Victory or death.

The rallying cry of Sanshu’s Magistrate and one embraced by many a Warrior who took part in that fateful siege, including Baatar’s cherished son, but he never did like the maxim much.

Victory was fleeting, but death an absolute, meaning victory could always be attained even after a defeat. Where there was life, there was hope, as Mother was so often heard to say, but as Baatar fought upon the battlements of Shi Bei with leaden arms and burning lungs, he accepted that there could only be one or the other. Victory or death, the lyrics to today’s sombre song of battle which echoed with every beat of his heart, pounding in furious rhythm from strain and exultation yet somehow seeming slow and sedate at the same time. Having long since lost count of the number of exchanges, he gathered his Will and swung his Crescent Moon bardiche with all his might time and time again, yet there was no advantage to be had. Meeting his opponent’s spear head on with grit and determination alone, he experienced no heady rush of excitement to bolster his spirits, no sense of progress or accomplishment to inspire him to new heights. The resounding reverberations left his arms numb and fingers weak, his weapon only still in hand because it was a fundamental part of who he was, but with his body having long since surpassed its limits and his spirit sinking with each passing second, he would soon find himself with nothing left to give. There was still no end to this deadly exchange in sight, but a victor would be determined any second now, for Baatar would either overcome his opponent within the next handful of exchanges or fall flat on his face from sheer exhaustion.

Victory or death. Those were his only options, so he strove for victory no matter the cost.

Not long ago, he’d defeated the strongest foe he’d ever faced in Bai Qi, the Lord of Martial Peace, and though it was easily the most arduous and gruelling match he’d ever taken part in, he’d relished every second of their conflict. The challenge alone had been enough to give him a rush greater than anything he’d ever felt before, one which satisfied the wolf hiding within as he sought to overcome his limits and emerge victorious against his most worthy foe. Today, his opponent was even stronger and more indomitable, yet there was no excitement to be found, only a heavy heart as he gazed upon the too-familiar face of his foe and wondered where it had all gone wrong. This was Ankhbayar, exiled outcast of the People turned Half-Demon traitor to the Empire, yet Bataar could only see the little Joy who called him uncle and often begged to be carried up on his shoulders. That bright-eyed child was dead and gone now, and wearing his face was a bitter and broken man, one who Baatar loathed with all his heart while harbouring a wisp of eternal gratitude for the only two good things this man had accomplished in life. Though a traitor and monster both, little Joy had sired two wonderful sons who Baatar cared deeply for, Gerel, a good man and exemplary Warrior who he’d once hoped would be his future son-in-law, and little Rain, the cherished son he’d come to know far too late.

Oh what pride Baatar felt in fighting side by side with this most talented of families. Gerel and Naaran supported his flanks and left him free to focus on his opponent undisturbed. Truly a lineage of Warriors and talents, with the blood holding true for three generations already, so despite having seen the monster little Joy had become, Baatar could not help but wonder what might have been. How might things have changed if he’d done something to slow or even reverse the growing extremism which exploded into violence some thirty years back? A slow burn it’d been, beginning with Mother’s return from Central after a bloody welcome from the locals more than fifty years past. At first, Baatar himself had been consumed by rage over the event, not only because his Mentor had been disrespected and assaulted, but also because his good friend Naaran had returned a changed man. Gone was the genius slacker known for his sharp tongue and twinkling eyes, and in his place was a bitter man who drove away almost everyone who cared for him. Time and discipline helped Baatar master his rage, but Naaran did not fare so well. Though known to slack off and skip training more often than not, he stopped showing up entirely and spent most of his days out with his quin, Kharuul, or his wife Yisu, all but abandoning the Martial Path to drift aimlessly through life without purpose. After what he experienced in Central, not even Mother could fault him for it, but they all thought time would heal Naaran’s wounds and that was that. Things took a turn for the better when Yisu became pregnant with little Ankhbayar, only for disaster to strike as she died soon after childbirth due to circumstances most unfortunate.

