Gazing into the Abyss

[Of Wolf and Man]

((OPEN, check the recruitment thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=16812)))


The world was a new place Aroth. For years he had been looking at the world through a set of eyes veiled by his bestial instincts. For years he had been just a beast out on the prowl, hunting and feeding and taking care of his pack and doing it over and over again. Back then he didn’t know better, he didn’t understand, didn’t have the capability to understand. But Wreya has opened his eyes and only now he could see all that he had been blind to. There were so many thoughts running through his head, so many ideas that he never had before, so many realizations that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend prior to this awakening. For the first time in his life, Aroth the Wolf realized that he was alive in a world that was so much bigger than him. It would’ve been a frightening realization, equal perhaps to pouring the mind of a grown man into an infant, if Aroth wasn’t focused on a single task.

Revenge.

The monstrous wolf ran across the snowy plains with bestial haste, following the scent that he picked up back in the cave that used to be his home. Used to be, for there was nothing else left for him there. His pack was brutally slain by a group of bipedal barbarians and flayed as if they were no more than pieces of flesh. These humans cared not for the bond of the blood that the pack shared as they severed it with their cleavers and knives and axes. Aroth intended to do the same to them only with fang and claw, turn their homes into a theatre of gut-wrenching horror.

Wreya enabled this vendetta. The deity of the North came to the wolf at the moment of his greatest agony and offered him the power to enact bloody penance to all that had wronged him. She had made him stronger, faster, smarter, made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. He had a purpose now, but more than that he could understand the whys and the whats that had been eluding his mind while he was just a wolf. He understood now what grief was, what anger was, what helplessness was, and he wanted for the executors of his family to feel it all before he tore their throats out.

The faint scent of fresh wolf blood and dry leather and disgusting man sweat slowly grew stronger until it got mixed with the bitterness of the burning wood. Seconds later Aroth’s eyes could see the first traces of the smoke billowing from the chimneys of the stone houses. Other scents came into play as well, that of cooked meat and horse dung, but they were all insignificant. It was the human scent that Aroth was focused on. Today he and his pack would feast on man flesh until there was no heart beating in the village sans that of an enraged wolf.

A piercing howl left his throat in mid-run and a quartet of wolves leapt up from the snow beside him, immediately following his mad run. Inferior in size, these summoned creatures looked almost incorporeal as they ran next to Aroth, their clawed feet leaving no imprint in snow as if they were floating above it. They were his new pack, indestructible and created for the sole purpose of destroying man. Their deaths would never cause him grief and pain. They were the perfect companions.

A shepherd lass, feeding a scrawny mare in the backyard of her house, was the first to notice the five wolves darting towards the village at full speed. The hay fell from her hands, her throat suddenly dry and tight as she looked into a pair of red eyes approaching her. Still, somehow she managed to push aside the fear that clutched at her belly and cry out the word that would soon strike fear into the heart of many.

“WOLF!”

[The Great Guardian]

He'd been sleeping when the cry suddenly came. Shaking him out of a lovely dream.

"What was that?" Miko asked his friend, hoping he had heard it to.

"There was shouting from outside." Glory answered him, also awaking from unconsciousness. "Be careful Miko, they could be looking for us."

"I think someone's in touble." Miko said, slipping out of bed. He'd been fortunate enough to find an Inn where he could sweep the floors in exchange for a bed. However, the manager had taken such a liking to Miko he'd given him a hearty meal as well. Miko was refreshed, but Glory still wasn't feeling as ready. He'd spent the last four days flying them away from the forest, sleeping only enough to rejuvenate his stamina.

"Careful Miko." Glory advised once more. However the small boy poked his head out regarless, wanting to see what was going on.

"GLORY! WOLVES!" He suddenly shouted, recoiling out the window. "What are we going to do?"

"Get some rest, Miko. I'll take care of this." Glory said. Miko nodded, and in a quick flash of light the exchange was made. Miko receeded into Glory's consciousness as they transformed. Only a second later Glory stood, holding his weapon ready in his hands.

No rest for the weary... He muttered to himself, backing up and running towards the open window. The cold air hit him hard, and as he dove he spread his wings and rode the current into the street.

"They're everywhere!" Miko gasped. "Hurry Glory, you have to do somehting."

"Rest Miko." Glory advised him, looking at the hordes of wolves dashing around. "Woves are simple creatures. This won't be difficult."

Glory folded his wings back. He held Divinity's Thorn in both his hands, then dashed off over the snowy roads. However, as he prepared to meet them something about them felt wrong. Were these real wolves?

[Breaker]

Hope this is okay. To clarify, Josh is in the same village... I just wanted to give it a name.

A stream of fine grained soil feathered onto my forehead.

Awake. I felt no grogginess, no desire to cling to the warmth of the coverlet. I was trained to survive, and my body moved with a mind of its own.

I tossed the coverlet into the air, the thick woolen folds fluttering awkwardly like a singed butterfly before falling and knocking a brass candlestick off of a fine teak bedside table. The cold wax thumped on the earthen rug-covered floor, the candlestick clanging dully. The bed was a four poster with posts that acted as ceiling supporting pillars. As I rolled out of it I snagged the left hand foot post and changed my momentum, expecting to hear the muffled whisper of tranquilizer darts thudding into the ground behind me.

Even as I rolled behind the trifecta's teak dresser, I imagined the electronic hum of CO2 powered pistols. That damn hum was like a snake's rattle; you only heard it a moment before it struck.

I braced against the hardpack wall and straightened slowly, inquisitive eyes roaming the darkened basement room.

Nothing. The sounds had been left over from a dream, a remembrance of my battle with Intelligence America. I didn't want to think about the damnedly departed group, but I placed great value In my dreams. I tried to recall more details, but drew only bizarre mental images of marsupials and rodents chasing each other around. I massaged my temples with the thumb and forefinger of one large hand as I staggered back to the bedside and buckled into the Breaker Boots. The black metal monoliths felt weightless on my feet, but they carried enough power to crack concrete. That morning, that knowledge failed to improve my mood.

I was hung over. Nothing I couldn't handle, but it annoyed me more than a McDojo in midtown. I couldn't remember how much whisky I drank the previous night, but it would have to be a lot. I drank like a fish trying to drown. But neither distance nor inebriation could patch up the shattered memories that hailed my subconscious. I ran a calloused palm over my face, over the three days of beard, past my darting hazel eyes and through the damp, short hair on my head. I had leased the basement room at the Walnut Inn for a reason; it was nearly soundproof. It was also conveniently close to the best pub in the village of Rappore, namely the Walnut inn's own bar. I sat slouched on the four poster and tried to think back.

