The Fated Encounter...
Aerin sits atop a tall tree, in the cold and all alone...
He's chosen his own creed, his own road, his own code...
Fenrir's Chosen, the old Warg, the Warlord, Once Fjord's Scorn...
Tastes the path of the Lone Wolf, of inner Pursuit, One's own Proof...
AND ITS CHAINS SHAKE LOOSE...
The man sighs in his thoughts while tiredly eyeing the ground several meters below. The constantly blowing snow helps mask his already nigh undetectable scent: another lovely perc of being His Chosen and a painful reminder of the same realization. Aerin clenches his fists and hits the branch supporting him, almost too hard. The more he thinks about it the further it pisses him off. He snarls.
"Why the fuck do I have to deal with this shit!? I didn't ask for any of this!" he screams in a rage while clutching his hair and bursting into exhausted laughter. His once undetectably glowing blue eyes now fully blaring with magical energy. "I already can't deal with his nightmares every night!" he cries his eyes out. The more Aerin stresses, the further he falls into psychosis. He's losing his mind.
For the first time in Aerin's life, something strange cradles his spirit. It’s a warm, soothing embrace that warms him from the inside, and out…
The thought of abandoning everyone and running away for good...
Nobody would ever catch him. He's impossible to track...
"Yeah...." Aerin suddenly calms down, a rush of realization flowing through shivering veins. He exhales, elated and nodding, his eyes dampened with ice and tears. "I can run away... I can do what I want..." he chuckles, as if dumbfounded it's taken him all his life to realize this simple fact. The more he thinks about it, the more tempting... it is. He's His Chosen, after all, right? Aerin can do whatever he wants...
"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!"
Aerin freezes, his thoughts cold.
That was a scream? But, from who?
Aerin's heart drops...
His packmate CALLS!
The man fearlessly leaps out of the many-meter-tall tree, knowing a full-stop impact meant death. Or, at least in this form. He free-falls at terminal velocity, drawing his sword and holding it high, then screaming at the top of his lungs with a ferocious vigor. The King manifests his heart and his soul.
"FENRIR! AWAKEN!"
The sky cries a howling symphony…
Far away back at the village...
All Lycans freeze in place, gazing at the heavens, then Cyrus rushes forward, an army behind him…
“WE ATTACK!” Cyrus ROARS!
“OUR WARLORD CALLS US!”
Back in the forest…
Fenrir lives…
An anthropomorphic Wolf-Beast tears through a fading veil of tangible energy, as if carving away the fabric of reality. His muscles are pronounced and compact, yet his size makes him the third largest and physically strongest, behind his brother, and Kraven the Brawned. The Lycan's true form's a blur as it rushes through the forest like a roving calamity. Its daggered, bone-crunching teeth dripped a creepy, bluish-white liquid, its burning blue eyes accentuated with chain-like symbols running from its orbitals all toward its entire body; the entire creature's fur pattern resembling shackles of some sort. He zones in on the distressed calls of his pack, coming in time and savagely rushing at the large tiger's mild leap. The larger Lycan slams into the unsuspecting feline in the same way the cat intended to kill its target: a Lycan girl with dark red hair and terrified, innocent eyes.
The tiger roars in pain, and retaliates almost as quickly as it was attacked, a morbid cycle of ambushes. The two monstrous creatures roll around in the snow for mere moments, if even that, before the supernatural monstrosity overpowers the mere animal. The Lycan digs into the tiger's flailing, mauled body, then destroys the feline's face in a single bite, bones and all. The inferior predator's corpse hangs lifeless, discarded in disgust by the superior predator: A Primordial Beast showing little interest in consuming a weaker foe. The monster turns its vicious and bloody gaze toward the now awe-struck Lycan woman.
Fenrir relaxes...
"I remember you..." he whispers amidst a torrent of power...
Power gifted by them...