A treatable ailment, yet neither Naaran nor Yisu thought her fever and muscle pains important enough to seek help, and by the time they learned otherwise, it was already too late as Yisu had died quietly in her sleep.

Blaming himself for his wife’s death, Naaran retreated even further inwards while raising his son as best he could. With Baatar’s help of course, and the help of all their friends and comrades, even the ones Naaran had driven away with his cutting remarks which were no longer softened by his infectious smile, but clearly, their efforts had not been enough. Though Baatar could make excuses about being young and still figuring life out for himself, the truth of the matter was that it was easier to assume Naaran was doing well than pry the truth out of him as he should have. It only got worse after Ankhbayar grew up and started a family of his own, for Naaran loved his son and grandson too dearly to ever burden them with his own pain, which Baatar would have known if he’d thought to look closely rather than bury his head in the sand.

So much anguish and suffering could have been avoided with almost laughable ease, to the point where Baatar was unable to pinpoint where it all went wrong. Little Joy had been true to his name at first, so full of laughter and mirth, and he possessed talent to match his father paired with the hardy work ethic of his mother. Together, this combination saw him progress by leaps and bounds to stand head and shoulders above his peers, though Naaran took little pride in his son’s martial exploits. Had things turned out differently, Ankhbayar might well have been standing here at Baatar’s side as a Hero of the People and the Empire both, a proud father to two heroic sons who’d surpassed even him. Instead, he had become one of the Enemy’s greatest mortal champions, a fearsomely armoured Half-Demon who shrugged off Baatar’s strongest blows with little to no effort, all the while with his lips half-quirked in a smile so familiar and foreign at the same time. Naaran used to smile just like that, with a subtle smirk that barely reached his cheeks and a mischievous glint in his eye, and little Rain smiled like this all the time, though often for no apparent reason at all, so it was jarring to see this same smile on a Half-Demon’s lips, infused with malice and rancour enough to make Baatar’s stomach twist.

There was no cure for regret, and he was not one to wallow within it, but he had long since recognized that these melancholic musings were the result of a profound and insidious working of Aura. An assault little sister Li-Li was fending off all by her lonesome, for without little Rain, there was no other Warrior capable of doing so. Emotional Aura was a bizarre and curious concept, one which sounded simple in theory but was infinitely complex in practice, so much so that little Rain was at a loss on how to even begin to explain it. Hence, no one but little sister Li-Li was able to grasp the skill, and she was clearly also approaching her limits, else Baatar would not be feeling so maudlin and remorseful during what should have been the most rousing and impactful fight of his life. In his fight against Bai Qi, Baatar had been similarly exhausted, but the thrill of the challenge kept his spirits high and allowed him to surpass his limits. Here in Shi Bei however, the Enemy’s foul Aura of regret and contrition robbed him of any and all delight, and to make matters worse, he knew this was merely a prelude to what would come next.

First regret, which then would give rise to doubt, followed by fear and apprehension aplenty, topped off with a decisive blow of what Baatar assumed would be hopeless despair and futility to drive them to surrender. All in a slow trickle of emotion which slowly built up over time, so that they would acclimate to the ambience imposed upon them like a frog sitting in a slowly heating pot of water, ignorant of the rising temperature and too stupid to jump out. Baatar noticed it clearly because he’d been on his guard against Emotional Aura this entire time, even though he also knew there was little he could do against it, but his allies might not even be aware of the Enemy’s insidious scheme as a dagger of emotion was raised high overhead, one perfectly poised to deal a death blow to the wavering Imperial hearts.

So long as the soldiers of Shi Bei held the walls and the Imperial Divinities stood firm against their foes, then the city would stand against the Enemy assault. At great cost, perhaps even too great to be considered a victory, but once little sister Li-Li was unable to hold back the deluge of Emotional Aura, then the battle would be all but lost. A single soldier striving to flee or surrender was all it would take to break them, for the first to give up would be akin to a stone cast into a still pond, sending ripples out all across the surface to disturb and agitate the rest. No man is an island, a military adage which cut both ways, for powerful though courage and determination could be, fear was by far the stronger emotion. Not many would choose to stand and fight while others ran for dear life, and even in the highly unlikely event that only a tenth of the Imperial soldiers present succumbed to their fear, it would still spell disaster for the defenders of Shi Bei.

