Elephant

The real Ondvarg dropped from the ceiling. A wolf in shape, with a wolf's eyes, a wolf's mouth, fur that curled and coiled, like carved wood, painted in silver and black. In those curls and coils were other wolves, dead and worked into the fabric of his being. Teeth bared, eyes opened and in the gloom they watched.

He landed atop the rear of the group. Ribs was crushed, another two sent tumbling, weapons parting from hands. Built like a small elephant, but agile, fierce, with none of the lumbering nature to his mass. Fur that curled cast shadow that coiled and the shadow gripped at legs and weapons. A claw swept backward, a spike of bone moving like a blade to scythe through Mark and Grandfather. It came down straight for John.

*

Ribs, partially crushed, dragged the tank he'd had at his back around to the side, flopped over, and began to move wood to block one side of it, wedging it-

Ondvarg shifted footing, and in the process, sent the mangled soldier Ribs sliding down one broad two-foot-high, two-feet-deep concrete stair.

John held his rifle out, bracing with all his strength as Ondvarg tried to bring a claw down on top of him. He was on his back, hands either end of the weapon, knee at the middle, metal bending with the pressure from above. Miles had a torn twist of metal from the rafters that had come down with Ondvarg, butt end against the ground, braced by his entire body, point in the wolf's flesh. It helped to keep the paw from coming down too fast, too hard.

- Break 3