Fenrir reverts, and Aerin falls to his knees in the snow, thankfully clothed and all. Lycan transformations have thankfully evolved over the years. His sword manifests across his back, that glowing pommel stone's glow fading to nothing; Frostbite's asleep, too. Roxy gasps and immediately rushes to Aerin's side, screaming his name. "Aerin! AERIN!" she yells, scooping him in her arms while frantically looking around for danger. With her only ally unconscious, she felt that weakness sap her strength. Lycans were stronger in groups, and a lone female with an injured male out in the Boreal Forest was easy pickings for all kinds of threats. For that tigers have evolved over the centuries to hunt in duos to survive against them.
Something moves in the woods...
Roxy whimpers...
She's never been a strong Lycan in any sense of the word beyond one thing, and it's the only way she was able to find Aerin in this forest. Her sense of smell. She realizes where it is.
Behind her!
The second tiger pounces from the brush toward her and crosses many yards in moments. It readies the final attack, but then jumps back when Roxy attacks it! The small woman screams as loud as she can!
"GET AWAY FROM AERIN!" she SCREAMS!
"HE IS FENRIR'S CHOSEN!"
"I WILL DIE BEFORE I LET YOU HURT THEM!"
A mass of muscle snarls into the fray, smashing into the confused tiger's side.
And Roxy watches in glee as Cyrus tears that tiger to shreds...
Several more Lycans of various sizes and colors rush out into the brush, hearing His Call and rushing to his aid. But the largest, most vicious-looking one was here first, arriving much faster than his kin. His dark, stormy grey fur was marred with vicious scars from jaw to foot claws. He rips his bone-eating jaws from the bloodied corpse of the several hundred-pound apex predator he so easily dispatched, devouring large chunks of it as a show of strength after saving his little brother...
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
"AWOOOOOOOOO!!!!!" Roxy screams at the top of her lungs, still human in shape unlike her kin; she celebrates Aerin's safety, his brother's strength and loyalty, and her kin's communion. They all revel in a blood-soaked tribute to their God, their transgressions against Fenris are forgiven. The Lycans don't celebrate for long, however. Danger always lurks, especially when most of the pack's strongest are away from their den. Their home. Cyrun reverts to his humanoid form in a flash, his clothes covered in the same blood his transformed state was. He rushes to Aerin's side, almost ignoring Roxy, but quickly catching himself.
"Thank you, sister!" Cyrus says from his heart, nodding the woman's way, and stunning her; this was the second member of the Inner Circle talking to her. And, it's Cyrus the Berserker of all Lycans! She nearly faints, but keeps her cool and proudly nods back, glancing Aerin's way with a shaky smile and an absurd amount of adrenaline; this was her first time out alone in the forest. This entire day was blowing her mind.
"Anything for hi-," she catches herself, and Cyrus catches her, too; the man lofts his brow, a cheeky smile etching across handsome features as he asks the real questions...
"What was tha'?" he teases, leaning a little closer while fighting laughter. Roxy's face reddens; she panics and looks away.
"Happy to protect our Chosen," she corrects herself, surprisingly doing a good job at saving face. Cyrus suddenly deadpans, waving her off; he finds her amusing and in denial.
"And, I'm happy to set you two up on the best date ever if you so much as wish it!" Cyrus laughs, effortlessly scooping his little brother in his arms and standing; Roxy stays shell-shocked at this man's antics. Cyrus acts nothing like Aerin.
"My little boy here needs a girl in his life, yeah?" Cyrus grins, slightly leaning to whisper at Roxy. "Maybe then, he'll stop being such a whiny bitch!" he says with the biggest grin. "... Get it? Bitch? Female dog?" he explains, awaiting anything but Roxy's somewhat disturbed facial reaction. This man likes hearing himself talk. Cyrus snorts like a bull and brushes Roxy off.
"Well, now I'm not helping you with shit!" the Lycan snorts with wounded pride; he thinks he's funny. His mood quickly changes as he hoists his brother onto his shoulder and commands the other Lycans pulling security around them. Roxy quickly transforms into a smaller, jaguar-sized Lycan that walks on all fours like all females of her species, unlike their male counterparts, who walk on four or two whenever they desire. The rush of such unexpected hunts always riles them all. They must be tamed again. Who better than...