And much of Baatar’s family in the process.

The din of battle was deafening as both sides traded blows, the ring of steel and screams of the dying intermingling with the piercing notes of Luo-Luo’s zither which were few and far between. The gentle and hard-working girl’s ivory hands were stained with blood from putting so much effort into her playing, for the strings of her instrument would have long since snapped if not for her becoming One with the Instrument and Plating it with her Domain. When this phenomenal accomplishment took place was difficult to say, but brilliant and talented though the girl might be, she was no Warrior and never would be, for she lacked the temperament and instincts for bloodshed. Since she could Domain Plate her zither strings, then there should be no reason why she could not also Domain Plate her fingers as well, but she was so fixated on her melody that she was either more familiar with her zither than the body she’d grown up in for twenty-five years, or the idea of Domain Plating her body had simply never occurred to her in the first place. The latter most likely, since the zither was an ordinary instrument Baatar’s rose had bought for the girl in Nan Ping, but immersed within Insight as she was, he dared not distract her with a Sending and risk jolting her out of her transcendent state. Still, it pained him to see his most delicate daughter-in-law endure such a wretched and easily avoidable tribulation while giving this battle her all, even though it also filled him with pride to see her rise to the occasion.

Little Yan and Sumila were faring better, fighting with all their hearts upon the battlements and thriving despite being utterly outmatched. Their consummate understanding of their respective Blessings enabled them to slaughter even Half-Demon Peak Experts with effort enough, and though they should have long since surpassed the limits of their endurance and Cores, they continued unleashing scything whirlwinds and scintillating bursts of scorching light to clear whole swathes of the Enemy from the battlements. Sweet and reckless Lin-Lin saw this as an opportunity to flit between her two sister wives, making her way to and fro without a care in the world as if strolling through a peaceful park rather than a tumultuous battlefield. Luckily, she had enough powerful guardians to keep her safe and an inborne strength even Baatar dared not underestimate, but his orders and pleas that she return to the safety of the animal carts went unheeded. Unanswered too, because the silly girl still had yet to figure out how to use Sending, and she’d picked up little Rain’s habit of preferring to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. Young Ancestral Beast though she might be, it was far too dangerous for her to be ambling about the battlefield without a care in the world, but she continued to do so with a look of quiet determination and there was nothing Baatar could do to stop her.

Much as he loved his daughter-in-laws, they were formidable talents who thrived in massed warfare like the siege here today. As such, he was most concerned for his youngest sister Li-Li, who was no less capable or talented than little sister Mila, but Li-Li’s talents lay in single combat rather than one against many. Especially when outnumbered by foes who surpassed her in strength and skill, for she was a proponent of Brother Du’s Martial lineage which placed great emphasis on a single powerful Warrior overcoming multiple weaker opponents in a series of successive one-on-one duels. Despite having risen to the challenge and displaying a level of skill approaching Peak Expert, every single opponent in this overwhelming Half-Demon army could match a Peak Expert at the very least. Thus, all little sister Li-Li could do was endure as best she could, fighting defensively save to strike whenever the opportunity presented itself, all the while single-handedly holding back the mountainous tide of Emotional Aura bearing down upon them. Should she fall, then Shi Bei was lost, so in light of this, Baatar had already dispatched six Peak Experts to bolster little sister Li-Li’s position, which combined with the guardians Mother and Father set up for her and little sister Sumila meant they were as safe as could be on this battlefield.

So not at all safe, or even close to it, merely with a better chance than most of surviving to the inevitably bitter end.

