Lighthouse

Wolf in City of Glass

The air was pungent with a sickly sweet smell, and the impact of those pale yellow dust clouds dried to a clog at the back of the throat. Because of these notes, a Wolf, by the truest form of the word as they mean it, was awoken by his own coughing fit. Do not let the human form fool you, it was unequivocally a Werewolf, the blood tests showed that. There in the center of that pale yellow cloud, it was bound at the wrists and ankles. Entrapped by cuffs, that seemed more military grade then police sanctioned, Trial subject (T.S. for short) one-three-two struggled weakly against the bonds. The Subject’s head swayed backwards as if the back of the skull suddenly became heavier than the male used to. Thirties, pale skin, dilation of pupils, and more interesting notes could be taken, but let’s see…

A second form parted through that sickly yellow off coloration to the reality of this place. In the all but mist form, just barely visible like pollen in a breeze, the haze shifted, flowed, and a man stepped out from it. Every motion he made seemed to spin the mist, the haze, the pollen, the shifting sway… swirls, and counter swirls played like sprites among the man’s actions.

A penlight, clicked on, blinded the Wolf-still as a man, and showed directly into the right eye and then the left.

Drugged.
The Wolf was in no position to even remember his own name.
So, let’s call him Matthew shall we?
Though it made it easier to describe the man…

..two hundred and one pounds, six two, strong, brown eyes, brown hair, no physical deformities, numerous tattoos cataloged below…

That part of the information didn’t matter to the one with the penlight.

Meet Doctor Alan McVarrie.
Some might say that the man was very good at what he does.

Blue gloved latex hands were in the Wolf’s vision. One held up an index finger, and moved lift and right across his viewpoint. The other one held that penlight, its shining eye looking into his like a captured star. McVarrie wore that mask, had Matthew seen it before somewhere? He’s sure he had. The memory though was … misty, foggy, swaying, just out of reach in that yellow.

Matthew could hear the man breathing behind that tinted respirator mask, but couldn’t see his eyes. It reminded him of something… huffff…hisss… huff….hisss… That’s what it was! The Wolf tried to laugh when the connection to Darth Vader was made. Like a drunkard at a bar, who thought his own passing of gas was funny, one-three-two swayed to the side to laugh. Yes, twice now it was mentioned. To laugh, tried to laugh, but not laugh. The man couldn’t. Something bit the back of his throat again, and repeated a coughing fit. A symptom that did not bring Doctor McVarrie worry, but knew enough to step back from Matthew politely.
So much damn pollen, or sand in the air or something, Matthew found his mind trying to reason with the situation. Tried to take a deep breath, to pull in even a single lungful of air. It felt like fire coursing down along his nose, the back of his throat, something was wrong.

Do you want to know one of the largest flaws with humanity?
Just ask the Doctor, and he will tell you from behind his mask.

Each cycle of breathing…
Huff….hiss….

It’s that we’ve forgotten the old ways, where we have come from. Take one of the simplest living creatures on this plant, a lowly plant. There are giant corpse flowers that stink to high heaven, but send out their scent to insects to trick for miles. Various species of venus fly traps have sticky tendrils of the inside to lather things to trap, pull anything it can into those closing jaws. Even lowly grass can generate their own protection through their blades like wax, and weather hurricanes tearing above them.

Yes, there’s many advantages they have, but they could not bargain.
They couldn’t ask a favor of ‘Hey, look, I know you're hungry but how about not eating me’?

And yet, from the very dawn of time when roots first spread, these simple things… plants… were masters of chemical warfare.

So what better way of making a better wolf trap, or in this case a biological agent which could take care of the problem with little to no involvement, then to look back. To look at the masters that first were here.

Though, like he said, it’s that humanity has abandoned its old ways, a bit odd to hear that from someone who considers himself a technophile, but that’s what humans were. They were walking and talking contradictions. Only real reason we’re talking about the Doctor is because he was smart, clever, and ohhhh so very good at what he does.

The restraints, military grade or no, couldn’t withhold the sudden burst of muscle. Certainly the chair he was on, just one of those cheap half metal office types, snapped like a twig. It would seem though that

One-three-two as projected was caught between transformation as was intended. Misshapen, mutated, and useless limbs pawing at the air. Feeble cries of lungs that were part human, part wolf, weezed trying to get a single part of any air it could.

The Doctor in the tinted respirator mask watched with interest.

The yellow mist seemed to swirl like laughter, like a crown above the Doctor’s head as if proclaiming him a saint. Though those hallucinations should begin to stop soon, as should the pain numbing effect. This wasn’t the lets test us a new formula for the first time kind of day. No Fellow Traveler, Doctor had been working on this project for some time. Instinctual panic was triggered by the lack of oxygen due to the build up of the pollen refined toxin, and the enzyme inhibitor damped the bodies ability to regenerate, leaving a between stage, or rather leaving T.S. stuck in between stages. They would be no threat to the agents while they were thus hindered, and if agents wanted to come watch the beast die?

Well look at that… right on time…

It started slow. Just one speck of yellow died from the air, and dropped to the floor like a grain of sand. Then another, then another, and one witnessed what it was like to be in an hourglass. The entire tint, every little granular, suddenly died and fell. Yet, they did not puddle, they did not remain. They vanished. Poof.

Alan McVarrie behind his mask watched.
Huff…hiss…

Even when the Biological Agent had dissipated in the air, the man kept it on.
Huff…hiss…

Down upon his haunches, beside the half puddle, half formed of that creature that wasn’t a pretty running in the moonlight kind of werewolf. No, this is more like that old scifi classic the fly. The Wolf was without fur and pink bright new flesh across bald body. Skull neither round or elongated, or even symmetrical.

The Doctor took mental notes, but never once turned that tinted respirator mask away, only that shield of yellow hiding his eyes.
Huff Hiss….

The Doctor
Alan.
Dr. McVarrie.

The man who was very good at what he does.

There are a lot of names for him, but his favorite name for himself was always…
Pox.

The man tapped the bud of the device lodged in his own ear.
“Alexa? Play Experience by Ludivico’s.”