They had had so many different kinds of whisky, and I had so much gold...

A knock on the thin cut trapdoor above and to my right knocked the memories out of my head and down for a tencount. The trapdoor burst open, and violent footfalls clattered on the shoddy oaken stairs. Until that moment my senses had been clouded by a pleasant, overwhelming earthy smell; the smell of peace and rest. From above, along with harsh rays of sunlight, rolled the stench of chaos.

Blood.

A voice called from the stairs, panic stricken, on the point of hysteria. I bolted upright, ignoring the thunderbolt of pain in my head.

"Sir... ze village is under attack! Monsieur please come help!"

I hurdled a sunken grey chesterfield like a footstool and landed at full speed. The smell of blood never lied.

"What is it?" I cried at the hyperventilating maid. Her knees banged together as she wilted before my eyes, hands latched numbly onto her pleated skirts.

"Ze wolves... everywhere..." The words fell from her mouth, my keen ears catching the sound before it could fade. I crouched and lifted her in one arm, like an overgrown child in a brown dress. I detoured to my bed, left her warm beneath the covers, and sprinted towards the distant sounds of fear and death. A yard from the staircase, my step faltered and I smashed my skull stright into the wooden construction. With a sound like a six gun salute the oaken staircase shattered, misplaced kinetic energy doing it's disastrous work. I reeled and sat forcibly, staring up at the empty doorway with the angry light pouring through.

Get up, I told myself.

[Of Wolf and Man]

Humans were pathetic creatures. Corner a wolf and he’ll fight you tooth and claw, just like his family had back in the cave. He had seen the signs of that struggle, broken fangs and human blood and torn limbs, indicating that his pack didn’t die without a fight. Corner a human, however, and they’ll scream and cry and urinate, exuding fear through every pore on their body. They were always so brave in their armors, hiding behind the long reach of their weapons. But when you knocked on the doors of their homes, when you brought fear over their doorstep and into their own world, they put up less of a fight than a young hind. They looked at you with their eyes wide and their knees shaking and their lips trembling, desperate for that one straw they could latch on in order to save themselves.

But there was no salvation to be had today. Aroth and his pack of shadows were not mindless beasts, not anymore. They worked in tandem, taking the village one house at a time. Behind the first doors they knocked down, a plump bald man courageously stepped in front of what was probably his family, stabbing a butcher’s knife at the air between himself and the furry predators, hoping beyond hope that he could scare them away. Aroth bit off both the hand and the knife in one snatch of his steel jaws. The rest of the family fell into the well known archetype, the woman cradling the children and praying to some god to deliver them. The only deliverance they got was a brutal death at the ripping fangs of the wolves.

The other houses followed and their inhabitants turned into victims of the slaughter. A pair of brothers tried to rout them with some torches, but even before their life was torn away from them, they realized these were not ordinary wolves they were dealing with. Aroth swatted a torch away with one of his claw and followed it up with the second one that opened the man’s stomach and released the intestines onto the wooden floor. The other brother, paralyzed by the sight of his sibling meeting such a cruel fate, fell victim to Aroth’s wolves seconds afterwards. In the following house, a teenage girl leapt from out of the closet with a sword clearly too big for her, swinging it clumsily and grazing one of Aroth’s hind legs. She tried to do better next time, but by then the black wolf dived into her chest and tore it apart with his fangs. The elderly parents of the girl, huddled in the cellar, were almost too pathetic to be killed. Almost. The cellar was painted red with their blood and the vintage wine from the broken barrels.

It was all around him now, he could feel it, smell it, taste it. Fear, agony, panic, pain, they were the spice that saturated the flesh he ate and the blood he swallowed. It was retribution in its purest form, a biblical eye for an eye, the perfect example of cause and effect. These men trampled upon everything around them, walking the earth as if they owned it, and it was only just that they felt how it was to be on the other side of that blade of destruction they used for so long. Like ants in an anthill that just got a firm kick of the boot, the men, women and children ran this way and that in search for that one place that would hide them from what prowled the streets of their village. Few found that sanctuary, though. The once pristine snow looked like it was touched by a morbid artist now, painted with spurts of blood-red and randomly disrupted by mangled piles of man flesh.

But not all men were easily taken by fear, and not all fell as easily as wheat in late summer. In the middle of the village, bursting out through the double doors of a local tavern, a group of hunters emerged. Aroth’s snout immediately recognized the smell. The blood of his kin was still on their hands, their boots, the furs they so proudly wore around their bodies. There was also another scent permeating around them, the rancid stench of liquor that they huffed out with every breath they took. They were drunk, hungover from a night of celebration after they exterminated the lair of wolves that never truly threatened them. They were the true targets. Everything else was collateral damage.

Another human appeared, but this one carried a different scent. Unlike the filth of the hunters that stank to high heavens, this golden haired human had a clean smell to him, too pure to be local. It disgusted Aroth all the same, though, but he had no quarrel with outsiders at this point. His issue was with the barbarian hunters that destroyed his home. His head snapped sideways, his barred fangs and blood-red eyes facing the poleaxe wielder. And when he spoke, his words got transcribed into the man’s mind as if they were spoken and heard by natural means.

“Outsider, this is not your battle. Flee and your life shall be spared,” the wolf said to the man, and as if to clarify the point, one of his shadow wolves approached the man from his left flank. Aroth left it at that before he turned to his quarry.

Half-drunk and emboldened by the alcohol and the yesterday’s success, the hunters stumbled forwards, some shielding their eyes from the blinding white around them and some leaning on their weapons. But when their eyes cleared and they summoned enough focus to assess the situation, the reality struck harder than a hammer and an anvil tossed together. Their home was in ruin, their friends dead and their executors were no ordinary beasts.

“Curse you, foul beasts!” their leader shouted, readying his spear. “Boys, we have more work to do!”

[Rebellion]

High above the small village of Rappore, on a small cliff edge, stood a monster. A black monster, with armor and fangs, steel and scarlet hair. She was covered in the black armor, only a few parts of her body exposed to the sun's rays and the winter cold. It hugged her slim form tightly, outline a curvaceous and tight body beneath the hard exterior she wore. In her right armored hand, she held her steel glaive, gleaming ominously with the rays of light pouring down from the clouds. As she watched the carnage below, the monster smiled, lips as red as blood pulling against the soft, snow white of her skin. Her hair, as crimson as her lips, burned a path through the air as it lifted with the winter wind, exposing the soft back of her neck that was covered with red, reptilian scales. A cape as black as night save for a red outline flapped into the air as well from her armor, giving the ex-dragoon Rose the appearance of a mighty warlord watching her troops carry out her bloody orders.

