Fenrir's Fangs

"mwgaaararhghh"

The light of the rising sun blinded Flynn's eyes as he slowly **** them open. A scenery of man's destruction, now visible from rays of burning light, replaced the view he had enjoyed long ago.

The surface of the wooden table was cold and Flynn's face stuck to it from a pool of his own dried saliva. His entire body ached from sitting in the same position for so long, but most of all, his head pounded from the beginnings of a terrible hangover. The world spun and a haze clouded his vision. The table he sat at was empty and all but a few still remained in the bar. Jack, the bartender, seemed to have left and gone to bed in the room behind the bar in order to prepare for another night.

Gunshots from down below didn't even phase Flynn. He had heard it all before, and now a days, they were as common as the undead. Though in his current state, he failed to realize that the sun should have removed all fear of the monsters that lurk in the shadows.

The door to the bar burst open. A cliath stood in the doorway and screamed in panic, his face flush and his words hard to find.

"Ascending Dawn!... At the gate!... They killed him!"

A wave of rage blanked Flynn's mind of its toxin.

"To arms!!!" He screamed and pointed at the three elder Fenrir's Fangs members still in the bar.

"Alert your men! Fight until they're all dead!"

Flynn ran to the window and peered down. By his rough estimations, twenty AD members stood down below in crude combat formations, firing upon their building. He yanked with Colt. 45 from its holster and checked to see that a round was chambered before bolting for the stairs.