So, let’s turn away for a moment, Fellow Traveler, and allow the Doctor in yellow to collect his samples. You need not watch what parts he takes, or what fluids he jabs a sample tube into. Pox wasn’t your typical hunter, never had been. It wasn’t about killing them, it was about the work. Making something stronger, more potent, and refined. It was art. Art so beautiful it could destroy the unnatural. Human against Gods, what an orchestral ring don’t you think?

And yes, Pox was an equal opportunity love machine.

He had potions for vampires, perfumes for mermaids, darts for nagas, and so many more fun venomous things. Toxins, poisons, chemicals, interactions, biological agents… Oh, if Doc-Mc-Twisted over there knew we were talking about such things? Well, certainly he would have a shiver up his spine of pleasure.

So, let’s speed up time a bit.
Let’s leave him to his work.
Because tomorrow? Well tomorrow….

The ever so busy Doctor got a phone call. He had an hour and half before the boss was sending out a team. Now, normally Pox would ignore such intelligence, samples were easy enough to collect on his own, but the words ‘after Cerberus’ is what caught his attention.

Alan had read that file. Files were important. Information was important. And that? Well that was reported to be a rather unique specimen was it not? Yes, he didn’t have any samples of that one did he? Besides, the saying was ‘If you want something done right, do it yourself.’.

Pox obliged this old truth. He would do it himself.

A prepared man has to wait for nothing.
There were several pre packed bags awaiting Pox, but just wait, we’ll touch on those more.

So, spin the time forward, watch him walk out the door, spin it forward… skip to the next major interaction.

The pilot was doing the walkthrough of his plane, jerking to a stop when he realized there was a man already sitting there in one of the passenger seats. Potential danger is something a pilot like he knew, perhaps even a hunter himself, but this was relieved when Alan introduced himself. Flat tones of the Doctor’s voice almost made it sound like something was off about the man. Definitely human, but with a machine-like quality all the same. It was an uncanny valley to which could put anyone aware of monsters on their razor's edge of alarm.

Though I’ll be damned, the pilot thought, once he hung up the phone to verify everything that Alan had told him. Fine whatever. Get paid either way.

“Want me to store that for you?”
The pilot motioned towards the strange, yellow as a raincoat slick plastic bag that sat almost clutched on the passengers lap.

“No thank you.”
A momentary pause as if considering the horror of being parted from it.
“This is my magical mystery murder bag. I need it nearby.”

For a long moment, several, or many, the pilot looked at the Doctor’s face to watch for a crack of a smile or laugh. Nope, the almost now creepy bastard just was deadpan, looking right back at the pilot as if that statement made any sense whatsoever. Yeah, whatever. Freak.

Alan just turned forward in his seat, ending the conversation, with that deadpan expression forward. People confused him. Poisons? Not so much.

Maybe it was the phone call to make sure this odd duck already on the plane was legitimate. Maybe someone tipped her off. Or maybe it was a complete surprise.

Doctor Alan McVarrie saw the woman the moment she stepped onto the plane. Pox was a toymaker, a damn good one, and he didn’t work for anyone. The Doctor worked for himself, because he gave results. The man delivered what people were promised. Like a network of roots, influence, power, and funds flowed. Though Alan never carried a lick about any of that. It was work. Always the work.

Sound familiar?
How that drive make a person a hunter?
Don't those goals sound the same?

Almost sounds like James does it not?
Funny that.

His head swiveled towards her the moment she came into view on the plane, his eyes weren’t yellow like the visor of that modified respirator he wore at times, but they were the color of gentle skies. Of peace. Of calming skies over waters so deep there’s no waves on the surface. Troubles could break over no shallows in them.

Emotions, stripped from their depths, leaving only the purpose.

“I am going with you.”
He announced as his hands tightened slightly on the handle of that strange bag he held on his lap. Though the next part was almost recited from a script, the Doctor meant no harm. It was malice in that tone, just not understanding what it was to have a loss. Though is that not what was expected of him to say? In the least, in his own limited way, Alan meant it.
“I am sorry for your loss.”

Spin that wheel forward, backwards, sideways or hell have fun with yourself… spin it diagonally. That would be interesting wouldn’t it?

Because we skip across distance, time, and because gods are apparently real…
We also skip across perception.

Because what was Mal supposed to do with all this? Was it real? Yes, again they had power, they were terrifying in many respects. While the Doctor we were just talking about wasn’t able to feel these things, they were there at first for Mal. They just… I suppose one could say that they were burned.

Though yes. Retreat sounded good for now, but nope shouldn’t think of it that way should we Mal? Because… gods don’t do that right.

A finger jerked at the servant bird.
“I guess if all of this is true, it means I punched a millennium old creature, right in the nose.”
A slight half grin.
“Gotta admit, that’s pretty cool, score one for the home team.”

Three shifted to one, his eyes carefully hearing at full power.
Leveling half the damn city wasn’t full power?
Right. Careful now Fool, insult no deity. If what they say is true…

There may be answers to questions he could not find clues to.

Vel whispers through those bonds. Through not Mal but to the one who tied him so. Did she still hear him, or did all three now? Was it venom Vel was trying to mix in the well?

-You can not trust him. A cottonmouth serpent suddenly lunged out from tall grass near a river. Not rattlesnakes, no no. Those give warnings. You can not trust him.-

Though it sounded like an earnest comment did it not?

Mal, and the contained Vel, followed suit.
Part of the crew.
Bound by Gods.
Tied by the Fates that they cursed.

Fun.

Wolf in City of Glass

There is always much to say when your mind is shaped in the ways, tribulations, and stories to which Mal’s was. There was always much to think, when you thought around the corners, sharp edges, and pitfalls to which held the man fast. Though all of these details, every single one, seemed to simply flutter away upon the colored wings of butterflies as food presented itself. There was no hesitation, nor suffrage of the thought of poison. Not for Mal. It was an animals nature to survive, and the amount of fat stores in his body were limited.

Even more so now that it had been burnt by the Wolf.

One could assume the man felt no pain with how he so casually injured himself at times. One would also be forgiven for thinking the same about Vel, but the body had nerves all the same. It had innards just like any others, and of course this included a stomach. A stomach that felt like an endless void with the unending hunger caused by overuse.

Meat. Protein.
These were the subjects at hand that replaced all thoughts, and already had the man settled up to the table. Fork, or knife? Forget that mess. Already broad fingers, that could impart artistic ability upon page, were implemented in a much more gruesome task. They tore thick chunks of charcoaled flesh from bone, and slipped bites into his mouth. No no, he did not ‘wolf’ it down, but neither did his manners seem to match the bow that he had given before.