Her eyes surveyed the slaughter below. Eyes that glowed green, an emerald color that shone even in the light of day. They stared, uncaring, at the village, watching as smoke rose from a couple houses that had been lit on fire from dropped torches. The bright eyes lay against black irises, as dark as the armor she wore, and they seemed to encroach on her pure white skin like a sickness. Those eyes followed the form of the wolves as they ripped through each household, slaughtering the inhabitants inside without a second thought before moving onto the next. The great black wolf seemed to be the leader of the five wolves, howling in satisfaction as his teeth ripped through human flesh and bone. The shadows followed suit, moving in unison with their leader, howling as their muzzles tasted blood and meat.

A good fight. The wolves were savage and efficient. They did their part. But the real warriors had yet to enter the battle, and Rose smiled once more, a tight, thin line. Suddenly a movement distracted her: ah, there was the warrior. It was an angelic-looking man dressed in a white robe with twin wings bursting from his shoulders, feathery and light in the sun. In his hands, he wielded a strange double ended polearm that looked awkward to use, at least to Rose's trained eye. He had an aura that glowed even in the sunlight, a golden aura of innocence and purity that Rose wrinkled her nose at in irritation. He was no human, that was to be sure, but the bounty hunter had little interest in just what he was. The great black wolf, she saw, had stopped its killing spree momentarily to growl at the golden man with the weapon.

"Ah yes..." The voice came from behind the dragoon, a light whisper on the wind. "...the Divine one. You must be wary of him. Go now, Eros. Go and protect my son Aroth."

Rose glanced back over her shoulder, but there was no one there, just the snow covered mountains and the howling air. Still, she spoke, her words no more than a soft question to the goddess that had addressed her. "And the price? You have prepared the necessary cost, as I have asked?"

"That I have, Draconian." The voice of the Goddess of the North, Wreya, spoke softly into Rose's opposite ear. "It shall be awaiting you at the Pass of Cha-ruk, once you have completed your task."

Rose nodded, only to direct her glowing eyes towards the sound of the voice in a cool glare. "Betray me, and the first head that rolls by my hand is your son's. Understood?"

Only a soft chuckle answered the ex dragoon before the wind carried that off, leaving Rose alone with the sound of silence. She frowned before looking down upon the village, and saw that a band of hunters had gotten together to counter Aroth's wolves. Without a moment's hesitation, Rose leaped off of the cliff in a single small bound, dropping over thirty feet down the side of the cliff wall. Reaching out with her foot and left hand, she slowed her descent by trying to grab the wall. The sound of metal against rock screamed out into the village, a screeching sound that hurt even her own ears. She hit the ground with a hard thump and crouched low to the ground, her armor straining in protest before she stood silently, watching the scene unfold before her with apathetic eyes. Striding over to the wolves, she spoke to the giant black one, her voice low and cool. "Aroth, I was sent to protect you by Wreya. Let me handle these fools." She stood in front of the hunters, holding her glaive out to the side in a battle position.

Some of the men laughed, while others grinned. "Whats this, boys?" The leader shouted, cocking his spear over his shoulder while jerking a thumb over at Rose, who stood silently glaring at them. "This little broad wants to fight? Hehehe, maybe we should 'ave a little fu-" He gasped as suddenly her glaive pierced him through the stomach, impaling him. He fumbled around like a fish out of water as she ran him through, her eyes staring around at the rest of the group, who had fallen silent at the man's death. With a jerk, she pulled her weapon out of him, and he fell to the ground in a heap of blood and spilled guts.

"You bitch!" One of them cried, and as a group rushed the ex dragoon and the wolves.

[The Great Guardian]

“Glory… was that wolf-?”

“Yes.” Glory replied to his young friend, his disembodied voice hearing and seeing everything that Glory did. “The wolf can speak.”

Glory stood his ground. His feet sat lightly on the snow, the wind carrying red-speckled flakes around his naked ankles. The winds that howled around the old houses were nothing compared to the screams and cries of the villagers. The great black wolf and his minions were making short work of the citizens, mowing through them like appetizers. Each bite only made them hungrier for a main course.

There was a shadow wolf stalking towards him now. Glory lowered his eyes and held the Thorn ready, his right arm up on the pole and his left arm lower. His weight was spread, more power but less reach. It was only one wolf, the fight would be easy.

“Glory.” Miko said suddenly. “Try and burn your aura. Maybe you’ll scare the spirit away.”

“It’s more than just a spirit.” Glory said, matching eyes with the fiend. “It’s been fashioned to kill, and will do so until it’s been destroyed.”

Miko said nothing. Glory felt him fall silent in their minds eye. He just watched now, leaving it all up to his friend. Glory had protected Miko from the dangers of this world since they’d come into it. This was just another one of those times.

The wolf lowered itself and growled, barring its vile fangs. Glory made the first move. Lowering his pole he thrust towards the beast with the spear end. The wolf dodged to the side, but Glory did not hold back. He stepped forwards, bringing the weapon back up, then down on an angle with the front axe blade. The creature fell to the ground, letting it pass over his head, then with a quick burst of strength he leaped at him.

There was a flash of fangs and metal. Glory brought the Thorn back to block, only to have the shadow hound hit in him the chest and push him back to the ground.

“Glory!” Miko called out in distress, the beast snapping at him with wind quick jaws. Glory held onto the weapon, pushing back on the creatures neck so the reeking mouth couldn’t reach him. It was a bad move on the wolf’s part, for now his neck was in line with the axe and the scythe. With a sharp jerk to the right Glory drove the blade into the creatures neck. There was a sharp whimper, and as the two rolled over the beast was thrown from his body. The shadow creature quickly left, a gash in the side of it’s neck from the holy weapon.. A wound that wouldn’t heal easily.

Tell the others… Glory though to himself, watching the anguished creature flee back to his pack. The whole village was in chaos now, the smell of blood that was in the air sickened him right down to his soul. Narrowing his eyes and spreading his wings Glory sprinted off atop the snow, letting the creature lead him right to the source.

[Breaker]

Pandemonium raged outside, but through the open trapdoor the screams of carnage sounded tinny, like an old stereo with blown speakers. With a massive mental effort I set my mind straight. Stood up and grabbed a tightly wrapped canvas bundle from where it leaned against the corner of the room. Three long rhombus shaped spearheads peered curiously from one end, ready and waiting to execute their lethal work. The killing cry of a wolf rolled above the melee, a climactic point in the radio drama above and all around me. Wolves, the fainted girl said. I had faced the knifelike claws and fangs of those carnivorous creatures before. The delyn tipped short spears would be perfect for slaying the attackers from a safe distance.

