Chapter 36: The Eve of All Saints
Translated by Addis of Exiled Rebels Scanlations
Editor: PlumSauce
Hunter Driftwood never showed up in the communal dining hall. He always stayed holed up in his cell. Just when the guards thought he might not cause any trouble, during free time he seriously injured a mortal-born demon — just because the guy tried to talk to him.
Driftwood tripped the demon and, refusing to listen to any explanation, stomped viciously on the demon’s head. Volvo and several other guards pulled Driftwood away. Driftwood glared at Volvo with pure hatred as the guards carried him out of the dining hall, face up.
Russell sought out Driftwood for a talk. Driftwood himself requested to be put in solitary confinement. When Russell told him that the Bunker wasn’t designed with solitary cells, Driftwood looked deeply disappointed.
Rumors about Driftwood began to circulate among the prisoners. About his fierce past, about his merciless hatred for dark creatures.
The monster prison had been established jointly by the Demon Hunter Society and the Unthreatening Creature Protection Association. It was said that Driftwood’s parents were split between the two, one from each organization. They opposed the creation of the prison and didn’t believe monsters deserved help. That couple were extreme killers who left their respective organizations just to kill more monsters.
Driftwood had been raised under that harsh teaching. Though young, he had already seen many terrifying creatures, and his hatred for them was no less than his parents’. Especially after both his parents died hunting, his hatred for dark creatures reached its peak.
“Later the demon hunters warned him,” a voice carried from a nearby cell. There was always someone in prison who was in the know.
“I heard it was that ‘association’ who protested to the Demon Hunter Society?”
“Yes. The association first noticed Driftwood’s tendency for indiscriminate killing and discrimination. You know, there are hunters in the association too, but they usually negotiate before striking. That time, Driftwood was tracking a small vampire cult — a perverse religious group not affiliated with any bloodkin territory. They worshipped evil gods and fed on babies’ blood…”
“Good heavens! Were they all killed by Driftwood?”
“In the end, yes. But in the process, Driftwood hurt many innocents, even including humans. His bloodkin partner died too…”
“Wait, what? He had a bloodkin partner?”
“He tricked a vampire from France.” The prisoner spreading the news sighed, voice heavy. “This bloodkin was a hunter with the local Unthreatening Creature Protection Association, also tracking the criminals. He really trusted Driftwood, but Driftwood ended up using him as bait. The poor vampire hunter was caught by his own kind, drained of blood, and left to dry in the sun until he shattered…”
The cell fell silent as everyone imagined the horrific scene.
“At first, humans considered calling the real police to arrest Driftwood. But it was impossible — Driftwood was cunning and knew too many secrets that shouldn’t be made public. Eventually, the hunters had enough and arrested him when he nearly stomped a candlelight fairy to death.”
“Hah, lucky Driftwood’s human,” one prisoner sneered. “He owes his life to his species. If he’d been a Sasquatch like us, he’d have been shot long ago.”
“Yeah, it’s unfair,” another agreed.
Volvo nudged John’s back. “Your eyebrows are all twisted. Are you upset over the death of your own kind?”
John, standing at his post, could clearly hear the prisoners chatting. He smiled awkwardly. “No, I don’t know that French vampire. I just think it’s cruel.”
“Association folks are always sentimental,” Volvo said, glancing at John’s wrist. “Why aren’t you wearing the tooth? Don’t like the Cleave engraving? I could swap it for Confirm Crits…”
John had rolled the fang necklace around his wrist instead of wearing it on his neck.
“No, I like it. Just looks cooler on my wrist.”
He told a small lie. As a bloodkin, he thought hanging a werewolf’s fang around his neck was odd. In the old days, werewolves used their teeth to rip open vampires’ throats. Having such a thing so close to his neck made John shiver.
“By the way, you’d better prepare,” Volvo said. “A few days from now, the Bunker will hold its routine event: on Halloween, we show the prisoners horror films and let them dress up and party in the dining hall. Nothing bad has happened before, but this year’s different — Driftwood’s here.”
“Dressing up?” John struggled to picture the scene. “These prisoners…need to dress up?” They’re strange enough already!