For the vision of it, assume a noble trapped at sea, trapped away from any food for days on end. This is how such a man would eat, even if there was an apology in his eyes. In Mal’s case there was no such loss of dignity in his gaze, because he had been through this before. Perhaps not with magic, ravens, or goddesses, but waking up to unimaginable hunger? Yes, Mal had been on this exact spot before.

Besides, if the woman wanted to poison him, that too wouldn’t be the first time.

Only when the coarse edges of that fire was defeated, a slab of meat already having vanished to produce such a minor effect, those oak colored eyes dark in their woodland gaze, turned to the woman who wished to have a chat.

A Fool. The kind with the capital F. The kind which sings to Kings, and makes Queens laugh. Not a gesture, believe it or not that was a different breed despite what romanced novels of the past would tell you. Most royalty kept fools, because there was a legend that it kept their employers humble. The Fool’s would insult the divine providence of their birth. Would mock the kingdom, its knights, and its nobles.

A Fool was there to tell the truth, and avoid having his head removed.
A bright colored, bell wearing, Jesters were just there to fart out songs and provide… poorly in most cases… physical comedy.

It was those eyes, the eyes of a Fool, to which sat now upon one of the three. Not a silly dancing clown in makeup, but one that should be ignored with more powerful beings around. One that just made jokes, pointed as they are, but of no high order. No high order indeed, but there was a truth there. A truth that Mal was trying to think how to gloss over.

“I am at your ….” A small bit of meat plopped into his mouth, out of the corner of his mouth the man finished after a swallow. “...service. Sorry, you really wouldn’t believe what it’s like sometimes. Least it doesn’t go straight to my hips right?”

Humor masks many things in life. A common tactic to even those of this day and age of towering cities of glass like this. This too hid a truth, small as it was, a small fragment of concern in his attention towards the now sleeping Turkey-servant-raven-bird-man-thing. Though that truth was hidden as it was mentioned. Was the worry for the creature? Or was that worry because it had mentioned ‘friends’ whispering in its head? Quite the concern turn of events, even for the man who held a key to the jail cell of a beast.

No mention of it though, at least not verbally, as now… while still digging into his first meal all day, his attention seemed scattered. To the other two ladies, a glistening finger still dipped in fats from the feast, motioned between them.

“From what I’m getting, I’ve just been served dinner by the Fates. I have Yatagarasu himself over there pissed off at me.”

Another large bit of food was placed into his mouth, this time the man actually seemed to chew, and thoughtfully so.

“Can’t be that. Yatagarasu was supposed to have three legs, wasn't he? And while I haven’t seen him without his pants, that one doesn’t quite give off that kind of energy.”

Talking, being a fool, twisting words… buying himself time.

It wasn’t like Mal could just talk to Vel. Not in the way that the Wolf had done so with Hugie-poo-dearest, but they were both in the same boat. They could feel each other rocking it side to side. The boat tonight Fellow Traveler? The boat tonight felt like it was going to capsize, and neither one blamed the other for the action.

Their world had been about each other for so long, and now they were dead center in something that was well beyond grasp. While Vel just wanted to prove himself, tear apart them to feast upon the exposed marrow of the power, Mal wasn’t liking this. While the Wolf had fundamentally changed due to their interactions, now it was the human’s turn to evolve as well. Funny part is, people like Mal? They don’t change easily. They don’t WANT to change. They dug their heels in the ground, shook their head, crossed their arm and announced themselves with ‘NOPE’.

Yes, even a Fool could be a fool.

There was no burp, Mal was never so crude as that, but leaning back from the table now his belly did look a size larger already. For only that moment he let himself show through, let his gaze turn hard as a cliff face, seemingly impossible without the right climbing gear, and none here looked like they knew how to freehand such an expedition. It wasn’t a cruel look, or even a threat, it simply was a mountain, one which people had tried to claim long before he ever met this little band of people.

It was gone though, hidden right back behind that mask of slight smile.

“I mean no offense, no jealousy, or misplaced anger, but yes, let’s talk. Your magic, all of your magic are impressive.”

He gave an offering of a nod towards the ladies who could put a bird to sleep with a wave of their hand. They could pull demons from the chests of men in the form of globs, and that's another thing he’ll touch on in a minute. Give Mal a second, may not be his birthday but the man was… oh what's the term the kids use these days? Yes, Mal was cooking.

“But let’s be honest. Enough with the bullcrap. You’re no more the fates, or gods, then the turkey is his name sake. Thor hammering on his forge is simply thunder, electrical discharges in the air. The crossed god of Christianity was just a magician who pulled off some party tricks. Took humanity a long time, but they’re finally starting to come around to the fact that power and the idea of gods are two very different things.”

This was said matter-o-factly, and funny enough it was said in the tone of scripture, of absolute truth that required a man to have faith in it. It was fundamental to his thoughts, his belief, his slow way of life.

“I don’t know what allows some to use magic, while those like me have to bribe others to use it, but I know no matter the price I’ve never found a single mage who could summon a God. Never been struck down while I stood underneath storms and taunted the face of the storm.”

Shaking his head, almost sounding a bit defeated there.

“Arabeth believed in ‘your kind’. Prayed to nature itself. Trust me, she was almost a druid herself, the humor of that never has left me.”

Now that stone look was back in his eyes as he looked to Babd, eyes narrow, and almost threatening. No longer just something of natural height that could be crossed, but a demon at those gates…daring…tempting Babd to try to open this door.

“And do you know how her god repaid her faith? Her loyalty? Sent a small army of men like me to kill her family. Made her fall in love with an idiot, who could never tell her that he himself was part of that raid. Hell, the Wolf ripped off her head and used it like a puppet to taunt her child. Damn beast has shown me that fun little tidbit of information more than a dozen times over the years.”

Tearing idly one last piece of meal from the feast, Mal looked at it, decided he was no longer hungry, and set it back down.