I slung the bundle of weapons across one shoulder and leapt straight up, snagging the lip of the trapdoor with both calloused hands. I exhaled hard and heaved, launching myself into the main floor of the Walnut Inn. Aboveground, the ravaging battle became real. The smell of hot, freshly flowing blood flooded my nostrils as the sound of ripping flesh filled my ears. A fierce desire to barge out of the inn like a fairytale vigilante gripped me, but my sharp mind pinned the foolish plan and tossed it away. The breaker boots beat a quick time tattoo on the solid oaken stairs, carrying me to the buildings second and top story. As I crested the staircase I urged my sluggish mind to discard the cottonballs clogged between my ears. A long hallway of closed doors stretched away from me in both directions. I could hear tap-dancing heartbeats and laboured breathing behind some of those doors.

"Barricade yourselves in your rooms!" I called, my officious tone loud enough to reach both extremes of the midsized inn. "Don't come out until you're certain it's safe."

Murmurs of conversation mixed with the grind of furniture being shoved and dragged across the coarse floorboards. Good. Some of them will stay safe.

I scouted the hallway's ceiling, searching the spider web of dark cracks for an unnatural shape, finding the four right angles that signified another trapdoor. I jumped twice, once to drag it open, twice to heave myself into the attic the same way I escaped the basement.

Darkness pressed in, but I could not allow my eyes to adjust. Outside, the chaos crescendoed to a new level, screams and roars alike chasing each other around, invisible to my eyes. I curled my hands into fists, closed my eyes and pushed off from the creaky floor, legs propelling me like hydraulic pistons. I crashed through the thatched roof in a crackling shower of broken boards, feeling rusted iron nails slide harmlessly over my thick skin. I landed in a relaxed crouch and breathed, letting my eyes soak up the bloodshed like a often stained sponge. The thatch was slippery with frost, but my enchanted boots clung with static friction, unrelenting as the beasts far below.

Immediately, I sought out the leader of the attacking crew. The only human, or perhaps humanoid, a tough looking woman cloaked in midnight armor. To my experience, wolves only attacked people who ventured too far into their territory. Never in my wildest dreams had I expected to see a black wolf and his shadow kin tearing through any area populated by humans. The alpha wolf appeared to be the leader, perhaps a familiar of the valkyrie in the barbaric armor. She ran a liquored up fellow through, the tip of her spear poking through his back like a groundhog testing the air after a long winter. The man fell, choking on bubbles of blood that caught in his lungs.

As the murderous woman laughed I scanned the rest of the scene. The villagers were fighting back, some with more success than others, but I sense that soon the larger, stronger, more bloodthirsty pack would win the battle.

Enter the Breaker...

The thought jumped into my head as I slid the first short spear free from the bundle on my back. I held it ready to throw or stab, the bulging knuckles of my fist just inches from where akashiman redwood became razor sharp delyn. Soundlessly, I stepped off the rooftop and dropped to the road below.

Landing light as a leaf a couple yards behind the redhead, I straightened up and targeted her neck. I could have torn through the armor with my bare hands, but it hardly seemed worth the effort. From a pace away I swung my spear in a tight arc, aiming to club her carotid with the sturdy redwood haft. It was a simple yet effective move, capable of stunning or even knocking out the enemy. The blunt force trauma to that lifegiving artery could turn off blood flow to the brain like a lightswitch. I rehearsed dozens of followup attacks and potential counters in my mind, but doubted they would be necessary. Endless repetitions had made my striking as quick and reliable as a laser beam.

I only hope the wolves will cease the attack once their master is down...

[Of Wolf and Man]

The true strife finally began. Up until this point the resistance had been scarce and pathetic, no better or more useful than the desperate twitching of a fish cast on dry land. But revenge couldn’t be achieved so easily. If it were, it would have no value, no more than a tearing through a herd of young elks. No, you had to bleed for revenge. You had to put everything to risk just to release yourself from that sense of wrongness that terrorized your insides, refusing to let you rest. Aroth was ready to take such a chance, to put everything on the line. After all, what remained to a beast that had been robbed of its family and home, of the only life it ever knew? Naught but that never-quenching desire for vendetta, brutal and unreasonable.

Besides, his odds weren’t so bad to begin with. His Blood Pack was still at his side, their semi-transparent forms gathered around him like a squad of trained soldiers. No muscle was defined by the shimmering shadows that formed their bodies, but every bit of them was taut and ready, like a cannon ready to fire. On top of that, one of the human females decided to turn her back on her kin, though Aroth put no trust in the declarations of humans. Even when she mentioned Wreja’s name, he didn’t trust her, but when she impaled one of the hunters as if he were no more than a sack of wheat, he was pretty certain that there was an ally to be found in the female warrior.

Other outsiders didn’t seem so sympathetic to his cause. The one with the pure scent around him engaged in a battle with one of his shadow wolves, making his intentions clear and sealing his fate. He would be torn asunder with the rest. Another appeared with quite a bit of flair, bursting through the rickety, snow-covered roof before descending on the urban battlefield. Aroth could smell the liquor on him as well, but it was faint, dampened, hidden beneath a more pertaining aura of confidence. The two of them were the real threat. The barbarian hunters wore a mask of solidity to hide the terror caused by the mayhem around them. These two didn’t need a mask, partially because this was obviously not their home and partially because they were made from different stuff, sterner stuff.

As if to prove Aroth’s conclusion right, the human that just leapt down from the roof extended his weapon. His target, however, wasn’t the rather obvious black mountain of fur and teeth that was Aroth, but rather his newest ally; the crimson-haired woman. The dark wolf reacted in an instant. There was no time to think, to deliberate whether this human was worth his trust or was she’s just a trickster that pulled Wreja’s name out of a hat. For now they would fight together. Leaping through the crisp air that stood between the woman and her attacker, Aroth intercepted the weapon, swatting it away with his claws. A shaft made of ordinary wood would've snapped before the sharpness of the claw, but this particular brand of wood was tough and sinewy. He merely managed to deflect it from the intended course. His red eyes inflamed with chaos looked at the female. She smelled different than all of them, almost alien, like something that didn’t belong here.

“Fine. We fight together,” he said to the woman, his words sounding like nothing but a growl to those they weren’t directed at. He nodded towards the hunting party that formed some sort of a circle as his wolves prowled around them, snapping their jaws at their weapons. “Deal with the hunters.”