As they talked, a howl came from the cells.
John looked toward the sound with concern. Volvo said, “Don’t worry — that’s Hayden and his crew. He’s beating up Wizard again.”
“Are you seriously…just letting him beat him up?”
“Wizard is the warden’s enemy,” Volvo scoffed. “He’s been beaten by the warden before. Didn’t you notice he’s lame?”
“Yes, I noticed.”
“Wizard always hangs around the worst of the werewolves. He helps them kill for fun and uses them to research lycanthropic potions. For hunters, human wizards are the hardest to deal with, because they’re human — they always find some sly trick to avoid capture, sometimes even turning the tables on the hunters to hurt them. Mr. Russell caught Wizard and crippled his leg in a fight — before Wizard could poison a church school.”
“Poison a school?”
“Yes. With a lycanthropic potion. He planned to turn them all into wolf monsters. You know, only true werewolves can turn humans by biting them. Ordinary werewolves cannot. Wizard mixed blood from ordinary werewolves with a bunch of cursed ingredients to make a poison that turns people into low-level wolf monsters with no will, just bloodlust.” (Note 1)
“Why would he do that?” John had a vague feeling this pattern sounded familiar, like that group of people he had heard about in the Association…
“That kid used to be with the Arcane Covenant. They’ve always been like that, willing to harm anyone for the sake of so-called research. Have you heard of them?”
John nodded. He had guessed right. Remnants of the Arcane Covenant were everywhere, lurking in the shadows, stirring trouble.
Guard Captain Volvo went on, “Mr. Russell is a wizard too — not an exorcist, a real wizard. An anomaly among hunters. Because he used sorcery for so many years, his body is weak. To catch those making illegal lycanthropic potions, Russell paid a heavy price. In the end he won, but his body irreversibly deteriorated… That was before he became the Bunker’s warden. Now he hardly uses magic, only occasionally harmless old spells, what do you call it? Ancient magic?”
When John had just returned from Romania, he didn’t understand why using magic was punished. Coraci told him that casting ancient or exorcism magic required tools and materials, but using sorcery demanded sacrifices and costs. Sorcery constantly demanded sacrifices, and the wizard unwittingly gave up their soul bit by bit.
Thinking that Coraci also knew some sorcery sent a chill down John’s spine — though he was already pretty cold. On second thought, he wasn’t too worried, because Coraci knew the dangers of sorcery and didn’t intend to use it much. The time he used it to heal Mariana was probably forced by circumstances.
A dull thud came from Hayden’s cell again — this time without a cry of pain.
Wizard’s mouth was gagged as Hayden kicked him to the ground and stepped on his chest.
“You have no authority over me, got it?” Hayden growled low. “You can inspire me a bit, I might listen, or not. As for Driftwood’s business, I’ll handle it myself. Don’t interfere.”
Earlier, Wizard said he had a way to give Driftwood a hard time but needed certain materials, hoping Hayden could get some for him. This wasn’t the first time Hayden provided such help — usually for himself, since Wizard was his lackey — like gathering blood, hair, other creatures’ blood in prison, vampire fangs, and so on. All vampire prisoners wore special collars preventing them from vaporizing into mist or transforming into animals; to avoid getting beaten, they usually cooperated obediently.
This time, Hayden refused Wizard. Wizard begged repeatedly, vividly describing the spells he wanted to use and promising to make Driftwood suffer. Hayden finally lost his patience.
He pressed his foot down harder, bending over to glare at Wizard. “Listen, don’t mention this again. If you cast any spell on Driftwood behind my back, I’ll break every finger, cut out your tongue, and pull out your teeth. Believe me, you’ve made a lot of enemies here in the Bunker. No one cares what I do to you.”
Wizard trembled, nodding frantically. Hayden finally released him. Wizard crawled to the edge of his bunk and opened his bundled clothes, and as usual, took inventory of his personal collection.
Werewolf blood, vampire teeth, wolf monster fur, satyr toenail ends, furnace spirit eyelashes, human blood and semen… Every day he checked over these items. Hayden and the other werewolves were long used to it.