“So, how about we start with this? What’s your name? Your -real- name instead of this mythological bullcrap that everyones taken a sip of like some poisoned Kool Aid? Because I’m not buying it. I’ll call you Queen. I’ll call you Goddess if that really is what floats your boat, but how about just this once, for all of my undue pain and suffering… I get some real answers? I’m really, really, really, tired of how people with magic talk like fortune cookies, circles, or riddles.”

His hands folded on the table before him, his attention seeking towards the woman who only had one arm now. Then it switched to the sleeping Raven. Each one in turn he looked at studied.

Oh, it made even more sense now, didn’t it Fellow Traveler?
Why he was so calm about things?
A person walking through a Anime convention didn’t believe they were really surrounded by monsters. No matter how good the costumes are, there was always that knowledge that they were just people behind masks. Powerful people perhaps. Ones with tricks, gadgets and many kinds of fabric to dress in, but make believe…was make believe to the man.

He’s seen it with religion.
He’s seen it with poets, actors, and bards.
He’s seen the birth of movies, Elvis, and so many others.

Faith is a word that is reborn every ten years or so, and so was the word ‘God’.
God of Thunder? God of rock and roll.

It’s all the same thing. Just meant someone with a great deal of influence, and Mal? Mal was tired of being influenced.

“Don’t have any Pepsi to go with dinner do you?”
The Fool again played to keep the mood light.
The Foolish smile again to show that he was no threat or villain.

At least… not a villain yet.

Wolf in City of Glass

Moods, ideas, and even concepts can be described in colors. Isn’t it a common thing to say that green is the color of greed? Red is passion, lust, an emotion whelming over someone till all they can do is breath in the perfume? Yes, colors seem to matter in the perceptions of humanity, and so why would we ignore such a topic. Was Mal not a man? The Wolf was a creature sure, still nameless far as the self proclaimed fool knew, but this sort of behavior?

No. This required working with people one could suppose, and that wasn’t something Mal was keen on at all. Lost, perhaps not in the drowning cage to which just a little time before he had emerged from, but lost all the same. It could make a man on edge, even if it was a slow snailed pace mindset.

Mal brushed his hands off first, then would almost casually brush aside that spear that sat before his face. The Bird-boy wannabe was saying something, but not a damn word of it was under….
….did that feather-brained-hollow-boned-piece-of-shit….
…call me a pup?

Stomach grumbled as loudly as the storm cloud that seemed to hang above him. There was no gentle thunder in his voice, nor agitation, but the moisture was in the air, Fellow Traveler. It wasn’t bound to rain, no not that, it was bound to become a god damned bar room brawl. Sure, they had their magics, their little trinkets, but Mal? Mal was a god damned expert at being drunk, and punching people in the face while drunk.

Narrow little window in the resume that never really comes up, but it was there.

Of course Mal seemed at ease, bastard always seemed to be. To some it was confidence, to some it was stupidity, while the truth perhaps was in between. They always forget to add in the fact that it wasn’t only a cliff Mal had jumped off. Like a Raven knew, it grew tiresome this game, and without knowing the others thoughts they both agreed. He was tired of it all. Very tired of it all.

Upward the man stood, hands brushing down across tattered pants, a huff about his shirt though nothing said of it. Look how close Val was to the truth of it. Almost perfect, not bad for his first swing no?

It was when a question was asked of him. That ‘Tell us about your Wolf’, that jaw clenched. The man tried to keep temper in check, and showed little visible sign of agitation. Now that? Get insulted by her as well?

His finger shot up, holding up a single finger, the index. The man wasn’t going to be that crude as to use the middle on in addressing what just bound Vel. Bound them in truth. Not on his soul no, but it still restricted him.

“First of all, it’s not my Wolf.”

Purple. Yes, the color of purple sat in the air like a scent. Deep, ominous, almost confusing black, but not quite. There was enough of that pigment in his mood to almost look dangerous. To slide near the shadows, but never quite commit.

A tightrope act, yes.
The color purple.

“Secondly.”

Like a dutiful little digit it was, middle finger joined index, merely making the number he was on. The left hand was on display, but the right suddenly punched out. It wasn’t a full, swing your hips into it and through punch, it was more of a ‘I’m going to fuck up your day and break your nose’ type of jab. It was aimed true, the crunching of knuckles, his own, stated that his aim was good.

“Fuck you. What do you call yourselves? The Bird Man Group? I mean Sod this mate..”
The accent was as good as any Wolf could mimic from memory.
“..I get thrown in front of a car. Thrown down a damn hole.Mocked. All I did was try to be the good guy for maybe the fifth time in my life. I mean, seriously, which God did I have the displeasure of pissing in their shoes. And you want to know about me?”

Chest rose and a childish huff came out, looking at the Furry-wannabe-bird-man-thing.
“Hey I’m sorry, I…”
His head held low, humility there, then suddenly his fist flew out again in an exact jab.
“Fuck you.”

Like an upset teenager Mal stormed off, half a shoe still on his foot kicking at a rock to send it skittering across the pavement. Oh, he was still grumbling, growling, moving away, but not for long. It was like having a chain wrapped in your hair, or a cat suddenly pulling on your beard. No, the chain wasn’t attached to him, it almost felt like Mal could rip it out. Though it was the pain, the sudden jerk, the man’s feet shot out from below him. Neck jerking back, and landing flat there with the wind knocked out of him.

“Burgers. Yes, with a big ol’ onion. That’ll teach them.”
Hands tucked themselves up under his head, looking up at the sky since he was here anyway.
“Nope. Gona have to buy me dinner, and tell me what your deal is now. Even slit my own throat for these people. Definitely not feeling very appreciated in this whole matter. No appreciation. No burgers. Sure as hell no bacon around here either. Woulda…”

There is a voice.
A howl.
A little whispering scratch of spider legs near your ear.
It’s that sensation of something crawling on you.
That sooner or later it will find its way in.
It wasn’t Mal who was feeling it, and I can not say that the Raven felt it. That would be up to his perception. That would be his test to cross. Though there we Vel with a new playtoy, and all the time in the world. Sooner or later it wasn’t the only thread the Wolf would find. I know it. He knows it, and don’t you know it too?

Can’t you just feel those tiny little hairs moving like a cancer's promise?
Can’t you taste the heated breath at the edge of the other closed doors?
Little bird. Little bird. Let me in.

Though it was not silent in all things, for it spoke, yes indeed. Because it wasn’t a mind that played chess, or grew plans, but because it understood a few words. Petty Vengeance being on that list.

