Once everyone is dressed, Kell walks over to the table in the middle of the tent and picks up two silver medallions. When she brings them over to Cloven and Ragnar, the first thing they notice is the engravings. Both are the same, depicting the war god Atranis fighting a horde of demonic entities. The detail on them is second to none. There are only a handful of skilled people in the world that could have made something on this level.
Ragnar looks up at her, wondering what these are for. She speaks as if she read his mind. "These artifacts are blessed by the high priestess. They grant their holder the power to achieve their full potential. You'll need to be at your best for the upcoming siege on Silverfalls."
Cloven eyes the medallions as if he sees all the power he ever wanted inside them. The chance to become a stronger warrior for his country and his god. He kneels down in front of her. "I accept this most holy gift. I pledge to use this for the good of Atraya."
"Get up," Kell yells at him. "There's no need for any of that. The two of you will get promoted and will be fighting on the front lines."
"What?" Ragnar screams. "The front lines are reserved for foot soldiers. Why send us after all we did for you?"
"Because," Kell explains. "These are going to make you the strongest fighters in the army second to me. We want to hit them hard, fast." She blushes when she realizes how she phrased that. "You'll be extremely hard to kill. You need to take on their strongest fighters before they kill most of our soldiers."
"I see, so that's your plan." Cloven remarks. "Your brother's army will be there to back us up while we take out the big shots. An excellent strategy as always, ma'am."
Kell extends the medallions out for them to take. Once they do, an immense power rushes through them like a tsunami. Raging waves of endless magical prowess surge through their body. A red aura surrounds them, their magic manifesting itself right in front of them. The power to achieve anything their country could ask them to do. A strong feeling of anger fills their minds, digging itself deep inside their psyche, and driving them to hate and kill all blasphemers.
"What did you do to us?" Ragnar asks.
"Not to worry," Kell reassures them. "You are still yourselves. Think of this as a drug. It temporarily alters your mind, but only when you wear it. The magical increase is permanent, though."
"How is that possible?" Cloven asks. "How could this power be permanent?"
"Simple," Kell explains. "It opens up all of your magical-" She thinks for a moment to think of a good analogy. "Spores. Your body consistently absorbs magic all the time. However, your body has a limit that can be increased with training. Or in this case, it opens up your body's natural magical absorption rate by unclogging-"
Kell stops what she's doing and takes several minutes to explain this better. "Imagine that you are a sealed container in the middle of the ocean. Everyone is borne with small holes in these containers, but their size can be increased with enough training. The container can also be enlarged to contain more magical energy at once."
"Yeah, I think I understand it better now," Ragnar says while tapping a finger on his chin. "So these artifacts do what years of training would accomplish."
"That's right." Kell expresses her enthusiasm as a teacher. "As of now, you should have enough power to be a B-class soldier."
"What?" Cloven is surprised. "We're only a class behind the Dragon Knights? How is that possible?"
"I already told you." Kell gives him a dirty look. "I hope you don't expect me to explain it again." Cloven shuts his mouth, not wanting to make her angry. However, the realization that he is now one of the strongest fighters in the army feels exhilarating.
"Are we going to kill them soon?" Ragnar asks with joy in his tone. "I want to display their intestines for the whole world to see. The world will know to fear us."
....
The three siblings are escorted back into their room after a long day of training. In terms of magic prowess, they have a long way to go. However, their physical capabilities far exceed any humans. Most people have to use magic to enhance their bodies to that level.
Fenrir takes a seat and stares at his hand, wondering what kind of potential he may have. Deep down, he knows they'll never see their mother again. It's his fault he wasn't strong enough to save her. All of this, everything that happened to them so far, was preventable.
Fenrir clenches his fists tightly, his claws digging into his hands, drawing blood. He clenches his teeth, allowing anger to consume him. He glances over at Skoll and Luna. He can't imagine losing them as well. It's up to him to protect everyone and everything he loves.
As his anger grows, so does the aura surrounding his body. His body temperature increases. A yellowish-red aura begins to take on a physical form, exploding into flames that catch everything it touches on fire.