…
On the eve of All Saints’ Day, humans had a tradition of dressing up as ghosts and monsters to parade and celebrate, but John had never known that dark creatures joined in too.
The prisoners in the Bunker couldn’t join any parades; they could only sit in the cafeteria and watch movies. Many of them had started to make costumes out of very simple old clothes, cardboard boxes, and scraps. The guards didn’t dress up, but privately they liked to play “trick or treat”.
“This isn’t fair. I don’t have any candy, and I don’t even eat candy!” John sat anxiously in the dorm before his shift.
“I have a box of throat lozenges. If someone asks, just give them one at a time,” Coraci said, pulling the box from his pocket. “Come on, the guards wouldn’t ask for candy in front of everyone. Or…you can just stick with me the whole time, and I’ll give you some whenever you need it.”
“Uh, but you said you had to look after the sick mothman…” John said, a bit regretful.
“That’s true. You also need to patrol with Volvo. He even gave you the Cleave tooth.”
“You got a gift too,” John tried to change the subject, but it slipped away from him. “Moss gave you a feather.”
The feather hadn’t been in any of the books these days. Coraci had probably put it away.
Coraci opened the door and hesitated for a moment. He didn’t turn around and asked, with his back to John, “John, have you ever spent time with werewolves?”
“No. I’ve never even seen a real werewolf.”
“No wonder… Actually, I wanted to tell you that although young werewolves nowadays don’t really follow the old customs, in their traditional rituals, giving someone your own tooth is the highest form of respect.”
John looked at Coraci in confusion.
“Usually, a werewolf gives a tooth when swearing loyalty to the chief or on their wedding night.”
After saying this, Coraci walked away.
John looked down at the wolf tooth on his wrist. “Cleave?” he muttered to himself, puzzled. “No, I think…it’s just a keepsake. He also has Confirm Crits and Horrid Wilting…and Pelor the Holy Father, Neverwinter, Baldur’s Gate, Dargaard Keep, and Sigil… (Note 2)
“Though I don’t really understand what any of that means.” John shook his head, put on his jacket, swiped his chip card, and walked out.
The movie about to be shown in the cafeteria was The Cabin in the Woods, which John had seen before. He didn’t quite understand what sense there was in showing The Cabin in the Woods in a monster prison; if the prisoners glanced at each other enough, the effect would be no different from the movie.
Many prisoners had crafted costumes from makeshift items. For example, a satyr had wrapped himself in blankets and cardboard tubes to look like a goat, and a centaur dressed as a zebra.
That wasn’t even the strangest part. In a ward overseen by another Guard Captain, a vampire had dressed up as Count Dracula from the movies. John could never understand what mindset made someone want to “play” like that.
When the movie started, John began looking around for Coraci again.
Coraci and the other guards sat together, not far from the mothman, who sat toward the back because her wings would block others’ views. The cafeteria wasn’t a real theater and had no tiered seating.
John wanted to go over. Coraci knew more about dark creatures than John did; maybe he could share some interesting things during the movie. Watching with Coraci might be much more fun than watching alone.
Monsters really did watch movies differently than humans.
Normal people would usually say things like, “Oh my god, don’t go there! Don’t open that door! Run!”
But these prisoners shouted, “There she is! Jump her! Grab her! Nice one!”
In the dim light, someone suddenly approached behind John. He reflexively dodged and turned around.
It was Volvo, leaning in and peering at him. “Next time I run a Cabin in the Woods style group, will you join?”
“I don’t really get these…” John said.
“I’ll teach you with Jenny and Mike!”
“Okay, then. I’ll ask Coraci later and see if he wants to join too.”
Volvo seemed to have heard something amusing because he couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. John looked at him, puzzled. Volvo leaned in closer, eyes on the screen, and whispered into John’s ear, “Are you and Coraci just friends, or are you… a couple?”
John stammered, stumbling over several “I”s and “we”s, unable to form a complete sentence.
“I heard he’s your superior,” Volvo said. “He is pretty cute, actually. When I first met him, I thought he was a vampire. The guards told me in private that they all like him, and he got along with everyone quickly. But I think your attitude is different from the others. You seem a bit… nervous.”
“Nervous? Me?”