He left two of his infernal pack to help her, sending the other two – the wounded one that already took a shot at the man with the polearm and another – to deal with the other stubborn outsider. The agile spear-thrower he left for himself. He was the only one that had the posture of someone who had not only seen chaos like this before, but fought in it and came out as a victor. The signs of this experience were subtle, but far from invisible to a keen eye. They were in the way he walked, in the shape of his visage, in the calm way he breathed, in the way his eyes scanned the battlefield. He had the eye of a hunter, the eye of a killer.

“So eager to help your fellow kin,” Aroth let a growl through his barred fangs, the rosy saliva dripping on the snow below as he padded around the human. “You too want to kill the beast? Here’s your chance, murderer.”

The massive wolf lowered himself before he pounced, but the direction of his flight seemed awry. Instead of launching himself at the defiant human, Aroth landed at a stack of crates, smashing some and tipping over others. They offered enough of a stand for him to jump again, this time landing on the askew roof of the porch behind the man. The third leap, however, was aimed at the man. The wolf came at him from above, his claws as strong as steel and eager to tear his prey apart.

[Rebellion]

Rose heard the crunch of teeth as she spun around, expecting to see one of the wolves leaping at her throat out of mistaking her for one of the humans. As she saw the flash of black fur leaping at her, the red eyes glowing with fiery vengeance and its teeth dripping with the blood of its victims, she gritted her sharp teeth in irritation and was about to draw her short sword from her side in order to counter the wolf's attack when suddenly another movement caught her eye. Shocked, she saw a spear being launched straight at her exposed head with deadly accuracy, a curved arc that would have been near impossible to avoid had Aroth not come to her rescue. The giant wolf's paws swatted the weapon out of the man's grip, making it fall to the snow beneath harmlessly with a resounding crack. Rose eyed the man who had launched the weapon with a wary stare; he had seem to come out of nowhere to attack, unnerving her as she was not used to such stealth. Must have been a fluke. She finally decided, turning to the hunters once again. After all, he is but a mere human.

The wolf spoke to Rose, its black snout creating a snarling rattle that formed into words. Nodding towards the hunters, some which were confronting Aroth's shadow wolves and some that were edging towards the armored lady, it told her to 'deal with' them and, even though it hadn't had said it, leave the spear wielder to it. Rose smiled grimly. There was no argument in her. "I thank you, Aroth." She murmured to its now turned back as the beast confronted the light-haired man. In turn, she glanced down at the weapon that had been her would-be-slayer. The weapon was short, shorter than her glaive to be sure, but its sturdy haft and the unfamiliar metal made Rose almost take a second glance at her would-be assassin. Almost, as she was then preoccupied with the hunters, who had used that single moment of peace to rush at her once more.

There were ten hunters in all, it seemed, now that she had slain their leader. They were rough men, but untrained in the ways of battle. They had relied on their numbers before and the element of surprise to catch their prey, and were not used to waking up from naps or leaving their women in their beds to fight first thing in the morning, especially not wolves fueled by vengeance nor crimson-haired women in plate armor. Five of them had taken to fending off Aroth's wolves, while the other five tried to gang up on Rose. Even now, with their leader down, they seemed to be thinking the same lines that he had, as they eyed her with not anger or fear but lust. Even her armor did not hide the ex dragoon's curves beneath it, as it had been form fitted for her body.

She sneered at them in disgust. Men. Such fools, to think they could take her down with naught but numbers. Holding her steel glaive in her right hand and taking her short sword into her other, she stepped forward and met their charge, spinning with both weapons as her training with them kicked in. One, two...the first two went down in a heap of blood, their reckless movements easy prey to her sharp eyes and fast hands. The other three looked in surprise at their fallen comrades, not expecting her to have met their attack head on, before backing off slightly, holding their weapons up in defense. She smiled grimly at them; now they knew better than to underestimate her.

[The Great Guardian]

It was chaos. The whole village screamed, pulled apart from the inside out by the ravenous wolves. As Glory ran on to catch the beasts he could see the carnage they’d caused. They’d mindlessly tore though anything they saw, like children let loose in a sweets shop; taking and eating everything they could for no other reason than the fact they could do it. These wolves were the same. Attacking, not for defence, but greedy for blood. What possessed the creature to do such things?

“But if the wolves are mindless, how did it talk to us?” Miko asked, Glory closing in on their target.

“Who knows, Miko.” Glory answered. “But if they’re tearing apart an entire village, they’ve made their choice. You want to save these people, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Miko said confidently. “But why did he tell us we could live if we ran away?”

“Why do you think Miko?” Glory said, suddenly coming to a halt as two new targets closed in on him instead. “We’re here to stop him. He’s afraid of us.”

Miko gave no answer. Glory could feel his confusion, but knew he was accepting what needed to be done. He stood his ground as two more of the shadow creatures prowled around him, splitting up and each moving to an opposite side. Glory could see the fight real fight in the distance, a woman who impaled the village guards. He wanted to dodge around the wolves to get there, but the wolves were about to strike.

“There’s someone else there.” Miko noticed the scene from the corner of Glory’s eye. “He looks like a soldier. He’s fighting the big wolf.”

“Good.” Glory replied, keeping his weapon out in front. This meant it was more even then before. He could disarm the assailants of these shadowy puppets, then join the fray with the soldier.

His feet steadied him into position, and the wolves made their move. Parted on his left and right, they both leaped at him. His hands were close to either end, giving him short range with the most power. He stepped back as the creatures made their move, and thrust down to the left with the scythe end then up with the spear end. The first wolf had been closer and pounced low, he was the distraction. Glory shoved him aside, casting the edge of the scythe into the side of his face as he howled. Then he turned his head and met the eyes of the beast that leaped for the kill. The spear was already out in front of him, and as his eyes met the wolfs his spear pierced it’s neck.

The creature howled, and vanished into smoke. Expecting the next creature to be on him again Glory turned back to his left, only to see the creature had vanished.

“My lord! My lord! My children are bitten, heal them. Please! I beg thee…” Glory turned behind him, seeing the mother kneeing in the snow, several feet from her house. Not knowing what to say Glory lost a second to confusion, then the wolf he’d lost sight of attacked from behind. He didn’t see it, but felt the cold claws on his back as he landed face down in the snow.

“Glory, he’s on your back! He’s on your back!” Miko cried, his warning coming too late. Glory landed with his weapon almost beneath him, and cried out as he felt cold fangs rip into his left wing.

