Stockholm, 1264The time was early for a ritual to commence because the full moon was yet to take its place in sky, above the clouds, in opposition to the sun. A pregnant woman was dragged to the stake with her hands tied behind her back, her wrists covered in blood and slightly swollen from chafing. She was badly beaten and sought-after death in her silence. No one listened to her silent demands of liberation. No one came to her."We may proceed with the sacrifice as we announce the creation of the first ever religious group with a mandate to serve as protectors of the cultures and traditions of werewolves. Our duties will include adding new members to our pack while strengthening old members," a voice rose above others from an oil mist.The pregnant woman cried.A blondeskinned man was beside the pregnant woman, tired, admiring the shinning prize on her neck. A necklace! He wondered if she had offended the members of the newly-formed group or if her cri

 Igboland, 1810The fallen palm tree was short, certainly shorter than a palm tree of its nature. James Blackwheel wore a dark cloak over his head as he passed through the fallen palm tree in search of Nwakaego and Nneka. It was nearly twenty years since he made his first mysterious attempt in Igboland and killed a revered chief priest in a manner that raised alarm in the whole of Igboland.As he walked through a crowd of people gathered around a large wooden platform, anxiously waiting for a woman to arrive, he wondered how he would be able to get in contact with the woman without being noticed by the sea of unfamiliar faces surrounding the entire place. As he tried to focus on the woman and her possible grand entrance which was going to occur at any moment, he found himself being distracted by a young Igbo boy who was tying three broken sticks together with a thin rope. He was surprised by the speed of the young Igbo

Munich, 2014"Which one is him?" Michael said slowly, feeling perplexed."That is him. He is the one at the centre. Not similar to the picture you saw in California though," Savannah sneered."Clark!" Michael shouted, desperate this time. Clark answered with a solemn snort. "What is it?"Michael looked at Clark in the eye, ignoring his ignorance and the bottles of cluelessness that filled his mind. "Take a look at the four people that were staring at Alger back in California!"Clark stared in bewilderment at the picture before him. “What is this place? Why is it so similar to hell? Why is it still the same four people we saw at California? Fuck!” Despite the weary blast of excitement on his face as they arrived Munich, he looked at the picture through squinted eyes with less ecstasy.Savannah said nothing as she removed the picture that had brought some air of thoughts to the room and changed it to a picture of a ful

Munich, 2014Below a large reprinted version of the late 15th-century mural painting by Italian artist Leonardo da Vinci widely known as 'The Last Supper', was a picture of two werewolves having sex under a full moon. To the right was a western painting of the Egyptian patron god of lost souls and the helpless, Anubis, and beside the anthropomorphized jackal-headed god was a list of werewolves caught on plain sight by human eyes. On the far wall, two brass soldiers stood, holding swords curved at their edges. "What is this place?" Clark asked as he placed a leather-bound book they had gotten from the Bavarian State Library on a dusty table."A secret place my husband used to study in. I have only been here once. Robert always told me how important it was for me to not look into things I couldn't comprehend," Savannah explained.Michael moved inside the room, looking around in astonishment. What the hell is this place, he thought. The air of the room

Igboland, 1810Blackwheel's voice stopped. In the dim light of the crescent moon he saw the cloudy eyes of his daughter as it trembled on seeing him. He stepped backward, aware of the fact that he had made a mistake to be seen in plain sight, in his full form, covered in werewolf skin. He had a wild impulse to turn around and walk away but he did not. He just stood there, looking at her and watching her look at him. He felt trapped in a tangle of deep shadows, shadows as dark as the night that stretched above his mind. The way he had spoken had made her to be afraid of the man who he had become, and yet the way she had acted only made him to be aware that she was not afraid of him, that she was not afraid of what he was capable of doing to her. In his mind, he felt totally weak as he fought the urge to not get mad at her for rejecting him, as he fought the urge to not consider the fact that he had been rejected by the woman he had waited for many years to meet."I am y