“Yes. Whenever you’re both in an open area, your eyes never leave him. I even wonder if he gets chills.”
Volvo paused, then added, “Does he really not fear you?”
“Yeah, he doesn’t.” John chuckled, remembering how initially he was the one scared of Coraci. Thinking back now, it was actually kind of funny.
Volvo’s attention wasn’t on the movie or the prisoners at all. He sighed deeply and said with a hint of envy, “That’s nice. Like something out of a movie or a novel.”
The prisoners were far from quiet while watching the film; they shouted and called out throughout the plot, and some even stood up occasionally, claiming they looked like the monsters on screen.
John couldn’t help but glance at Coraci again. The mothman girl seemed uncomfortable. She asked one of the guards if she could go to the restroom and then left the cafeteria — that was the same area where prisoners were allowed to move freely.
Three other prisoners followed her. Because of the crowd, John only recognized two: Ferry and Andrew, two human wizard convicts who were usually quite well-behaved. John guessed the third might be Wizard — the one who used this title as his name.
Driftwood sat alone in a less crowded corner, looking down at his hands, uninterested in the movie and the noisy crowd. Someone approached behind him. Without turning around, he gritted his teeth and said, “Go away.”
Hayden silently moved to sit just behind and to the side of Driftwood. “Don’t be so unfriendly,” Hayden sneered. “I’m not here to cause trouble, and I’m not looking for a fight to the death. I just want to see you…and mock you.”
Driftwood still didn’t turn around. His silhouette looked like any ordinary young man, with his hair cut very short and a slender, straight neck. Hayden had wanted to break that neck countless times before, but now, he wasn’t so sure.
People in the Bunker said Driftwood was the one who got Hayden thrown into prison. That wasn’t exactly true. Driftwood almost killed him once, but luckily another hunter stepped in. Long before that, the hunter Driftwood and the brown-haired werewolf had tortured and fought each other for a long time. Even as prisoners now, Hayden hoped for another chance to face Driftwood.
But now was not the time, Hayden thought. Neither of them could die. He hoped they would both make it out alive and raise hell together in the future.
“Strange… Have you been tamed?” Hayden whispered, edging closer behind Driftwood. “You wouldn’t have let an enemy get this close to your back before. You’d have cut off his head or pulled out a gun… Of course, you don’t have your machete now. They don’t even give you fruit knives. And no guns — except here…”
Suddenly, Hayden’s hand shot forward, pressing against Driftwood’s crotch and reaching inward. Driftwood clenched his teeth in anger and twisted away. A silver flash darted past Hayden’s eyes.
Hayden dodged. A faint scratch appeared on his cheekbone but vanished immediately.
Driftwood’s sleeve hid a metal letter opener. The blade was broken — only a thin, sharp handle remained.
Unfortunately, such a small weapon couldn’t hurt a werewolf. Hayden knew Driftwood had aimed for the eyes. He didn’t mind, wiped his face, and smiled as he slowly stepped closer again.
Their actions had already drawn attention. Volvo, John, and several other guards began moving toward them.
“Why not call a truce?” Hayden’s body language showed no aggression as he extended his hand, as if genuinely wanting peace. Driftwood didn’t respond. He hid the letter opener again and silently turned his head.
But Hayden took advantage of that moment, grabbing Driftwood’s forearm with lightning speed. Driftwood tried to attack again with the letter opener but his angle was off, and Hayden twisted his wrist.
The silver handle fell from his sleeve with a crisp clatter, drowned out by the female lead’s scream in the movie.
Driftwood tried to trip Hayden, but Hayden knocked him down instead. A hunter without weapons was no match for a werewolf in close combat.
Hayden knew his limits and didn’t really want to hurt Driftwood — he just wanted to insult him. But when he pinned the hunter down, surprise flickered across Hayden’s face.
“You — don’t tell me you…?”
John and Volvo had already grabbed Hayden and pulled him away. Hayden didn’t resist. His eyes widened as he stared straight at Driftwood’s face, then shifted to his hand.
Just as Volvo opened his mouth to scold him, a massive explosion rocked the outside of the cafeteria.