[Breaker]

So much noise; so much blood. Normally the sounds and smells of battle served only to exhilirate me, but with a jackhammer of a hangover gyrating between my temples, I felt sickly and lost. Through the screams of terrified villagers and the banging of loosely swinging doors, a guttural grinding sound reached my ears, low, animalistic, and unnatural.

The wolf is talking.

Not just talking, but giving orders. Even more surprising was the fact that the redhead in the ridiculous suit of armor responded, drawing a second weapon and launching herself into a ragtag assembly of would be fighters. For a moment I felt the urge to follow, to rescue the hapless hunters. But before I could take even one step, a few things clicked into place in my foggy mind, like gears turning inside a clock that couldn't always tell the right time. The seemingly meaningless slaughter, the ghostly shadow wolves, and the bulky men in their fur clothing. Wolf fur? No way to be sure. The facts floated in my conscious like pieces in a three dimensional jigsaw puzzle, but I had no time to poke them around and look for patterns. That horrid rasping rant rang above the chaos again; the wolf was talking to me.

We circled each other for a moment, two alpha dogs sizing each other up, ready to fight for the fate of the village. The wolf's muscles bunched, sinew bulging against his thick hide, shaggy fur standing on end. At the same time as he left the ground in a mighty leap, I folded to the frozen earth and rolled seamlessly, finishing on one knee next to my dropped spear. As I grasped the haft, the redwood scored deeply by the murderous creature's claws, I heard the shattering impact as he struck a stack of crates. Sacks of grain within the crates burst, showering the snow below, a soothing sound amidst the carnage. Keeping my back to the enemy, I focused my eyes on a nearby building, watching the massive shaggy shadow sail onto a nearby rooftop. If there had been any doubt in my mind as to the wolf's sentience, his actions blew it to pieces and swept them into a corner. Any ordinary carnivore would have instictively leapt for my throat, while this intelligent beast sought higher ground.

I watched the wolf's shadow leap off the shadow of the porch. Twisting the short spear in my hands, I got the angle just right and found his reflection in the glassy delyn blade. If the wolf wanted to play it smart, I just needed to be smarter. Smarter, and faster, and more deadly than a creature born to kill. Adrenaline ran like boiling water in my veins as I watched the miniscule version of those savage teeth and rending claws in the spearhead. Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear, I reminded myself. Then I gripped the polearm in both hands, bent my powerful legs, and jumped.

My torso stayed in place as my legs scythed up and around, drawing a swift half crescent in the air. I backflipped towards the flying wolf, knowing I would not finish the rotation. My legs kicked one after the other, as though riding an invisible bicycle, the unforgiving metal breaker boots begging to crack the carnivore's skull. But as I saw those stained, dripping fangs and shining claws descending to embrace me, time seemed to stop, and we hung in the air inches from impact. The rancid stench of his dripping maw flooded my nostrils, poisoning my breath. I felt no regret at the risky tactic. Whatever came next, I would adapt, and annhilate the red eyed monster.

[Of Wolf and Man]

Something was wrong. Aroth knew that the way some animals knew when an earthquake was going to hit or when a flood was coming. It was an indescribable feeling, something eerily in the corner of your mind that annoyed you like a torn in the haunches or a flea at the tip of your ear. That peculiar, distant sense of wrongness appeared the moment he launched himself from the slanted porch. It wasn’t natural for the prey to keep its back to the hunter. This man should’ve flinched, should’ve followed Aroth’s acrobatics and meet his demise head-on. Instead he remained calm, as if he was the one controlling the situation. As if he was, in fact, the hunter and not the prey.

This realization came too late to Aroth’s blood-crazed mind, too late to save him from the blunt impact of the man’s foot. The heavy boot struck the wolf’s head like a maul, crash-landing the massive bulk into the nearby frozen mud. Such was the power of the impact that for the briefest of moments the world went black save for the fireworks below Aroth’s eyelids. And at that very moment, for the first time since he met Wreja and departed on his quest, Aroth considered the possibility that he would fail, that he would join his kin before he could silence their crying blood. But this wasn’t the end of his story, it wasn’t the end of his revenge. No, it was just the beginning. He couldn’t die, not now, not here at the beginning of things. No, he had to get up and fight. Pain, too, was an integral part of vengeance.

His thick, muscular legs pushed against the cold ground, getting his massive bulk back on all fours. His growl was horrible, bloody and jagged from the kick that knocked half of his teeth out of his upper jaw. His ears seemed to be out of order as well; nothing but a buzzing noise and a distant sound of a struggle coming in through them. His eyes were out of focus, watching the three floating men circling around each other. A shake of his furry head later and the three men became one again, the very same one that took him by surprise seconds earlier. Aroth barred what was left of his fangs before he charged again.

This time around there was no finesse in his attack, no acrobatics to precede the strike. He came in fast and low, snapping his jaws at the man’s calves. But this human was of a slippery kind, dodging and sidestepping as if he could foresee the attacks, always an inch away from the beast’s teeth. But there was only so many times you could dance away from an enraged beast. Aroth didn’t know what was the reason for a misstep in his evasion, but whatever it was, it enabled the wolf to lock his jaw around one of the legs. That was supposed to be it, game over for this pest of a man. As it turned out, this human was literally made from sterner stuff.

Try as he might – and he most certainly tried, gnawing on the bone and muscle of the leg – Aroth could scarcely even scathe the skin below the pants. It was like biting into stone, like scratching your claws on a cave wall. And before the alpha wolf managed to comprehend the uselessness of his attack, the man kicked with his trapped leg again, sending the beast on a flight that went through one of the tavern’s windows and into the taproom of the establishment.

Aroth picked himself up again, the pieces of jagged glass and broken wood stuck in his flesh all over his body. His head was still ringing from the first strike. Thick blood mixed with oozy saliva slipped through the cracks in his teeth. He was a mess, even for a rabid beast. But even in such a state, he was able to acknowledge that he bit more than he could chew on his own. He couldn’t defeat this man on his own. He needed his pack.

Pushing his way through the batwing doors, the black wolf howled once, a long and loud howl that silenced every other sound in the proximity. The one remaining wolf that seemed to have defeated the winged man lifted his head and pounced away from his fallen prey, rejoining his leader just as the other two departed from the hunters and left the redhead alone to deal with them. This was, after all, their purpose; to keep Aroth safe. To keep him alive. The four of them now encircled the resilient man, prowling faster and faster around him until they were practically running in a circle. One beast was predictable. Four were a whirlwind that even Mother Nature couldn’t predict.