"I will carry my brother home. The rest of you return and continue your preparations for tonight's festival! This unexpected hunt was merely an appetizer for the slaughter to come!" he roars at the top of his lungs, flashing a blood-covered smile and raising his hands in the air as if feigning ignorance. "Or, maybe this is the best we're getting. Then well, damn..." he chuckles, and his hounds howl in laughter. The monstrous pack of wolf-beasts quickly scatter into the woods, and Cyrus pauses alone in the snow for a second, looking at the sky with a sense of exhilaration, and pride.
"I oh so love being a Lycan."
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The Boreal Forest stayed silent for a long while after His Awakening...
For He has voiced His Revival...
And ALL shall Obey Him...
... ... ...
Yet, She doesn't...
For She hunts Them. Their greatest threat...
Their Foes. His woes...
A woman walks through the frozen forest in silence, but her presence is known...
Even if They were too far to smell Them, to smell her...
The Forest Knows...
She pauses as she steps into the light, her flawless pale skin and messy, yet strikingly voluminous white hair accentuated by the black, loosely-form fitting clothes she wears. Her existence draws obedience from the Boreal Forest; not even the wind blew...
Those primordial, deeply captivating, scarlet-hued eyes coldly stare at the blood-covered snow, a flare of reddish-black energy discharging when she blinks. She flicks her cold, fearless gaze toward a patch of disturbed brush where two mangled beast corpses lie, hallway buried in the blizzard now. This young, slim-figured, shapely woman sniffs the air as a final confirmation to her hypotheses, and internally wretches at that scent. It was true. They still live. After all of these centuries, she's finally found them...
She smiles, ecstatic... Her beautiful, almost twisted beautiful features filled with savage excitement...
She gets to finally play with the dogs...
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Back in the village, Aerin awakens in Anesthesia's abode...
The young man's eyes open, and he veers forward before freezing from dizzying whiplash. Anesthesia idly scolds him while working on a mixture across the small medical room of her home; a mystical blue flame hovering high above and lighting the room.
"Easy there, Vargr," she jokes at Aerin's expense while he tries recalling his thoughts. The woman with long, black hair walks with a sway to her slender form as she approaches, her dark-colored furs adorned with all kinds of bones, teeth, and feathers. "I can't remember the last time you transformed while out on your own like that. What happened?" she politely asks, although her eyes and tone express her concern just as much. She politely sits near Aerin on his bed, crossing her arms while leaning back as he gathers himself. The blue-eyed Lycan hesitates as he speaks.
"I...." he pauses, wondering what happened himself. He recalls climbing that large tree, and then he recalls...
Aerin never answers Anesthesia...
"... Aerin?" the Shaman repeats, tilting her head. Aerin glances her way, locking eyes with the older Lycan as she appraises him. "... Are you alright, Aerin?" she asks, growing further concerned as she fixes her posture. Aerin still stays silent; he looks away. Anesthesia persists.
"Aerin, you should know that I am the second to last Lycan in the entire village to ever judge you. Whatever is troubling you, we have to help you overcome i--" She never finishes her sentence; Aerin cuts her off as he looks her way.
"Would you be so adamant about my problems if I was a nobody?" Aerin asks from his heart, those blue eyes longing for an answer. Anesthesia answers without hesitation; she doesn't bat an eye.
"Absolutely," she says, stunning Aerin. Anesthesia reaches and hugs Aerin, holding him close to her. As she speaks, Aerin feels a warm, comforting sensation washing over him; it's a type of warmth that soothes his troubled spirit, and he feels his power returning much faster.
"Just because your parents died to Wolfsbane doesn't mean you don't have family that cares about you, Aerin..." Anesthesia leans back from the embrace, cupping Aerin's face in hers and giving him an alluring smile. "Why, if you were a little bit older, I'd be more than just your Shaman if you catch my drift?" she winks, and Aerin's eyes widen with concern. He quickly leans away from Anesthesia, his heart fluttering in his chest.
