It is best to describe the body of the soul that called itself Mal, as a shared thing. Once perhaps the curse of the Wolf had been a part of him. Though long ago, in his attempts to kill the creature that he must drown time and again, it had pulled away from him. It had made itself its own form of primal soul. When one of them was killed, the body would heal, and the other, be it creature or man, would open its eyes to the world again.

And yet?
The Raven had failed in its task.
Stopped as it may be by one who Huginn adores, failed all the same. The soul of Mal had looked at him, called him turkey, and tapped the forehead of the shared vessel. An understanding was reached. An agreement was made. A promise broken.

So, in that driver seat still, the creature that at these times only resembled aspects of canine rode. It was down, but not out.

Time slips away while we slumber, exhausted, or harmed. So too was it with the Wolf. Though, like a soft distant star, a pinprick of light in the distance. The bare requirements for the term awareness was there, just out of its reach. Soon it would come around. Soon it would open its eyes and tear apart anything close by. 

Soon.

Maybe there was just enough strength in him for the moment, or maybe it was the sounds of voices conversing after the situation was done, or maybe it was none of those things. As if in drunken slumber, a sleepwalker's action, the shared form that was once Mal reached out for that pinprick of awareness. As if on instinct alone, hand closed in all of its unawareness, merely a soft squeeze upon that which it unknowing found. 

Huginn, the black winged one, had his ankle attached to what felt like claws. It was soft, but even the pressure of only slight pushing in, without pain one could easily tell what that shape was. Though eyes play tricks do they not? Even human tricksters called magicians can fool a glance or observation. By the time the Raven would look down, there would only be that human looking hand upon him. Even in that brief span though, there would only be the sight of it losing its grip and falling back down into the blackness with whatever hope the Wolf had in waking up in this very second.


Though a second Fellow Traveler, or even fractions of one, are enough time to change worlds.

Ponder this.
A creature made by an unnatural curse, comes into contact with a very wounded, very angry, and very powerful ball of energy strong enough to shape giants made of cities. Like currents wanting to pull you under, the power of it felt natural, consuming, and spreading.

This was not a case of unstoppable force meeting an unyielding shield.
Nor was this a fight of light or dark, for what the Wolf was and what Nature herself was are in ways similar. Compound this new information, to the information that the Wolf was its own creature. It had needed to adapt to magical assaults that Mal had put against it. It had needed to evolve as chemicals and brew were pumped into its system in attempts to poison it like a cancer.

Now a new force was needed to change against.
Naturally unnatural, against natural Nature. 

Creature. Wolf.
It is called Kerebos.
It is called Cerberus. 

And yet, it has never spoken a name for itself.
The thought struck the soul in the calm darkness between awareness and dreams.
What a funny thing that is.
Not to have a name.

I? I. Me.
Who am I?

Vel

The name is short, like a growl underneath the breath. Even by lettering it, if one were so inclined, the V pleasingly looks like a simple interpretation of a fang doesn’t it? Yes.

I am Vel.
It occurred like a lightning bolt of revelation to the once unnamed creature.

In this place inside its own mind, for in many ways in this moment he was simply floating there like an untethered astronaut witnessing the birth of a new galaxy, Vel turned his gaze out across the blackness, and noticed a removed piece of the darkness. A separate thing almost perfectly round and black against the empty nothing behind it. It wasn’t something, no, Vel knew it now.

It was an eye.
A raven’s eye.

Gravity struck, Vel was falling. Suddenly as if pulling and being pulled into a black hole, time ellipsed itself backwards. So many moments Huginn had lived, and now Vel was tumbling through them. 

Nature adapts just as unnaturally nature does. It changes, evolves, grows. The mixture of it would impart new flaws, vulnerabilities, and of course strengths.

To learn. 

Vel learned about Huginn without even knowing he could learn. Absorb, one could argue, would be a better term to define it with, but it doesn’t matter the name. It matters that Vel could now do it.

From a tree, Huginn had watched a god hang himself.
From loyalty and love, Huginn had served dependable and true.

The Raven once circled the crown of Odin himself, and Vel saw it all. The adoption to the Wolf’s existence had not changed emotion, or so it would seem as of yet. So, a thing called a monster learned from these slide show images, but there were some notes that it could not take. It did not understand certain aspects of the foolishness of love, or understanding. Yet, Odin had been a bit of a trickster had He not?

Vel knew of trickery, of traps, and of waiting in the darkness.
Vel learned now about disguises. About making yourself appear to be something you are not, to gain favor, to gain trust, to gain an opportunity. Yes, Vel had never thought of a raven's tricks, but now? 

