Forty-Two

It was a dream, but it felt so real. Or perhaps it could be viewed as a nightmare.

Titan had found himself in a pool of blood and with his hands soiled, as he stood halfway in the waters looking at his palms in wonder. Around him, dead werewolves floated on the surface of the waters.

His eyes fluttered open in shock. He sat up, unsuccessfully trying to compose his trembling.

Titan stood up from the bed still shaking. He lit up a Cuban cigarette and went to the verandah to smoke. Years ago, he had learned the stupidity of ignoring his dreams.

They would usually eventually come to pass no matter how long it took. He'd dreamt about his father's death a decade before it had happened. This dream signified one thing:

Things were fast getting out of hand. And if they were not tackled on time, the result would be a bloodbath. A bloodbath that would neatly shrink both his rule and his legacy.

Titan shuddered. For the first time in his life, he was confronting a nameless, faceless lethal