"What the fuck." Luna says when she notices the fire engulfing everything around her brother. "Fenrir, get out of there."
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Skoll tries breaking down the door so everyone can run for safety. However, the door is reinforced with magic, and it does not budge. "WE'RE GONNA DIE IN HERE. HELP US." Skoll's screams are unheard. No one is near the door to hear him.
"FENRIR, you have to control it." Luna yells after figuring out Fenrir's magic is out of control.
Fenrir tries desperately to figure out how the flames work. However, they seem to have a mind of their own. All their hearts drop as they watch some of the flames cling to the stone walls. Unlike regular fire, these flames need only feed on magic to survive.
Flashes of his past with his siblings flash before his eyes as they catch on fire. Their haunting screams and boiling flesh paint a picture of absolute horror. Their eyes begin to melt out of their sockets. Their flesh melts off the body.
Fenrir closes his eyes and tries to get the fire to extinguish itself. His efforts are met with his consciousness fading to black.
After an unknown amount of time, Fenrir's eyes flutter open. He's instantly hit with the visions of his siblings suffering a horrific fate. He finds himself sitting in an unfamiliar bed. Those visions had not been a dream. He grabs his aching heart and wonders why he didn't try to kill himself to prevent such a catastrophe. He didn't think of it at the time. Everything was happening too fast.
'I need to find them. I need to know if they survived.' Fenrir knows if they were human, they would most likely be dead. However, werewolves have an unnatural ability to heal quickly.
A scent makes its way into his nostrils, one that is familiar to him. 'Luna.' Fenrir quickly rushes out of the room and down the hallway, following the scent to its origin.
Once he reaches the door where the scent is at its strongest, he hesitates and takes a deep breath to prepare for what's inside. He opens the door and finds both Skoll and Luna wrapped head to toe in bandages. He falls onto the floor, relieved that he can hear their heartbeats. Tears run down his face as he imagines the pain he made them go through.
However, knowing that he could cause another incident, he leaves the room to prevent himself from killing them. Thoughts rush through his mind. He considered many possibilities. One of which is to kill himself, so this never happens again. On the other hand, if he can control this new power, he can use it to protect them.
Fenrir glances down the hallway and sees Donavan staring him down but giving him space to complete his thoughts. Fenrir makes his way towards him and almost breaks down crying. He wants someone to forgive what he's done to his siblings because Fenrir could never do it himself. Skoll and Luna are in no position to tell him it wasn't his fault.
Donavan sees the turmoil in this young wolf's heart. He pities him because he's seen this tragic event payout before, except in a more deadly fashion. He motions for Fenrir to follow him, and leads him into the room he kicked Thomas out of when they first arrived. "Take a seat." Donavan says as they enter the room.
His room consists of one bed with unmade blankets. A wooden dresser for clothes sitting next to it. A desk in the far left corner where Donavan orders him to take a seat in one of the two chairs. There are a few candles responsible for lighting up the room. A rug covers a good portion of the stone floor, its simplistic design with only one color fails to add to the overall vibe of the room.
"I want to talk to you about your power." Donavan says as he sits down and leans in closer while clasping his hands together. "I can't imagine what you are going through right now."
"You're right," Fenrir says with a harsh tone. "You can't. You don't know what it's like nearly killing your brother and sister. Maiming them to the point where you don't even recognize them anymore. Wondering if they could ever forgive you."
"I'll talk to them once they recover. You just need to know that this wasn't your fault." This Fenrir already knew, but it's nice to hear it from someone. "This might come as a shock to you. This isn't the first time I've seen this happen. It's extremely rare," He clarifies. "but it does happen from time to time with certain abilities."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better? That it has happened to other people." Fenrir crosses his arms and glares at him.
"I'm getting to the point." He clarifies his point once again. "Abilities like yours are hard to control. They manifest themselves based on the person's personality. People who can use fire usually have an evil side to them, or they have a tendency to use their anger to motivate themselves."