Shaking off the subtle touch of doubt and apprehension, Baatar refocused on the fight before him, but it wasn’t long before fear’s icy grasp clutched his heart once again and his attention turned to the one person he’d avoided looking at all along. There his precious daughter stood with spear in hand, a woman grown and parent herself, but in his eyes, she would forever be a little girl, one whom he loved and adored with all his heart. Despite being stronger than his daughter-in-laws and infinitely close to becoming a Peak Expert herself, Baatar feared for the girl’s safety more than he would ever dare to admit. That’s why he convinced her to ride with his Iron Banner instead of joining the Sentinels outright, not just so she could get to know Gerel better, but also so that he could keep an eye on her in battle if a conflict should ever crop up. While being a Sentinel under Mother was undoubtedly safer, Baatar couldn’t bear the thought of the girl riding into any battle without him there to support her, not for those first few years at least, and though he thought he’d long since gotten over this fear, it still made him sick to his stomach to see her struggle against her foes.

Six times now, she’d taken injury and fallen back, six grievous wounds that left her leathers tattered and bloodied, but the girl took great pride in her little brother’s achievements and had long since mastered the art of Healing through Panacea. A boon, most would think, since it meant she could quickly recover from almost any injury so long as she was conscious and possessed Chi enough to Heal it, but here in Shi Bei, it also meant she went right back to fighting as soon as her grievous wounds were Healed. Not a single soldier could be spared to stand idle today, but even if they could, the girl shared his love of battle and bloodshed, for she too was a Warrior born. There she stood amongst the ranks of soldiers, wielding her spear with the grace and precision of her mother to unleash powerful killing blows the way he’d taught her, the best of Baatar and his mountain rose bundled up into one, single, phenomenal person. To think, it was just over thirty years ago when he first learned how to swaddle her, because only then would she allow him to hold her close without screaming her little lungs out all night. Those were difficult days back then, yet he cherished those memories most of all, memories of peering into her beautiful little eyes as she held his finger in her tiny hands and nodded off to sleep in his embrace. She’d been so small back then, yet so fierce and intractable, a firebrand of a baby who ran wild as soon as she could stand. Much as he wished he could’ve been there for little Rain at this same time in his life, Baatar would forever cherish the memories of little Alsantset as a baby while never desiring to go back to them in reality.

And now his baby girl was fighting against powerful Peak Expert Half-Demons, and he wanted nothing more than to Cloud-Step to her side and slaughter the scoundrels who dared bully his precious daughter.

Pride and concern ate away at his focus, a distraction he could not afford in a duel of this calibre, and one his foe made good use of. A deadly thrust came lancing towards him, one he responded to by blocking with the haft of the Crescent Moon as he’d done three times before. As spear met bardiche however, Ankhbayar Amplified his attack in a feat of timing and precision few could match. Timing one’s Amplification to point of impact was simple enough, merely a matter of practicing one single movement until you got the feeling just right, and then doing the same for another movement, and then another, and another until you learned how to gauge the timing for any and all attacks. What Ankhbayar did here was match the timing of his Amplification to Baatar’s presumed reaction, a far more difficult feat had he not all but announced his reaction beforehand by allowing himself to fall into a predictable routine.

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The force of impact drove the air out of his lungs as his arms faltered before his foe’s attack, only for him to move his upper body on instinct alone and narrowly avoid death. The blade of the spear kissed the skin of his neck, and Baatar had no choice but to fall back before Ankhbayar’s renewed offensive and turn his attention back to the duel at hand. The younger Warrior was nothing like his father, who fought in a wild, erratic, but undeniably effective manner. Instead, Ankhbayar’s style was more similar to Baatar’s, so full of vim and vigour used to overpower and overwhelm, a compelling and dominant style he’d mastered all by himself. Add in his nigh-impenetrable Demonic armour and his powerful Half-Demon allies supporting him from all sides, and Baatar knew not how to defeat his foe, much less swing the battle in Imperial favour and eke out a victory whilst overlooking the precipice of defeat. With Mother and Colonel General Nian Zu busy battling Divinities after Shattering the Void and little Rain snatched away by Zhen Shi, the burden of command fell upon Baatar’s shoulders and he knew something had to be done, but he knew not what to even try. Rally the troops morale in preparation of the devastating Emotional blow they were about to endure, but what could he do or say to inspire them so? Nothing, save to take the head of his foe and embark on a rampage against the Enemy Half-Demons, but he lacked the strength and ability to do so.