[The Great Guardian]

Glory winced, trying the thrust the wolf from his body. The ghostly fangs had a tight hold on him and wouldn't let him go, at least not without feeling it. Miko was panicing inside their mind, feeling Glory's pain but not knowing what to do about it. Then, as if an answer to his prayer, the wolf-master howled and the spirit released him.

"The wolf..." Miko shuddered, Glory still laying in the snow. He listened to the great beast's howl. A soft, but powerful note, as if calling to some unseen sentinal of the night.

"Glory." Miko whispered. "It sounds like a ghost."

Glory didn't answer. He grumbled, pushing himself up from the snow with the Thorn in hand. His wing, torn at the base, stung in rhythm. Like the blood pulsing through stabbed him whenever it felt the winter air. Behind him the mother who called for him came closer, her eyes wide and glittering with tears.

"Please my lord, heal my children-"

"Go to your home woman." Glory said to her, pointing back the way she'd come. "I am not your lord. Tend to you children if you want them to live.

Glory turned to leave her, her winter worn face burried in her hands.

"Glory, can't we help her?" Miko suddenly piped up as Glory sprinted over the snow.

"To do what?" Glory said. "I don't know what she wants from us, we can't heal the sick. She can take care of her children, it's our job to make sure this beast doesn't injure anymore."

Once again Glory felt Miko shying away. He wanted to try and console him, but now was not the time for that. This warrior woman picked through the town guards like a gardener ripping weeds from her garden. The soldier he'd seen entering the battle was grappling with the wolf, so he'd take care of her.

Closing in, her attention still on the guards, Glory raised his weapon over his right shoulder. The blade sung as it whipped through the wind, and with his hands holding low on the pole Glory readied an attack that would put her out for good.

[Breaker]

My head spun like an out of control thrill ride, pain beating at my temples like a heavy metal bassline. Backflipping may be impressive and even useful at times, but it's definitely something to avoid while suffering from a heavy hangover. The cherry was that I probably would have figured that out in advance had the hangover not clouded my judgement. I contemplated the aggravating irony of this as I dodged about, always one step ahead of the slobbering beast until suddenly I wasn't and his teeth clamped around my shin like a bear trap with a bad attitude.

Use your damn brain, I berated myself as I flailed the caught limb, trying to dislodge the pitbull-like jaws. The wolf's teeth didn't actually hurt, but he kept jerking me around, and the constant whiplash had my head swimming in sulfurous waters.

Let... go... let go... let go!

Finally the beast flew away, and not a moment too soon. I lost my footing and sank to one knee, stomach retching, and threw up in the street.

The half-digested contents of my stomach only added to the vile smells that already possessed the dying town. Steaming gore shed its stench amidst the loosened bowels and bladders of the petrified villagers. Wiping my mouth, I shoved myself to my feet and found the spear that I had dropped in my moment of weakness. As I retrieved it, the shadow wolves came bounding to meet their master's call, encircling me.

I turned slowly as if perched on a pedestal, rotating in the opposite direction of the racing wolfpack. They were a blur of fur and sinew, a cacaphony of growls and roars. They were waiting for me to make a move, waiting for me to make a mistake. I shook my head one last time, finally knocking the mothballs from between my ears. The time to kill had come.

I reversed my spear and stabbed it upright into the hardpack road. My hands reached up and behind me like an arcangel's wings, each plucking an identical short spear from the canvas bundle on my back. I didn't have to look as I threw both spears in opposite directions; I could sense the presence of those shadow wolves through whatever black magic had summoned them. The spears pinwheeled momentarily then simultaneously found their marks, each piercing the flank of a pale translucent beast. With twin mournful howls the hellhounds faded to nothing, the still moving spears embedding themselves in the road.

A roar echoed through the buildings and back alleys of Rappore, a roar of unbridled animal rage. I snatched my remaining spear from its totem pole stance in the earth as the last shadow wolf and it's master leapt for me like one beast, approaching from two different angles. I acted on instinct, dropped and rolled towards the ethereal creature. It and its kin died easier than the real thing. I rolled again, lifting the spear away from my body and slashing upwards, the haft like the arm of a windmill, the blade flashing in the sun. Frost crackled beneath me as the last of the shadow pack died, translucent guts starting to spill from its wide open belly before it could fade like smoke on the wind. I rolled once more to get back to my feet.

Breathing hard, I faced the black wolf. I felt better, as if vomitting had purged me of my sins the night before. I held the spear before me in a surgeon's unshaking hand, crouched and at the ready. Now it was I who waited for the wolf to attack, to make the mistake that would end his life. I could see the bloodlust in the beast's eyes, smelled the quest for vengeance in his thick flecked sweat. The wolf could no more resist the temptation to attack than my spear could fail to skewer his skull.

[Of Wolf and Man]

***

Dyannah woke up with a startle, clutching the starched bed sheets as she jumped up with a high-pitched yelp. It was the monster that woke her up. Black and red-eyed, it had prowled through her nightmare, its outlines the only solid thing in a distorted, vague presentation of what happened. In her dream the monster killed Inea and her father Girsham, tearing through the stocky blacksmith as if he was made of paper and blood. And then it went after her. She ran as fast as she could, but her legs were heavy, dipping deeper and deeper into the ground as if she was running through quicksand. And just before she reached the sanctuary of the tavern, it pounced onto her and everything went black. And then she woke up.

The reality didn’t seem nearly as grim as her nightmare had been. Instead of being dead in the frozen mud, Dyannah found herself alive and well, wrapped in layers of warm blankets. It took her a couple of seconds, but she recognized the room she woke up in. It was the subterranean room in the Walnut Inn, the one that looked like a basement and that nobody really opted for unless they were desperate and low on money. What she was doing there, though, and how did she get there was a mystery to her. She remembered her sister Inea shouting something while she was out feeding the livestock, but that was as clear as her mind got at this time.

She got up groggily, as if she was suffering from the same hangover as the person who rented the room she was in, but when she made her way to the staircase, she found its wooden steps shattered. Her simple mind panicked; that was the only way out of this subterranean room. She knew that because this was the room in the Walnut Inn, the one which nobody wanted because there was no natural light to be had in it. What happened to the exit, though? Another blank blotch on the parchment of her memory. Slowly, with much effort and muffled grunting, she started arranging the furniture in a manner that would allow her to escape. She pushed the bed against the wall, hoisted the nightstand on the soft surface and then added a chair on top of it. It was a miserable construct, a tower prone to fall every time she stepped onto the mattress, but it was the only way. She climbed it as gently as if it was made of toothpicks, and when she finally reached the trap door, it collapsed below her. Her skinny arms barely managed to pull her over the edge.