"Now's not the time to be in heat, Anesthesia... Keep your hormones down..." he awkwardly orders. Aerin finds it harder to not test his luck, honestly. He doesn't show it, though; Cyrus would throw a fit. Anesthesia pouts, but politely backs off, patting Aerin's head before standing.
"You should be good and ready to go after a few hours of rest. Your power naturally refills faster than all of ours, but since we use our forms a lot more than you do, it costs us less energy to do so. A King doesn't fight on the front lines, yeah? His soldiers do," she smiles, and Aerin instantly loses his good mood.
"I wish people could go one day without putting my name and His in the same neighborhood. It's annoying," he sighs, looking out the window at the bright and sunny, snow-covered village. Anesthesia responds while returning to her mixture, her voice gentle and informative.
"Life is all about equilibrium, Aerin; we've all got an internal balance we must keep to preserve our peace. Our different internal balances are what make us unique, but equal..." she says, and Aerin glances her way, unimpressed at her wisdom.
"And yet, I'm the special snowflake. How am I equal to you and everyone else, then?" he asks, and Anesthesia expertly responds, even spinning to face him, and then pointing her fingers his way.
"You are the tether that gives us Unity. You are our Leader," she says as if stating the obvious. Aerin huffs, dismissing her words and looking away again.
"And if I don't want to be a leader?" he asks, thinking he's won. Anesthesia, however, disappoints him.
"The best leaders are never self-appointed, love," she winks, blowing the younger Lycan a kiss before returning to her work. She hammers it home before Aerin can respond. "The Trinity has blessed you with the power to learn from their mistakes. He has also chosen you. You have the perfect opportunity to make a name for yourself and become greater than He ever could. You just have to be ambitious enough to want it," she chimes, poking him in his head, and Aerin swats her hand.
"Whatever," Aerin eye-rolls, hopping out of bed and putting back on his cloak and boots before sheathing his Warwolf Blade. Anesthesia pouts again once she notices Aerin's covered up his form, having enjoyed the eye candy.
"Are you headed home?" she asks, watching Aerin head for the door. "The festival is in a few hours; make sure you don't oversleep," she warns. Aerin gives a thumbs up without looking, but politely thanks her on his way out.
"I appreciate the talk, Anesthesia. I'll catch you later," he bids farewell, and Anesthesia waves him off with a smile. She laughs a few seconds later before resting her hands on her hips.
"If only your brother acted like you, too; I'd have you both," she snorts, resting a hand over her chest and looking aside embarrassed she said that.
"Got a little raunchy there, phew..."
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The night finally arrives...
The night Their Hunt begins...
The night that Her hunt ends...
And the night that She will truly realize...
The World She lives in...
Ryn treks up that sloping hill toward the Boreal Forest, resolved and ready for her mission. She carries on her back a sword forged with Stardust, and several packs of powdered, alchemically treated Wolfsbane strapped to her waist. The bone-chilling wind, the threat of snow blindness, nor the ambient cold chilled the fire burning in her heart or slowed the adrenaline flowing through her veins. The excitement she feels from the danger of it all both unnerves yet draws her. She's the first human capable of wielding magic in almost a millennia! This fact coupled with her blessing from The Trinity fills her ego and raises her expectations further. She has the power to change destiny. She has the power to chart the future.
She has so much power...
Ryn crests the top of the long and steep hill as the sun sets, nearly drowned out by the rising full moon's glow. She pauses at the crest of the hill and gazes skyward, squinting through the tall, rusting towers of trees now surrounding her, accentuated by vast mountains in the distance. She gazes at the scenery in tranquil bliss for a second, and all of her adrenaline, excitement, and even hidden fear fades away to nothing as she now gazes over the vast valley behind her. She finds the world a beautiful place...
A Howl echoes through the forest, and Ryn snaps back to reality.
She closes her mystical blue eyes and takes a deep breath, stomping that final bit of hesitation in her soul before rushing into the forest. She's ready for whatever comes. She's more than capable of protecting herself.
... ... ...
"I hope..."
Next Chapter: Fenrir's Killers: The HUNT Begins!