So all he could do was endure and delay for as long as he could, the feeble last struggles of a doomed man.

Their duel continued without rest as Baatar’s strength flagged and his spirits dipped, until a call sounded off in the distance. A low and resounding echo, powerful but too distant to truly make out, yet it pierced through the clamour of steel and screams to drive straight to the forefront of Baatar’s attention. Then, it sounded again, only closer this time, and his spirits rose even as he strained his ears to better parse it. The third time he heard it, he identified the sound immediately, yet he still doubted his ears because he could not understand how this could be, but the fourth time the noise sounded there was no denying it any longer. This was the unmistakable baying of a hound, a deep and resonant call from afar, but this was no mere wild mutt or even a brave sheepdog willing to face down wildcats and wolves. The slow, thunderous barks were not short, but not overly long either, nothing like the terse warnings of street dogs or the booming alert of the sheep dog, but more akin to a crisp and abbreviated howl to herald the arrival of what surely was the king of all canines. There was no anger in the call, no hatred to be found, only a palpable sense of adventure and excitement that bordered on the extreme to the point where Baatar’s wolf tail was eagerly wagging in anticipation.

This was an Orated call to action and declaration of intent, a promise made in affirmation of the oncoming hunt, one which would end only when their appetite was sated and their foes scattered to the winds and beyond.

The message contained within the baying calls reminded Baatar of that which drove him to pursue the Martial Path, the need for excitement and accomplishment that made it impossible for him to sit idle and still. The difference was that this was not built upon a foundation of murderous intent, for this was no call to violence or bloodshed, but rather one of pure excitement and anticipation alone, without any darker emotions to taint it. A child’s voracious desire for sweets, that’s what it reminded him most of, a ravenous greed and gluttony without limit and not a single care in the world for the consequences. Never before had Baatar experienced such unmitigated excitement, not even in his youth, and the emotions lit a fire in his belly and burned away all his fear and apprehension as he let loose with a wordless, bloodthirsty howl in response. The hunt was already on, that was the message he meant to convey, so hurry and join before it was too late.

A reply which drew out Baatar’s emotions and shared them with all who could hear him, and his Aura burst out to meet the crushing doubt and despair emanating from his foes around him. An Emotional Aura of passion and excitement, one which contained the very essence of his love for the Martial Path, one which kindled the courage and bolstered the fortitude of the heroes fighting alongside him. The weight of the Enemy’s Aura threatened to overwhelm him where he stood, a mountain of emotion dragging him down from all sides, and his admiration for little sister Li-Li grew as he came to appreciate the burden she’d been carrying all by her lonesome. A wisp of his Aura went out to her, sharing with his little sister the pride and love he had for her, but that was all he could spare before devoting all his strength to fending off the Enemy once more. The fervor of excitement burning hot in his chest, Baatar raised his weapon and brought it down against his foe’s raised spear, but this time it was Ankhbayar’s arms which faltered and failed. The Crescent Moon hammered home against the traitor’s armoured chest, raising sparks without leaving so much as a single scratch, but Baatar simply followed through and brought his weapon around for a second attack. Then a third, and fourth, as he performed Bear’s Standing Fury, smashing his foe left, then right, then left again until he finally broke through Ankhbayar’s guard to land a direct hit against his torso.

A honed blow to surpass all others, one which bit deep, sent a spray of sickly Ichor out into the air, and saw a feral grin stretch across Baatar’s face. “Heroes of the Empire,” he bellowed, infusing his voice with Chi, “Fight on! Rend flesh! Break bone! Bring Death to the Enemy, and victory is ours!”

