After scouring the entire castle and coming up empty, he arrived back in the large chamber, that was once the castle's grand hall. Waiting for him was a fully transformed werewolf, standing at over eight feet tall and built of nothing but pure muscle and thick, black fur. Its yellow eyes locked onto him, suddenly the creature began to warp. It shrunk back into the form of a man, who stood at average height and build with short, cropped black hair but still retained those glowing, yellow eyes. He was dressed in a wrinkled shirt and pants as well as an oversized overcoat.
"Lytos what have you found?" the Wraith questioned the werewolf.
"No one knows anything. Even my informants across the country haven't heard a thing. James Elacti's death has shocked our world just as much as it has yours. The only possibly left here is him," he informed. "Killed eight of his own trying to escape the castle."
He turned to the side, revealing a chained-up man, dressed only in ragged pants. The prisoner had a bulky frame and long blonde hair with the same yellow eyes as Lytos. The wraith recognised the enchained werewolf.
"Thirty-eight people killed in three decades, and you consumed only four," the Wraith spat. The werewolf looked up at the Wraith, its eyes began to tremble.
"I'll ask this once. What killed James Elacti?" The Black Wraith questioned. "Answer this is your only chance of survival."
"Please don't," the werewolf begged. "I don't know. I don't know a single thing about it. No one does! Not a single being in the world knows what killed him!"
"He's telling the truth," Lytos commented. He looked down at his fellow werewolf with vile contempt.
"Then you're of no use to me," the Wraith said.
In an instant his sword severed the werewolf's head from its body.
"Would you have let him live if he knew?" Lytos inquired, curiously, as he watched the corpse dissolve to ash. Unlike some of its brethren it left behind no blood or remains.
"No," the Wraith said.