The Wolf's attack was relentless, as steady and as unyielding as the encroaching winter cold. Even injured as it was, Fate could not stop it, only slow it. Magical shields crumbled under the torrent of blows that the Wolf would deliver, breaking under heavy sweeps of bestial arms. Nature had created the Wolf to hunt, and no force in the universe could stop it after it had scented it's prey. Not the half remembered memories of friendship, not the begging of Fate, not the man within Fenrir, desperately trying to wrest control back from the Wolf. This would end only one way. . .
You are a monster. We know it, you know it. Why fight it?
The last magical shield shattered into a million brilliant specs of light that danced in the air, a beautiful yet grim juxtaposition for the ugly savagery that caused it. Fate was spent, the Wolf wasting no time in pressing home its advantage. The pain the Wolf was suffering was still clouding it's mind, a Godsend for Fate as the bestial monstrosity ignored a kill strike, the big lupine head darting forward, heavy jaws clamping down on the sorcerers arm with bone-crunching force. Fate's pained screams rang out, echoing through the base that was now strangely silent. The man trapped within the Wolf railed against his constraints placed upon him by the beast, desperate to regain control of his shared conscience before it was too late for his friend. Before it was too late for him.
The jaws tightened. Fate screamed louder. Only one way this could end. Have to fight it.
The screams stopped suddenly, the Wolf's jaws meeting a strange resistance, as if it was no longer in full control. The beast, releasing it's hold on Fate's arm, tried to claw wildly but it's limbs felt heavy and leaden. The Wolf, unused to being denied, began to lash out ever more wildly, struggling to comprehend why it wasn't moving as it should. Slowly a brilliant gold light enveloped him, its limbs now refusing to move at all. The pain from its wounds began to disappear, but the Wolf did not calm. It was afraid of what this portended. Animals have a heightened awareness of all things mystical and It realised quicker than the man what was happening. Then the voice thundered inside his head.
You are lucky Magnus Boyle. Lucky my host has petitioned for your life. I would have put you down, as one should when confronted with a rabid dog.
Magnus. A name he hadn't used in so long. . . so very, very long. But who was this strange, booming voice in his head, and how they know who he was? The only people who knew that Magnus was Fenrir were either long dead or disappeared into the wind, hiding from their crimes and the repercussions that would surely follow them. He didn't get very long to ponder this though, as the golden light blanketing him intensified, and with it an indescribable feeling of relief, like the feeling of finally managing to scratch and itch that had been tormenting you for weeks. The light shone so bright that the Wolfman felt that he was blind. He tried to raise his hand to his face but he couldn't even see that. A strange sensation tickled his spine, his legs, his arms, his entire body.
Slowly the light dimmed, and as it decreased his vision returned, not that he believed his eyes. His hand, still held in front of his face, was not the one that he remembered. Long, clawed hands had been replaced by soft pinkish ones, the fingers long and strong. He looked down in disbelief to see normal human legs leading to normal human feet.
I. . . I don't believe it. . .
His wonderment was short lived though, after he spotted the prone form of Fate. The former Wolfman fell to his comrades side, the horrible realisation that it was his fault chasing away his short-lived joy at his new found humanity.
"Fate. . . " He whispered, a cold dread gripping him "Fate" More forcibly now, but still no response.
"Somebody help. HELP!"
You are a monster. We know it, you know it. Why fight it?
The last magical shield shattered into a million brilliant specs of light that danced in the air, a beautiful yet grim juxtaposition for the ugly savagery that caused it. Fate was spent, the Wolf wasting no time in pressing home its advantage. The pain the Wolf was suffering was still clouding it's mind, a Godsend for Fate as the bestial monstrosity ignored a kill strike, the big lupine head darting forward, heavy jaws clamping down on the sorcerers arm with bone-crunching force. Fate's pained screams rang out, echoing through the base that was now strangely silent. The man trapped within the Wolf railed against his constraints placed upon him by the beast, desperate to regain control of his shared conscience before it was too late for his friend. Before it was too late for him.
The jaws tightened. Fate screamed louder. Only one way this could end. Have to fight it.
The screams stopped suddenly, the Wolf's jaws meeting a strange resistance, as if it was no longer in full control. The beast, releasing it's hold on Fate's arm, tried to claw wildly but it's limbs felt heavy and leaden. The Wolf, unused to being denied, began to lash out ever more wildly, struggling to comprehend why it wasn't moving as it should. Slowly a brilliant gold light enveloped him, its limbs now refusing to move at all. The pain from its wounds began to disappear, but the Wolf did not calm. It was afraid of what this portended. Animals have a heightened awareness of all things mystical and It realised quicker than the man what was happening. Then the voice thundered inside his head.
You are lucky Magnus Boyle. Lucky my host has petitioned for your life. I would have put you down, as one should when confronted with a rabid dog.
Magnus. A name he hadn't used in so long. . . so very, very long. But who was this strange, booming voice in his head, and how they know who he was? The only people who knew that Magnus was Fenrir were either long dead or disappeared into the wind, hiding from their crimes and the repercussions that would surely follow them. He didn't get very long to ponder this though, as the golden light blanketing him intensified, and with it an indescribable feeling of relief, like the feeling of finally managing to scratch and itch that had been tormenting you for weeks. The light shone so bright that the Wolfman felt that he was blind. He tried to raise his hand to his face but he couldn't even see that. A strange sensation tickled his spine, his legs, his arms, his entire body.
Slowly the light dimmed, and as it decreased his vision returned, not that he believed his eyes. His hand, still held in front of his face, was not the one that he remembered. Long, clawed hands had been replaced by soft pinkish ones, the fingers long and strong. He looked down in disbelief to see normal human legs leading to normal human feet.
I. . . I don't believe it. . .
His wonderment was short lived though, after he spotted the prone form of Fate. The former Wolfman fell to his comrades side, the horrible realisation that it was his fault chasing away his short-lived joy at his new found humanity.
"Fate. . . " He whispered, a cold dread gripping him "Fate" More forcibly now, but still no response.
"Somebody help. HELP!"