Ten thousand voices took up his call in reply, speaking with one voice as they chanted, “Victory and Death!” Hardly the words he would have used, but now was not the time to quibble, for the message itself mattered little. Not only was Baatar’s Aura bolstering their spirits, but it was clear he was not the only one affected by the mysterious baying of this hound, so they could have raised a cry to almost anything and it would still have ignited their spirits. In the span of a second, the stalwart soldiers of Shi Bei rallied their courage and fought with renewed vigour on the battlefield as more and more of them took up the strange and easily misunderstood call. “Victory and Death!”

Those same words left his lips without him even realizing it until after the fact as he brought the Crescent Moon to bear against his foe. There was no finesse, no subtlety, only power and determination both, for he had courage and conviction aplenty thanks to the mysterious hound’s call, one he suspected might well have been the guttural utterance of a Divinity. A neutral party perhaps, such as the Sire or Dam of the two distinct half-dog’s Ral and Chey, or possibly another hound-like Divinity who’d learned how to harness the power of Emotional Aura. Whoever it was, their intervention was most timely indeed, and Baatar looked forward to meeting them in person to offer his thanks.

That would come later though, because for now, he had a battle to enjoy and perhaps even win, but it had yet to be determined if it was victory or death which awaited him in the end.

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The call sent a jolt down his spine and set his body to trembling, for laced within this howling proclaimation was a question only he could hear.

Not a question so much in words, like a Sending inquiring as to his intentions. No, this was something far more primal and instinctive, a question delivered not to his mind, but to his heart and spirit instead. One he’d heard countless times before, yet one he could not remember ever hearing, for it was not a call he’d been blessed to receive in this life, but the last. Tears sprang to his eyes as a deluge of emotions awoke from within, ones he’d long since forgotten here in the twilight of his life. It was love, but not of that between a man and a woman, or even two men or two women if that was what you preferred. Nor was it the love of a parent and child, a pair of siblings, or even close comrades who shared weal and woe all their lives. This was a love more basic and all-encompassing, a love based upon a more fundamental need than lust or companionship, but rather on the mere act of survival alone. A partnership of sorts, a call to arms in a manner of speaking, but these human words were unable to do the bond true justice, yet words were all the wolf had.

For he had never truly had a pack to call his own, and now he was being called to join one.

That was the question he heard within the call, one which could be summarized as, “Pack?” There was nothing else attached to the query, no demand for authority or expectations placed upon the invitation, no promise of rewards or embellishment to persuade, only an honest, guileless appeal to work together in this hunt, and for all hunts thereafter. The details were non-existent, the specifics left to fate, and the wolf would have rejected it without a second thought had it come from anyone else, but there was something about this call that spoke to the beast inside him and told him that whoever it was making this offer could be trusted without doubt. There was no basis for this trust, but he believed in it with all his heart, so he responded to the call with a baying howl of his own, one filled with a youthful exuberance he’d not felt in centuries, if not millennia though he knew not how long he’d truly lived.

“Pack,” was his reply, in similar vein to the succinct query, and though he was unable to filter out all his doubts and concerns, the other party accepted him without question.

There was no hesitation or misgiving in the acceptance, not even a word of encouragement or gratitude in reply, only a deluge of pure, unmitigated love and excitement that made the wolf feel ten-thousand years younger. No, not just feel, but become, for laced within the wordless and soundless reply was the very Energy of the Heavens themselves, bound in a package of what the boy called Life Force and more that breathed new life into the wolf’s old and ailing body. Gone was the weight upon his shoulders and the hitch lodged deep within his upper spine, while the tension in his hips abated and left him breathless with surprise. The swelling in his ankles, knees, elbows, and fingers floated away on the wind, and his eyes grew sharp and clear as the vivid scent of the battlefield sharpened to levels unmatched in memory. This was a power beyond the wolf’s comprehension, beyond anything he’d ever even imagined before, yet his packmate had presented him with this princely gift without question for no reason other than to welcome him into the pack.

