Trent ran, breathing hard, tearing through the brush and the vines, eyes wide as if all the devils in Hell had been released to pursue him. Indeed, the image he was fleeing could never be left behind; the image of his best friend in the world being reduced to bloody pieces by that beast, that beast that had ten years earlier been Janeys' dearest friend.
Daria rose up from her feast, sniffing the air. They'd scattered, but they could be found easily. Not tonight, not all of then, but other nights. She was patient. The killing rages that had blinded her before were gone now, and she could plot out the hunt and savor the fear she inspired.
She licked the blood from her muzzle. Peace with the wolf, accepting the wolf and its ways was the smartest thing she'd ever done. All those years ago, the attack on the English moor and the subsequent blackouts each full moon. She'd made the mistake of coming home to Lawndale, where one day she had discovered to her horror that the wolf had savaged poor Kevin Thompson on his way home from the garage where he'd been working as an oil-change specialist.
She'd taken off then, stoping only to write a brief note to Jane explaining everything, returning to Europe where she knew no one, where she'd hoped one day to find a cure for this blessing that she'd then considered a curse. For five years she'd wandered, trying to find a different remote, underpopulated area for the next full moon. A nomad expatriate American, surviving by her wits, constantly on the move from city to city, library to library, searching for a cure. She'd found it in the form of Markov, a werewolf of the Balkans, a Croat reeking quiet, horrible vengence on his former Serbian neighbors. He had loved her well, taken her to places she'd never known existed, walked in her dream-world and showed her how to become one with the wolf. She'd been so tired of fighting it. Her justification for pursuing this angle had been the illusion that she could control the hunger, the bloodlust, the desire for destruction if she could just merge with the beast within. Markov helped her believe this, to his regret. He'd been the first victim of the integrated demon wolf that had been Daria Morgendorffer.
Now, she didn't need the full moon for transformation, she didn't lose consciousness or memory, and she was more powerful than ever. She returned to the states on a tramp steamer to search out her family. Quinn had been a particularly tasty little morsal and the looks on Jake and Helen's faces when they returned home to find what was left of their non-wayward daughter was a memory that Daria would savor to the end of her days. She'd hunted each of them down in their own special ways, savoring their slow endings like expensive wine. And now it was the Lane's turn. She'd surprised Trent's band after a late rehearsal and dispatched Jesse in a particularly showy way while the other three ran screaming into the night. As she had thought, she'd get the other two another night; tonight though she was still hungry and Trent was on the run. She threw back her head and howled.
Trent didn't know what had given him the bright idea to run off into the woods. He leaned against a tree catching his breath and realized that nothing had given him the idea, the forest had merely been in the direction of his blind panic.
He couldn't believe it, Daria reappearing after all these years, then transforming into that beast that had killed Jesse. Now it had made sense, the news about the deaths of the Morgendorffers. It wasn't a serial killer it was...
His eyes grew wide at the sound of the howl, the hair on the back of his head bristling, his blood turning to ice. "No," he muttered, "no, man, she's after me!"
Then it hit him. Janey, she'd be after Janey next. He knew his parents kept an old shotgun in a trunk in the attic, an heirloom they'd meant to sell but had never got around to doing it. Maybe that would stop her. He started running for Casa Lane.
Ten minutes later, Daria was sniffing around where he'd stopped. He'd changed directions. She grinned and hoped that Jane would be home.
As Trent drew nearer to the house, he bagan to hear his pursuer. He tried to pump his aching legs faster but tripped and fell into a ditch. He clambered out covered with mud and leaf mould. Daria howled again to give him inspiration. He ran toward the house. It was almost dawn, but Daria hadn't had to worry about that since integration. She'd just have to be carefull not to be seen exiting the house, but what the Hell. Maybe Trent would think dawn his salvation. Yes, that would be sweet.
Trent ran up to the back door and flung it open. He was dead tired, but he dared not stop. He slammed the door shut and rushed to the stairs. He tripped on the second step and fell hard, hitting his head against the bannister.
Daria stopped short at the door and growled. Wolfsbane, she thought, wolfsbane in a wreathe? Pathetic! She swated the offending herb from its nail and smashed the door in. She didn't notice the figure stepping from behind the mobile.
Trent turned over to see her, her auburn fur flecked with blood, her curving claws, her foaming mouth and yellow eyes, her horribly massive bulk filling the door, the stench of the predator upon her. She smiled, a smile void of even the smallest hint of humanity, of compassion or pity. He could see the hunger, the cruelty, he could see his imminent death. She growled and started slowly towards him, a growl he could feel in the depths of his bowels. He prayed the gods to spare Jane.
There was an tremendous blast behind Daria. Her chest exploded into a mass of blood, bone, and silver shrapnel. She fell forward, dead before her transforming body hit the floor.
Behind her, Jane lowered the shotgun, both barrels smoking. She watched as Daria's dead body transformed into her human form, nude, unmoving, violated. She knelt by her, then looked up at Trent from the body of her former friend, her face filled with sorrow, grief and guilt. She lay the shotgun down, stood up, and flung herself into Trent's arms, crying sobs that seemed like they would never end.
Ultimately, they never would.
This ficlet is from an Iron Chef challenge on the PPMB requiring an evil Daria. If anyone remembers who made the challenge, please let me know so I can acknowledge them.
Daria and other characters from the show are of course, property of MTV and Viacom. Any original characters and settings are my own. This is a work of fanfic, and is therefore a work of love and not meant for profit. And all hail Glenn Eichler and Suzy Lewis!