-Ask him-
That voice in the mind that was not Mal’s. A voice of cool certainty of a witness. It was Vel, his growling voice.
-about a woman named …-

It slithered, it slides, behind his eyes just out of view. Though it was there, or perhaps if you wanted the honest truth, a part was now inside the Wolf. It was not Vel’s fault. It was his, but what seemed like a pause… listen close dear servant of Gods. Can’t you hear him all but shuffling papers in his mind? Could this possibly not work both ways?

That smile, that one he was sure to have, locked away or not, hissed the lane through teeth, but it was not the voice of a Wolf.

It was the voice of a single woman. One who had tears in her voice.
-Arabeth. Ask him about me Huginn. Arabeth, and wipe that smile right off his face.-

Crawling, slithering, stalking, stopped. Retreated. But it was there, shining eyes not in the dark, but rather places lit up by thoughts. Inside. He is him. Him is he.

I can leave whenever I want.
Are you sure about that?
Are you sure that’s the truth anymore?

But the answer has changed to Nevermore you cocky bastard, but none of this is said. No, like a miasma, the color purple simply seeped into the corner of the Raven’s attention now. Waiting. Watching.

It would seem like Mal was simply going to lay there, be stubborn, childish, but it only took him a minute or two. A heavy sigh announcing the change of pattern in him.

“Long time ago”
His head tilted towards them.
“Well, long time ago for me, I was raised like many were at the time. What people call orphanages today. If your family didn’t have money, and your pa’h got shipped off to war? As I might add, it was a common thing those days. Getting money became signing up with the local troops. Signing up with them got me into killing. Killing got me noticed.”

He sat up again, using the flats of his hands to push himself back further away from that line that had yanked him. Mal was smart enough to at least consider the possibility his leash was within a radius, and didn’t feel like having his neck yanked again.

“This was back in the day where a bounty or thousands of crowns would be a reward for bringing you practitioners of magic to heel.”

That voice changed again, as if it wasn’t intentional this time. As if Mal was right back in court, vest on, shiny boots a’ shining.

“Wasn’t anything personal, just orders, and let’s be honest here… It was also a fear well earned. Local lands getting robbed, we find the location, it’s some cave that some druids thought of like a church. Half my unit didn’t want to go, but wanna know what’s even scarier than myths told from one stupid man to another? That’s the certainty that the Noble in charge of your fate is a moron, childish, and happy to do away with any commoner.”

Oh? Mirroring here? Was his eyes accusing the group of something… like throwing a mortal in front of a car?

“So we went, but not all of us came back. It wasn’t a bandit fort, it was two men. Just two.”

Holding up that V of a peace sign again, a wink at the Raven if he was available. Last time Mal had done that, he put the period right on the bird-brains fucking nose.

“Two men that turned into nothing like I’ve ever seen. Tore through almost everyone. Some of us … well we came out just a little bit different from the whole ordeal. Wouldn’t you say?”

Just a teaser, a little appetizer for them, because Mal was a generous person. They sure as hell don’t treat their prisoners right. No appreciation or Burgers! Can you believe that shit?

Purple was not a color to describe Vel anymore.
There was no sign of hiding, like almost an old friend the Wolf had pushed himself before beside Huginn, listening to that story that fell from Mal’s lips. Red. Pure fucking red was the color of that creature now.

Rage Red.

Like a roommate who just went a bit crazy, the Raven could almost hear the crashing sound of furniture being torn apart in the apartment next door. Like a renter at a motel, the once servant of Odin could hear the snapping, snarling, of a lunatic.

And could hear the words…
…No…
I’ll do you one better.

Huginn could hear the Wolf song.

There is a forest, a place of dappled greens. Sharp reds of cardinals danced through the limbs of nearby oak trees, and the blues of Jays winged by in sudden splashes. A place like this no longer existed, but even back then, this place was remote, removed, safe from Empires. The people here worshiped the world, the core of it, the reaching of the branches, and the budding of acorns. Nature Fellow Traveler, in all her masks, glories, and fundamentals.

The Wolf sang of it, knew of it. Watched it burn.

Burn it did, great gouts of sweeping fire. Heresy. Witches, Warlocks and Demons! Men on horses in bright colors of houses, and shiny self important armors, rode through the heathens and cut them down. Footsoldiers, long spears, glaves, things meant to keep creatures at bay, stabbed, slashed, laughed.

Only two of the heretics survived.
Brothers.

Once this place was lush and budding with life, only now stood a charcoal forest. They moved to the sacred cave. They asked the spirit to help them. To give them the strength to return the balance. To renew this land, and make peace with it.

Their prayers were not answered.

They offered the sacrifice of goats, chickens, animals they could have used to fill their own bellies.

Their prayers were not answered.

There was no balance left in one of the brothers. There was no calm. No peace. There wasn’t anything left. Just emptiness, detachment, and abandonment of faith. There was just surrender to the hopeless nameless god that does nothing but laugh at humanity.

Though it wasn’t any of these in the end.

It was Vengeance which left patches of frost in the cave where it stepped. It was the promise to be able to hunt them to the ends of the world. To track them. To tear them apart. To hound them like Wolves.

It was that one brother who turned, and in the end turned his brother.
It was the day that Vel was born.

The Curse. Isn’t that how they saw it? A curse of the Wolf? A thing? It had learned it had a name, but call it what you like.

Though Vel knew the truth, and so did now the Raven.

It wasn’t a curse. It was a blessing. It would turn back the tide of Humanity. Look at what they have wrought, o’ brother of the forest. No more green, just filthy cities. Look at how it is, but you know this lesson. Two brothers gave up their souls, because the monsters had already won.

Let me out.

A heavy sigh from Mal, looking at them expectantly.
“You can move cities, but can’t start grills around here. Tsk.”

Wolf in City of Glass

Perhaps it was long ago, or maybe even yesterday, but think back Fellow Traveler. Think back to a time when you were a child. That swing that you had ridden before is calling. There it glimmers in the sun just waiting. This time though, you find there is more strength in your body than before. You push those legs harder, and pull against the bindings as you’ve never before.

Higher Fellow Traveler, you can go higher and you know it.
So you do.