Truly a packmate worth having, and the wolf raised his voice in a second howl as he set upon the Demonic Divinities with a strength and vigour he’d not felt in far too long to remember.

A smash of his claws threatened to bring Heavens Wrath down upon him, but his Domain Materialized to reinforce reality around them as his heart soared in glee and bloodlust both. There were no words to describe how he felt right now, no memories to compare or contrast it with, not because he felt so youthful and carefree, but because the hunt was finally on. A lone wolf stalks his prey and might well bring it down without aid, but this was no true hunt, for there were too many risks to fully enjoy the thrill of the chase. That was the true nature of a wolf, to track and pursue their prey across open fields and dense forests until they could run no more, only for their pack members to take up the hunt. Then, when their prey was tired and spent, they would work together to close in for the kill, a hunt which was as safe as could be in the uncertain world they resided in. This was something he’d been missing all his life, the deep-seated desire which drove him into the arms of a woman every so often when it grew too strong to resist. Even though he knew that siring a child would only end in disappointment, he still hoped for the best each time because he desperately desired a pack to hunt alongside, so that he would no longer have to face this tiresome world all by his lonesome.

His pups weren’t a bad sort by and large, and he was proud of them all in his own way, but no matter how much he tried to love and accept them, they were, in the end, still pups. They possessed potential, but none ever managed to reach a point where they could hunt with the wolf, nor did any of them ever come close. While he had Wu Kong, Machali, Ling Lu, and the others, they were not truly a pack, for they did not understand what he himself had only just comprehended about his compulsion to find companionship. A pack wasn’t about making friends and building bonds, or even finding a lover to spend his long life with, but about safety, security, and companionship while they progressed through life side by side as comrades, family, friends, and more. That’s what it meant to have a pack, to share all weal and woe without hesitation, yet their group of gathered Divinities in the Saint’s Tribulations Mountains was based on mutual benefit. Were this not the case, there would be no need to concern himself about what would happen to the other Divinities after his passing, no reason to thank the Heavens for the little doe’s Ascension, since it meant he now had someone to pass along the mantle of leadership. If they were truly a pack, he could’ve sat back and rested easy knowing they would figure it all out themselves, when in truth, they were liable to fracture and scatter soon after his death.

Which meant the wolf had run alone for the vast majority of his life, but at least now he would have someone to run with for what little time he had left.

Hence why he fought with such reckless abandon, launching himself at no less than five Demonic Divinities who’d been keeping him in check for too long, because powerful as his new pack-mate might be, his skills surely lay in Healing and support. As such, the wolf was determined to be the fangs and fury for them both, which was only right given how his counterpart was likely an Ancestral Dog, though it was unlikely to be either of the ones he already knew of. Both men and dumb as a bag of bricks, but his new packmate seemed sharp enough given how –

The thought froze in the wolf’s mind as a tiny bundle of brown fur and floppy ears threw itself into the fray without warning, his jaws snapping at an unprecedented rate as he gobbled up a Demonic Divinity in the blink of an eye. In his surprise, the wolf’s punch missed his target, not because his aim was off or the Demon dodged, but rather because his opponent had fled for dear life. Licking his chops with spirited greed, the tiny brown dog turned its gaze upon the wolf and huffed in displeasure, a muted, compressed heave of derision as if to ask, “Why didn’t you keep them from running?”

…Because the wolf thought he would be the fang and fury, while his new packmate would support him from the side, but it would appear that he had their roles reversed, and it was he who would play the role of support.

To a small, brown-furred, brown-eyed, floppy-eared, saggy-skinned dog, who quite literally had no balls. What manner of monster had robbed this creature of his testicles and turned him into a eunuch? And how could this wild dog have grown so powerful without anyone’s notice? A Divine turtle emerging from the Azure Sea was one thing, but this hound was less than twenty kilograms and looked like easy prey for anything or anyone with teeth. Most importantly of all, where did it learn to devour a Demonic Divinity, and why was it willing to help them in their fight?