The tavern was completely empty. She wandered through the hallways, finding naught but closed doors and hushed shuffling beyond them. “Odd,” Dyannah thought. “It’s midday. What’s everybody doing in their room at this hour?”. It didn’t take long for her to find out the answer. She stumbled into the main room, surprised to find broken glass crunch beneath her boots. And then she stepped out through the batwing doors and she remembered everything.

Inea was dead. Her father was dead. And the monster that killed them was staring right at her.

***

Aroth snorted and shook his furry head in annoyance. His pack was dead, effortlessly slaughtered by the superman that seemed impervious to just about everything that was throw at him. His reflexes were deadly, his strikes precise, his form perfect. His body indestructible. There was no victory to be had here, no revenge to be exacted. Even as they stared each other down, the black wolf knew that a step forward would be a step into his own grave. Perhaps that was for the best. After all, some sort of balance was achieved by this slaughter. These men murdered his pack and he massacred most of theirs. Not a fair deal, but it seemed to be as good as it was going to get.

“Flee, Aroth.” The words made the alpha wolf snap his head first to one side, then to the other, searching for his redheaded ally, but she was nowhere to be found. Tucked her tail and ran, he thought, if she wasn’t killed by the hunters already. The rest of the hunting party started to close in on him, together with the winged one and the invincible man. But the voice couldn’t have come from any one of them.

“Wreja?” Aroth’s mind sent out a telepathic query, hoping for an answer.

“You must flee, my boy. Head for the Cha-ruk pass,” the bodiless voice planted the words into his brain. Aroth snapped his jaws at one of the hunters that tried to flank him before he spoke again, unaware that his words were being sent out to all in proximity.

“You promised me revenge!” the wolf demanded.

“And you shall have it. Head for the pass. Trust me. I will not lead you astray.”

Aroth didn’t trust the she-god, but at the time his options were severely limited. His pack was gone, his ally was gone, half of his teeth were gone and the revenge he sought so ardently was slipping away from him as well. And if he stood and fought, he knew he would lose his life as well. A chance of revenge somewhere down the road was better than having no road to walk on, he concluded. He would flee if only to see through the plan Wreja was forming.

And the maid girl presented him with an opportunity for a clean escape. Stepping out through the door, the soft, defenseless female was paralyzed by the mad beast that stood just off the tavern porch. She couldn’t scream. She couldn’t run away. Replaying the images of her family being torn apart before her very eyes, Dyannah realized that she was about to meet the same fate. She crumbled to her knees. And then the beast leapt.

But Aroth didn’t aim his claws to kill her. Landing atop of the petite girl, he stabbed his claws into her chest just deep enough to cause serious bleeding, but not enough to end her life right then and there. It was supposed to keep everyone occupied while he leapt through the back door and out into the white wasteland.

[The Great Guardian]

"No, not the girl! He's going to eat that poor girl!" Miko hollered, seeing the chaos happening out of the corner of Glory's eye. Glory turned to look, he'd lost track of the wolf for a moment in the fray, and Miko's panic had made him suddenly afraid. The beast leaped, the girls face froze white in terror, as still and glazed as a porcelin doll. The beast growled, tossing her body aside like an unwanted chewing toy, then dashed off into the darkness.

"Glory go help her! She's dying!"

"Everyone here is going to die Miko" Glory answered, pulling his weapon back and preparing for the next attack. "Unless we can stop these fiends.." Glory trailed off, the fallen hunters stumbling up to their feet. His opponent had slipped away, vanishing into the shadows.

"Where'd she..." Glory murmurred, scanning the distant drifts.

"Hell eff he tinks he kun run!" The largest, and reddest hunter growled. He turned and stared Glory down straight in the eyes. "Bout time you godz ded sumthin'. I hope yer happie wit yerself. Whole plase is dyen caz yeou diden't show ep sooner."

Glory didn't answer. He stared at the man, cocking his head to the side for a moment, only to see the others grumble and spit before they went away shouting. Calling for every able man to gather at the pub.

"Go see the girl, Glory. Everybody thinks we can help right? Maybe if you hold her hand she'll get better..."

"It won't help Miko." Glory shook his head, looking in the doorway. Some women had rushed over to help her now, but still she lay shaking and heaving.

"Just try." Miko said. "Maybe, just by seeing you she'll get strong enough to survive."

"If you wish..." Glory answered, staring at the petrified girl who lay on the porch. He walked over, the three women surrounding her suddenly looked up and became silent.

"I told you, he is an angel. Come to save us from the beast." One whispered to the other. Glory didn't answer them. He just stood, and looked at each one of them, unable to get the image of intimidated children out of his head. The injured woman panted, the caring hands supporting her back and keeping her still. She looked up at Glory, her eyes reflecting the golden aura that surrounded him, and for a moment her breath became still.

"Can you see her?" Miko asked. "She's looking right at us. She's seeing us, believing us. Glory, can't you see it?"

Glory didn't say anything. To be honest he couldn't. All he saw was a bleeding girl falling into dilusion. Her eyes were glazed with her own fluid, and she probably couldn't even see who was standing before her.

"My lord?" One of the care givers suddenly spoke up, looking at him patiently. Glory looked away from the girl, he'd seen enough. The wounds were sever, but nothing that couldn't be cared for. She had medical attention, and therefore she'd be alright.

"Stay with her. She will live. Tend to her and the villagers. Stay strong." Glory said, Miko promting him in their mind. The women nodded, as if suddenly commanded by a king. They carried on with their work on the young maiden, silently and determined. Glory couldn't help but stare for a moment. Why did they respond to him with such dedication?

"I hope she's okay." Miko whispered. However, Glory didn't pay any attention to him. The severity of the whole night had left him for a moment, but now it was returning like an unwanted dream. He had felt somehting before the wolf had left, a darkness that unsettled him. There was more stirring in the shadows than the wolf and his accomplice. Something far greater and sinister.

The hunters were shouting and gathering not far off from the edge of the Inn. They meant little to Glory right now. They'd do what they thought was best, even though it would probably cost them their lives. It was the soldier he was interested in. The warrior seemed to know what he was doing, at this moment he was the best chance this town had for survival.

Glory turned and walked to where the soldier lurked. He was already surveying the landscape, tracking the wolf's movement with his eagle like eyes. If the soldier had been watching what went on out of the corner of his eye he'd know he and Glory had been fighting the same battle. And there was somehting about him that made Glory confident he wouldn't melt at the sight of him like the others had.