The unprepared people nearly suffered ringing in their ears. The prisoners panicked in chaos, some first showing terrified faces, then a few seconds later, excitement as if they were watching a show.
Mixed with the blast were other sounds. The human guards couldn’t hear them, but Volvo and the other werewolf guards, and John all did. They were screams — male and female.
Author’s Notes:
Note 1: Werewolves, unlike vampires, are living beings who can reproduce naturally. “True” werewolves refer to those born from werewolf parents, passing their bloodline down generation after generation. “Ordinary” werewolves are humans infected by the lycanthropy curse.
In this setting, the bite of a true werewolf can infect ordinary humans, but ordinary werewolves cannot infect others. (The wizard mentioned uses them for other magical purposes.)
Also, “wolf monsters” are failed transformations — creatures who, for various reasons, didn’t fully become werewolves. Even if bitten gently by a werewolf, the outcome is uncertain: nothing may happen, or the person may become a wolf monster, or an actual werewolf.
Actually, it’s very difficult for werewolves to transform humans because most people die from the bite. They have to bite gently for the curse to pass on. Werewolves generally avoid biting those they know gently because there’s a chance of creating wolf monsters. The exact success rate of transformation is unknown.
Note 2: All the engravings on Volvo are related to role-playing board games: some are combat terms, some are gods, and others are place names. They come from settings like Forgotten Realms, Krynn, and others.
From The Unthreatening Creature Protection Association’s Guide to Unscientific Monsters:
Werewolves
(Think Guard Captain Volvo and those like him.)
At their core, these werewolves resemble those of legend — afraid of pure silver, empowered by the full moon, and certain to transform beneath it. They have a particular craving for raw organs, especially the heart.
Types of Werewolves:
- True Werewolves: These are the offspring of werewolf mothers. If these children later marry within their own kind, their offspring are also born werewolves.
- Afflicted Werewolves: Humans bitten by a true werewolf and transformed into one themselves. They cannot pass on the curse by biting, but if they reproduce with any kind of werewolf, their children are considered born werewolves. (When any type of werewolf reproduces with a human, the child has a fifty-fifty chance of being either werewolf or human.)
- The Lycanthropy Curse: Only true werewolves can spread it through their bite. Even then, it doesn’t always succeed. Victims may die of infection, go mad, or turn into mindless, raging wolf-beasts. Fewer than one in four actually transform successfully.
On Transformation:
New werewolves — whether cursed or true newborn — cannot control when they transform. During full moons, or on nights when the moon shines especially bright, they transform involuntarily.
Diet:
Werewolves are living, supernatural beings. They can eat — and enjoy — all human food. However, their diet must include raw, bloody organs, especially hearts. Without them, they survive but grow diseased and waste away.
Their instincts make it worse. Werewolves possess a natural bloodthirst and frenzy. In their rages, they often attack humans and tear out hearts to devour.
Lifespan:
Legends vary, but here the rules are clear:
- True Werewolves: Their lifespan matches that of their ancestors, varying by clan and lineage, but usually stretches for centuries. Even they don’t always know their true limits. They are warm-blooded creatures, and like humans, unhealthy lifestyles can shorten their lives.
- Afflicted Werewolves: Their lifespan equals the lifespan of the werewolf who bit them, minus the years already lived as a human. For example, if a thirty-year-old human is bitten by Werewolf A, whose theoretical lifespan is 600 years, then the new werewolf’s lifespan becomes 600-30=570 years. Of course, accidents or violence may cut it short.
Danger Level:
Werewolves are considered more dangerous than bloodkin. A bloodkin is usually conscious of his actions; unless he deliberately kills, most of his victims survive. A werewolf attack, however, almost always means certain death for the human involved.
They are prone to violence and notoriously difficult to control. A few Rangers are werewolves, and there are even werewolf units in the Demon Hunter Society (Guard Captain Volvo and his men belong to this group). But in the Unthreatening Creature Protection Association, werewolves are almost nonexistent — they are simply unsuited for that kind of work.
Guard Captain Volvo’s kind are rare exceptions. Most werewolves either form violent packs of their own or serve as enforcers for dark spellcasters.
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