Fenrir takes his eyes off Donavan to stare at the floor. His mind flooded with thoughts pertaining to his anger. He was angry about the way they humiliated him and his siblings. "It was your fault then." Fenrir's eyes dart up to Donavan with a ferocious intensity behind them. "Making us live in those conditions like we're dogs. You're the ones who I should blame?"
Donavan raises his hands in defeat. "I'll take partial blame for it. I didn't want the three of you here at first." He stands up and takes two steps, facing away from Fenrir. "However, as dangerous as your ability is to the people you love, it's also dangerous to your enemies." He turns around to face him once again. "Your power is rare, and more powerful than you can imagine. Atraya is going to put up a good fight against this city. You can choose to protect your sibling while showing the humans of this city they can trust you. A win-win situation."
Fenrir remains cautious of Donavan's intentions, however, he does agree with this plan. He can kill two birds with one stone.
....
Bertal strides up to the King's throne room with his best clothes on. A red cloth suit trimmed with gold decorations and intricate stitching. His boots are made of the finest leather, shined and polished to perfection. He escorts Shelly who needs a wheelchair to get around. Her bottom torso is paralyzed, her hands cut off, her voice gone.
"Today is going to be a great day," Bertal says to himself. "What do you think Shelly?" He mocks her.
Some of the servants they walk past are becoming increasingly terrified of Bertal's sadistic treatment of that poor woman. Some of them walking past his room at night overhear some of the fucked up things he's doing to her. Death would be a saving grace for this woman, but no one dares challenge his authority.
"Good morning." Bertal greets several of the servants who hesitate to greet him back. He smiles when he sees the horror on their faces, loving the thrill of being feared.
Once he reaches the door to the throne room, two servants are standing by, ready to open the large wooden doors. As he steps inside, the King stands up to greet his second in charge. "Bertal, how have you been." The King's blue cloak moves with him, his long brown beard shining lustriously in the sunlight protruding from the large clear windows.
Bertal smiles at him, sinister thoughts always raging on in his mind like a cooking pot of exotic evil ideas. "Fine. I've heard that all of the armies are making good progress." The soldiers who stand against the walls of the throne room shift in the stance.
"Excellent." The king responds while stroking his beard. "If we can capture the capital, we can take over their country with ease."
"My thoughts exactly, sir." Bertal digs in his pockets and pulls out a small hand sized chest to give to the king. "You've been such a good friend to me all these years. I thought I would give you something to show my appreciation for everything you've done for me." Bertal kneels and extends the chest out to the King.
"How kind of you." The King says as he makes his way down to Bertal. "When my father passed away and I inherited the throne, I expected to be hated for not living up to the same standards." The king takes the chest out of his hands. "However, I'm glad I have people like you who believe in me."
"The King should be sitting on his throne when he opens such a great treasure from a friend." Bertals says when he sees the King is about to open the box.
"There's no need for that. I consider you my equal. That's why you are in line to inherit the throne."
The king opens the box. BOOOM!
When the dust settles, the soldiers are at the ready with their weapons in hand. They see the king on the floor, large chunks of his head missing. A combination of blood, bone, and brain matter are flung far from his body.
Bertal stands up and confronts the soldiers. "You all heard him. I inherited the throne. Now bring me a new crown." He commands the terrified soldiers. When the soldiers fail to move from their posts, he walks up to one of them and screams his command again.
Some of the soldiers try to attack him, however, the eldest soldier orders them to stand down and not attack their new king. Many of them not moving an inch, conflicted thoughts racing through their minds. Is this legal? Probably not. However, as the king's guardians, they cannot harm the new king.
A soldier who ran out of the room comes back holding a crown in his hands. He walks up to Bertal and hands it to him. Bertal places it on his head and walks to the throne to sit on it. Rubbing his hands against the armrests, he uses this time to take in the moment in. He wants this exact moment burned into his brain forever. When he's done, he speaks. "Send more soldiers to Silverfalls, I want that city destroyed as soon as possible."