The light breeze that flowed from across the Thames was warm for this time of year, and as the moisture-laden air met the cool land, a thick bank of fog enveloped all of London. So thick was the low cloud that it obscured the quarter-moon to nothing more than a silvery smudge in the dark sky. The sounds of the city were as muffled as the lights, and at the long causeway that led to Bain & Hoyle Castle, it truly seemed as if the grand structure stood unaccompanied in the world, a lone and warmly glowing beacon in a night otherwise devoid of color and life. 

At the end of the cobblestoned causeway, nearest the illustrious stairway to the main gate, stood the two red Oni that had guarded the castle for almost three centuries. The large and ominous crimson demons of Japanese lore sat on their heels, and rested without any real fatigue against the giant [i]kanabō[/i] that each wielded. 

Ever vigilant, though not overly perceptive, the two Oni peered into the fog with blank faces. They had no reason to suspect that their martial prowess would be needed this night, and thusly the appearance of a heavily cloaked figure slowly materializing out of the fog, caused them to flinch in surprise. 

“Halt!” one of the giant demons bellowed in Japanese. 

The pair of Oni rose off their heels, and stepped forward. The menacing clubs they held were now poised to strike. No matter if the figure understood the call to halt, the Oni’s body language was clear.

The figure stopped before them, some twenty paces away. With a manner that was utterly calm, the figure reached up to withdraw the large hood that obscured his head. The black eyes of the Oni narrowed as the warm light from the castle fell across the long muzzle and pointed ears of a werewolf. 

“What is your business here?” the second Oni said. “Speak quickly.”

A long moment passed in silence. The Oni stared down at the werewolf, and observed that all of the fur upon his head was coated in a dark, blue-black powder. Even the slight amount of fur visible upon his hands was black, as if his entire body had been drenched in coal-dust. At last, the werewolf looked up to the Oni, and his lips parted with an answer.

“Salvation.”

The Oni had but only a brief second to comprehend the wolf’s words, when the creature exploded in their faces. 

A bright light flashed from the werewolf’s chest, instantly accompanied by an expanding ball of white-hot energy that burst outward with astonishing force. The two Oni were knocked back, their weapons shooting free of their grasp, and the skin upon their bodies burning with a preternatural intensity. 

The Oni cried out and screamed with a sense of pain that they had never known. The tongues of flame that danced across their skin did not cease until nothing was left but ash. 

Where the werewolf had been, nothing tangible remained. Only a slight, wispy ball of energy persisted. It was the last vestiges of the werewolf’s soul, a soul that had been the very fuel for the mighty bomb that the martyred creature had just released upon the unsuspecting guardians of the castle.

From down the causeway, other figures were now materializing. Hundreds, thousands of werewolves, each drenched in black powder, and each ready to sacrifice their lives and very souls so that the walls of the castle would come crashing down around the heretics it protected.