What became of that moment? That slip, fall, bump, bruise, or skinned knee? Knowledge came from that did it not? The learnt restraint of pain, of failure, of simply biting off more than you can chew.

So, while yes, Vel is certainly at fault, do not blame him too much.
It was his first time on a swing, and he had fallen.

There was no awareness of this at first, but cast free without the wings of a Raven, certainly Vel was falling. Right into a trap, they would most likely say later. Pat themselves on the back, and of course dutiful Memory would give the Ladies praise. Starting to think of that one as a bit of a lap dog. Though regardless, back to the moment at hand, as a feather… even if it was not his best… was handed to the Wolf in Man’s clothing.

There was no hiding it, the Lady had not arrived as of yet. There was almost a Wolf-song in the air. Stories like vivid ribbons of color, steam, coming off him but almost is a word that sides with cation does it not? These urges were repressed. The feather lifted before his eye by the quill, a slow turn of inspection in his gaze.

It didn’t matter the protections that were on it, or even the magic, such words or concerns were still beyond the young mind that was Vel. Though it learns fast does it not? Too fast for comfort I’m afraid as well. No, this insignificant, or at least the most insignificant of the lot of the bird was handed to Vel. Even if just a grain of sand… by putting that part… that feather into his mouth….

…crunching the hardness like a vein at the center…

… the Wolf was devouring the servant. Vel was getting a taste of it. The body looked the winged one right in the eyes as Vel puppetted it forward.
No fear now as the Lady dropped from the heavens, nor any fear expressed at the ease to which she cleaned off the gore. No, fear came to the Wolf in that kiss, because the woman didn’t just stroll into Vel’s mind, like a tidal wave she came crashing in. Call it what you will, but it feels like batteries in your blood discharging. It burns, bites, and tightens muscles instantly. Can’t even use the word surge, as that seems woefully inadequate to such an experience.

It hurt though. That is close to accurate at least. The experience hurt badly. One of the worser details is that the touch wasn’t like what had happened before. No, before he was falling down through a linear line. This? This was being pulled apart by every angle. Drowned and set on fire at the same time. It was oxymoronic but Vel didn’t have that term.

So, just note, even an unnatural creature was forced to think…
This feels wrong.

She found a man locked away within a cage at the bottom of the sea. Saltwater manipulation was one way of putting it sure, another was sheer need. Can’t just normally think a Wolf to death, but that’s where the world unnatural came from. Being as powerful as Babd was, it would be clear. This place had never needed to be guarded, warded, or protected. This was just a place for them… salt water… and why salt water?

It was meaningful yes, but as if offering at least a little resistance, the Wolf was tightening his grasp the best it could. Not wishing her to know the meaning. Didn’t want that memory played. The Goddess would win eventually, but not at this moment. Not in her confusion and unfamiliar battle ground.

Mal, the man in the cage, turned his head towards her. Opened his mouth and bubbles escaped, drifting up like lost screams. His eyes fervently went back to the way he was facing. In the distance shadows below the water. Shadows of something scything through humanity like it was harvest time.

He wanted to save them. He had felt Vel inside of himself. Had tried jumping off a cliff before it was too late. But it was the Wolf who opened his eyes at the bottom of the ravine.

The man in the cage drowned.
A moment later he jerked back to life, and saw her.
Mouth opened to scream, sending bubbles to rise.
His attention moved to the shadows.
The man in the cage drowned. A moment later he jerked back to life, and saw her.Mouth opened to scream, sending bubbles to rise.His attention moved to the shadows.The man in the cage drowned. A moment later he jerked back to life, and saw her.Mouth opened to scream, sending bubbles to rise.His attention moved to the shadows.

There was no sanity in this place, not even for someone who knew how to keep the pieces of himself together like Mal. Logic does not define many things, even if science tricks you into thinking that.

People like to say crazy is trying things expecting different results or something along that nonsense. What crazy really is? What fucked up really is? Take away the concept of reason. Take away the concept of purpose.

Answer every pain, sorrow, and death you cause with the words…
Because I can.

That wasn’t just Vel’s words, or belief system, but it was his very being. His birthright. His crown. And now? Now instantly the Wolf was taught the concept of can’t.

It can’t win against that force, at least not yet.
It can’t use the trick anymore either, because it was caught.

Simple as hearing someone open your front door, and walking through the place like they own it. There was Babd, inside his head, strolling on through and seeing it all. All he wanted was a kiss, but she had gone and mind…

Fine.
No more games.

Like a shell, a chitinous, thick hard form, furr at first burst out of him. Not through his skin, or his clothes, but as if it had always been there. Like some God somewhere picked up a pencil and suddenly drew over the image of Mal, because it had been there already hadn’t it? The Wolf never really went away. It stretched its form against the restraints, growled, teeth slashed in chomps in the air. Twenty four other faces, a wolf each, pushing out against his arms, neck, chest, but full form could not be taken.

No, the Goddess was an expert, and poor, innocent, never done anything wrong in his life Vel gave up after a moment.

Not because he was frustrated, though he was, nor was it to pout like a child, because he felt that too, but rather because there was time. Forever bound? Oh, but I was already forever bound. This way, I have a chance to learn. I have a chance to absorb, take. You are right dear Goddess, endless time for you to make mistakes. Even Deities fall, don’t they?

Oh, and speaking of which.
Eyes, clearer than they’ve ever been before, knew something didn’t they Huggin? Certainly a black winged creature like yourself could see the shine there, like a lost bit of jewelry in the shallow parts of the pool.

“No matter what she tells you.”
The order to get the gun was given.
“She’s the one who used her tongue first. Like raspberries and ash by the way, since you always wondered what she tasted like.”

You’ll be coming out again, she said, and his eyes… green eyes now, no need to hide, stared at her. Those words sounded like trickery, like taunting, for Vel knew no other names to call them by. So, if that was the case, why did he pause so? Why did a monster look now at a woman who would do this to him?

The assailant was not stopped.
So Vel looked up to the one with the gun, the would be black winged assassin, and smiled. A wave of ink and stark white over his face, but it wasn’t a Wolf’s face. No, it was the face of Odin as if painted on. A face Huggin would know well that greeted him as the trigger was pulled, a look of shock and surprise, of betrayal.