Hazel, no, oak brown eyes opened to the world once more. Whatever puddles of black came off the form that had covered the body, had long since vanished. Not in steam or crawling motion, but just one moment gone. Doubt anyone saw it happen, for things like that it was made of waiting till others turned their attention. 

The body was still in control of Vel, but my o’ my didn’t it just simply look like Mal? That was the easy part, because it was Mal, or at least Mal was the original owner. All Vel had to do was keep his own face from showing. Had to be tricky, like a trickster God. The Wolf was new to this game though, where Mal  had always been slow in his motions, not truely careful simply moving with all the time he had (which if you haven’t caught on yet, seemed to be all of it). 

For the sake of clarity of what others would see, for now let’s just say Mal sat up, almost suddenly. Eyes were not as gentle as they normally were, and that half smile often the man wore just tucked there at the right edge of his mouth was gone. Though how could they know? How could they expect?

Attention moved along the screen that was the world around him, in one easy sweep, before dark circles of pupils narrowed upon Huginn. Knowing without knowing that a Wolf had gotten the Raven’s once master. O’ how hard it was not to smile with a sharp toothed grin at that fact, but Vel managed to keep the impulse in check.

 Out of sheer habit alone, it almost made a mistake. Vel almost spoke in the voice of twenty four victims it had claimed, but Mal wouldn’t have done that. No, Mal would check on the situation like a good little soldier wouldn’t he?

He was getting at this pretending thing. Vel was proud of himself.
Pride. That’s a funny thing.

“It over?”

Without complaint of body, Vel piloted this weaker form with practiced ease. The man, or what appeared to be stood up in one almost practiced like motion. One smooth motion. That wasn’t his only mistake he was about to make either, because while there was pride, and patting himself on the back…

Pride comes before the downfall.

As if to check for a bullet hole in the forehead, the index finger, not claw, was lifted to the forehead of Mal’s skull. Eyes flicked to Huginn once more after the best inspection one could manage without a mirror.

“Thank you for not killing me again I ‘suppose.”

Oh that was close to right wasn’t it? Almost playful. Though when had Mal ever been that with the Raven? There was no condescending tone either. It was earnest, or trying to be one could suppose.

Nostrils flared softly and his attention went to the armless woman, the pilot of the city golem. A shake of his head as now, free from that cocoon of power, her scent was clear as day. So was the magnesium, and the wound of her arm.

Vel knew that, what was it? Had encountered a few of those shells fired at him in its time. Now knew the name for them, and spoke again knowing the cause well.

“Breath shells. Hunter.”

It didn’t occur to Vel that it was the same hunter. He was still learning. Just so many interactions with James, Vel simply assumed all hunters were hot and heavy for anything that sets stuff on fire. Truth be told, humans really did like their flames didn’t they? Huh. That’s kind of a bit funny as well wasn’t it Vel?

Hands moved down to brush against his now damaged shirt. Well damn near tattered shirt, but Mel wouldn’t admit that.

“And you owe me a new one.”
Again, joking, almost friendly. Just another member of the team.Right?

Right?

Test. To its own mind it thought it was doing flawlessly. It wanted to know if everything was correct that he saw. That playful Wolf nature, for they do have them even the monstrous versions, also wanted to see the reaction.

“Fit perfectly..” 
Still griping about his shirt of course.
“.. and wasn’t cheap. Was made by some company called Woðinz I think.”
The name was flawless off Mal’s tongue, because the Raven could say it just as clearly. Huginn had become his mentor, teacher, and so a style of communication before a language, a proto language as scholars call it, left Mal’s mouth.

The company that Vel had just made up, had the Proto-Norse name for Odin.

Did the Raven look as he was there just ‘grumbling’ off to the side? Did for a fraction of a second he notice a Wolfish smile? Maybe it was just his nature to smirk or smile right? Maybe it was indeed just some company. Who knew? They had known the man for what? An hour? Maybe two?

Though that was the point of pretending wasn’t it?
To see how far you can wear the mask.
To see just how good of an actor you could become.

Yes, teacher, mentor, Raven, Thought, servant….
You have failed.

Because you should have pulled the trigger.

Somewhere, as the soul of Vel smiled inwardly…
… the soul of Mal drowned beneath waves.

A Wolf in man’s clothing was born, made, evolved, grew, and had its birthday today.

Someone's garden had been destroyed, or maybe it was simply a window box, but in his inspection of his tattered garments, Mal, or what appeared to be him, pulled a small purple flower from his ear. Oak eyes looked at it, studied it, before hand closed over to crush and throw it away.

“What now?”