A question asked and partially answered when he saw the boy’s rabbit hopping through the air to make its way to the hound’s side.

So this dog was another one of the boy’s pets? Should’ve guessed from the way it Devoured the Demon, but when did he adopt it? A powerful, Divine dog at that, though the wolf was only guessing. Had he not just seen the hound gobble down a Demonic Divinity for himself, he would have thought this creature nothing more than a sorry excuse for a failed wolf, one he wouldn’t think twice about throwing into his stew pot for dinner. A good thing he didn’t try, because having experienced the hound’s power first-hand, he could only hope that his pack-mate’s appetite was limited to Demonic Divinities and didn’t carry over to proper Divinities as well.

“Woof,” the hound exclaimed, a truncated statement teeming with judgement and disapproval as he urged the wolf to action. Another call to action demanding he lead the hunt and distract the prey so the hound could swoop in for the kill. At least the eunuch was generous, passing over another portion of Heavenly Energy, Life Force, and more, though far less than before. Or perhaps it only felt that way because the wolf had been revitalized so thoroughly by the first, making this subsequent infusion of power so much less effective. Either way, his diminutive but highly capable packmate was fast losing patience with his lack of haste, so the wolf threw himself back into the fray with a howl of unmitigated glee. The closest opponents were the three Demonic Divinities laying siege to the doe, who fought them off with the skill and competence of an Ancestral Beast thrice her age.

Which was why he picked her, since he knew how she thought and fought, and thus could use this to keep their foes corralled. “Pin the left one,” he Sent, while bringing down his claws to rend and tear the middle Demon apart, knowing full well the doe was smart enough to avoid the splash of Ichor. What he failed to account for however was his new packmate’s ignorance as he dove in with a howl of mournful fury to stand between the Demon and the doe. The wolf’s claws ripped his target’s arm from its socket, but rather than seize this opportunity to Devour the Demon, the hound instead Devoured the Ichor to protect the doe, who had already moved out of the arc. Luckily for them, her pointy spear axe slowed her foe long enough for the hound to Devour it as well, which made for a highly unsettling sight as the tiny hound’s floppy jowls and ears flapped about in the wind while his wild eyes went wide with glee and greed.

And when the second Demonic Divinity was dead and gone, the hound licked its chops once more and gave the wolf a look of pure derision before turning to the doe with a fawning gaze, his tail wagging so hard the entire back half of his body wiggled about while he pressed his shoulders into her ankles and yipped and yelped up a storm, simultaneously begging for forgiveness and proclaiming his love, respect, and affection to the one he saw as pack leader.

Why was the hound so sweet and deferential to the doe, yet so rude to the wolf? They were packmates, while she was merely a newly ascended Divinity, a powerful and talented one, but still raw as could be. Shooting the doe an inquiring gaze, the wolf wanted to know if she recognized the hound, but she seemed even more confused than he. “When did little Rain tame a hound?” she murmured, echoing his earlier sentiments, “And how is it able to Devour Demons?”

A full second passed as the hound continued his gleeful greeting, then another, and a third before the doe’s patience came to an end. “Enough,” she said, somewhat gently yet still lacking patience as she commanded, “Go Devour another Demon.”

And to the wolf’s great surprise, the hound snapped to attention and ran off, stopping only to turn and bark at the wolf to reprimand him for moving too slowly. Stifling a sigh of indignation, the wolf followed the hound’s heels and threw himself at yet another Demonic Divinity, wondering just where in the pecking order did he stand in the eyes of his new packmate. Even if the hound was powerful and capable, the wolf was no mere cabbage, so would it really be so terrible to give a little face and treat him with at least a modicum of respect?

Baying Hound Loud Video

Chapter Meme 1

Chapter Meme 2

Chapter Meme 3