Body jerked to the side and landed against the ground like any other corpse. Black ink fluid splashing off of him in full. This clearly wasn’t like before, parts of him that even couldn’t be seen puddled like a tail near his legs. Claws that weren’t visible till the impact of that bullet to his cranium, showed like an outline in some cheap detective novel.

This time he wasn’t just down and out.
This time he was out, no third strike, walk to base nothing.
Back to the bullpen Vel.
Your turn to drown.
Nice try though. Nice try.

It wasn’t a titanic struggle, nor was it required to heal various parts of his body in rapid succession. All and all a brain injury was traumatic, but easy enough to fix. Large portions of bodies required more time, more fuel. This though would take only ten minutes. Ten minutes of Mal packing up his suitcase, moving out, so the Wolf could move right in and unpack.

Oak eyes opened lazily, the man stretched out, arms above his head, legs kicking out like he was on a mattress made for kings. Hand moved up to at first check his throat. Okay, good no wound. Now his inspection drifted up to the center of his forehead as the Wolf had done, checking for a hole there as well. Good, we’re in the clear.

Slowly Mal sat up from the ground, and felt the weight of something different. Like a collar, chains, restraints were buried inside his skin, the man reached out to try to look curiously. It was like a dragonfly's wing. There if you looked at it right, but even the slightest motion seemed to make it vanish.

Strange this.
A brow lifted, and the man who was indeed Mal, looked around the scene to the first person he could find.
“Does anyone want to explain what I missed? Don’t tell me I tried to hump someone’s leg. Last time it was just embarrassing.”

Do you want to know what’s dangerous about teaching things to communicate?
They might just do it.
What is this little thread here? This strand of power?
Let’s pluck it and find out.
Don’t you see Raven? You’re a part of me now, and I you.
You open a little doorway to the gods. Good Old Odin and now Her.
Want to know something I just learned?
I know where that door is now.

It wasn’t to Mal to which the Wolf spoke. Nor was it to the Lady. A voice, so very quiet at the moment. Just a hint of just loud it howled, Vel spoke quiet as a mouse behind Huggin’s eyes.

“What is it with gods thinking they can tie up Wolves? Didn’t end well with your original, won’t end well with her.”

Mal was still looking around confused, and wasn't even looking at Huggin. Didn’t even seem to make any sense that it came from that direction. Though the Wolf was in there, that much you can be certain of. Tucked at the moment inside that box, but it spoke all the same. It spoke directly through that feather that now was part of him.

“Also when’s dinner?” Mal ended with.

Wolf in City of Glass

Oak eyes closed, blinked, shielded themselves away from the chaos around him. The slight thrum against his temples, stress perhaps? Headache, the word came to him on the throbbing sensation. Yes, a thing not used to by any measure, and of course the source of such a plight was the acting. It was -easy- to rip, chew, slash right through, but this? This was stressful boys and girls. This wasn’t as fun as one thought at first, but then…

Perhaps Vel used that low count of brain cells creatures show at times. As if the idea just struck him, and in truth it did, a quizzical look on his face.

Mozart, well, reportedly is a good example of what happened.

They would always dim the lights before the orchestra played. The young music lord to be, thought it was to make the colors brighter. You see, he had a condition known as synesthesia, where different vibrations and tones pitch colors to the brain. Mozart didn’t know that everyone else couldn’t see them. It surprised him in fact to learn that others couldn’t, and that the lights dimmed merely to focus people's attention.

Vel was surprised that not everyone else could smell the magnesium.
Even further he was confused by the fact, if they wanted him, why not go get him?

Ah, I see.

There is no slow pace in grace, is there? Grace is rhythm, timing, not laziness. There was a warbeat in his movements. There was thunder in the quiet way that his paws… feet… moved across the concrete, not a single pebble daring to rattle away. Oh, it was human teeth that showed, but at least Vel kept himself from a glimpse of anything sharp. Traitorous oak eyes, that so very much wanted to be green or glowing gold, moved between the scenes till at last it settled upon Babd. To the Lady they rested, not hunted, nor threatened, but gentle soft above that honest smile.

A slight flourish and a mad hatter bow was given.

“From you a kiss and I’ll bring him to you, nary a hair touched on his pretty little head.”

Sweet smile for Babd became a sugar toothed half smirk, as casual gaze was sent to the Raven. Not a challenge, not mockery, but an animal taking a trophy from another. See, there was no challenge, or at least the Wolf thought. I know you now. I know your tricks, trickery, and soft spots.

I should end you right now, pest.
“Oh? And it will cost Huginn a feather as well.”

The Wolf stopped the body that once was Mal from its overly playful movements.
Don’t you see though? It was the opportunity to be himself. To get just a little bit of the steam pressure out of his skull. Though it wasn’t doubt which answered back to him in the Lady’s eyes. It was a contract nearly signed. Almost there Vel, he thought to himself now that he was able to clearly think to himself. Almost there.

“Complete annihilation it is.”

Vel saw it.
Tasted it on Babd’s gaze as she looked at him.
Contract signed.

“You and your sisters demolished an entire city, the least I can do is take care of an ant.”
Deal done.

There it is, right there if they knew. It was the body which remembered how to behave in a court. Vel didn’t ignore instinct, and now knew the value of other ways of thinking of things. Look at how courtly he was, a noble soldier.

“Just be mindful of that, it looks like a pregnant roller skate.”
Vel motioned with his index finger towards the mini-electric car parked there just on the side of the road. There was some rubble around it, but it was in no jeopardy of exploding.

And also it looks like what now?

Your attention was turned wasn’t it? You looked at that thing first before you asked the question about the joke. It was one of those thousands of magicians tricks humanity even from childhood seem to know. Remember that game? Isn’t that how cards transform from one into another? Don’t you hear the school yard bully all but singing ‘Haha made you look’?

Not hidden behind a curtain.
Not tucked inside a box one could stab swords through.

Do you remember how that puddle of black vanished when eyes weren’t on it?
That was because it was no longer needed here. No longer needed to be seen. So, it was gone. Now, Vel had no purpose to be here. Vel no longer needed to be seen. So, look away, Queen. Just over there sir Raven.

Deal is made. All that Vel needed to know.

Like a shadow when light is lifted to it.
Like a monster under the bed when the flashlight was turned on.

Vel, was gone.

Who was this man made of bats?
Why would something so odd be proud of him right now?
Such strange thoughts and memories the Wolf was finding in himself.
Vel wasn’t even sure why the event had such feelings of joy attached to duping them.

Don’t forget though.
Odin was a good teacher at times, wasn’t he Huginn?
Taught by a trickster God. Fun.
Not smashing through a giant golem kind of fun, but a different kind. A sneaky kind. A childish level of complexity, and that’s what made it so damned funny at times, wasn’t it Raven? Outsmarting mortals with stupidity. Why wouldn’t that be funny to a God of gods?

Gotcha!

---

Every hunter, no matter how arrogant, knows there is a chance that they’ll come up against something that puts them down. It could be a Wolf. Could be a parasite like a Vampire. Could be a walking, rather upset, woman made up cities like lego bricks. Thankfully he hadn’t stepped on any, but he sure as shit stepped into something hadn’t he?

Fear is something that pushes someone to be fast, to be quick, to do what needs to be done.
James ran, jacket with its magnesium scented jacket flapping in the wind.

This wasn’t the only place rented, a little roach hotel not far from here. The kind where a bright smile and fake identification was copied. The kind that didn’t mind him paying in cash. The kind people could vanish inside easily.

It didn’t take long to get there, ten minutes, fifteen?
The battle raging on in the distance, growing quieter, quieter… stopped.

Door was closed tight behind him, but James didn’t bother with the weak looking painted bronze chain that came standard in rooms like this. Nothing that possibly could have followed his wake would even notice something like that. Hurried, scared, but not panicked no… not that… the man dug beneath the bag to pull out a black duffel bag. Tools of the trade were on display inside in drop bag style jumble as the zipper was pulled free, but first thing done was to tuck that black little earbud into his right ear. Second was pushing a quick set of numbers into a burner phone.

“I know. I know”
From the bag another sawed off shotgun pulled, a clack of it opening, James making sure the telltale yellow marks of Dragon Breath shells were there. The sharp sound of it clacking closed followed by his next set of words.
“You hate it when I burn one of your voice mails like this. Whole hassle of having to set a new one up and all that.”
A knife, not smooth but with a wicked spear like indentation at the tip. It was divers who used such devices. After a good jab into an animal underwater, there was a little button right there near the thumb. A C02 cartridge in the handle would unleash, and the hidden channel would inflate the wound. Handy tool. Can really deter a shark, inflate a fish you want to the surface, or blow a big nasty hole in something above the surface.

“But this is one of those calls I guess. So, thanks. You are one of the people who get it.”

Yes, James had been a murderer, but that is killing people. How many nightmares had he slain? How many monsters who thought they could out monster humanity? That at least gets some respect in certain communities. Particularly since they never figured out just why he was so good at hunting. Contacts come with that territory doesn’t it? Even David had an army at his back when he slew Goliath. Some even had the pleasure of having friends. Some even have a Clarice to their Hannibal.

Somewhere between, was the ‘drop box’’s owner.
He knew the routine won't be listened to till some time tomorrow.
That is why he called it. That is why he left his Goodbye there.

A certain kind of people are called Hunters. You had to learn how to kill, all kinds of shit, to be able to use a name like that. It really took care of itself, either you ended up a corpse, or a hunter. There wasn’t any between for people who have scars. There wasn’t ever much of a hesitation when people like them asked, do you want to know the truth?

“I found him. I know, I know… “
The repeating of those words, like a nervous tick. ‘I know I know’.

“Moby, white whale, blah blah. There’s something else here. Something big here. It made some sort of giant out of the shit…”

A sigh, and the man just had to shake his head. Now his mind was allowing him to come to the terms of the truth to which he was telling the recording.

“I kid you not Wings”
His pet name for the receiver of this message
“It would swat Mothra. So be careful around these parts for a while.”

As if coming back to the reality of not life changing events, but rather getting moving or get ready for the dying, the man loaded a few more goodies into his belt line. Into that jacket that he next grumbled about.

“Ruined my good jacket, can you believe it? You never told me I looked good in it, but I know you thought so. Yeah, go ahead and admit it, I know you did.”

There wasn’t as much emotion in the man’s voice as there should be. Just flat tones of certainty. Yes, it took a certain kind of person to be a hunter.
You needed to be fucking stubborn and James was that.
Yes, James was that.

“I’m leaving you something. Rooms here for a week, 104. Treasures in the normal place, and the cards? I know you’ll check them, but they should be good for the month. Something's in the box, and no, it’s not an engagement ring. So don’t panic.”

His fingers took a second to run along the edge of several credit cards in a leather holder, but it lingered, stayed longer than it should have with that small jewelry box.

“First round is on me as usual, and I hope it’s at the bar while you’re playing this in my face. Calling me stupid and ordering another drink. ?You know me though. I’m that ‘hold my beer idiot’, and not even nuclear bombs and all that. Well, a cold one in hell doesn’t sound so bad either I guess.”

Do you remember that animals get distracted by phones? By their thoughts? By their own heads, and worst of all…
…the sound of their own voice?

James heard something, it wasn’t a step, or a crunch. It just was…quiet… as if the air had already been inhaled and left but a vacuum of tense anticipation.

“Gotta go, wish me luck.”

We learned earlier the man was good at this, turning, pulling a trigger with those almost trademarked sawed off shotguns with their specialized ammo.

Nothing was there.
No Wolf.
No giant.

No panic either, no not that.

A moment to calm the racing heart, James stashed the bag again below the bed.

He made it out to the parking lot, even managed to get the keys into the door of that stashed vehicle James was attempting to escape in. Change locations, but that hunch was correct. That feeling deep inside the feeling he wanted to deny was in truth perhaps that premonition good hunters get.

Today was the last day.

There was no turning. There was no shotgun blast. The voice was on the back of his neck, right there against him. Hot, heavy, wet, hungry words, that were the last things James heard.

---

How do you hunt something that was quite literally trained to slay Wolves?
Interesting isn’t it? A wolf asking that? But the answer was simple.
You don’t act like a Wolf.

No, Vel did not enter that room, though he could have.
That’s what a Wolf would do, and it would have netted him a fiery blast.
Instead a trick of the birds was used.

The Wolf waited, not just for the opportunity, but for Huginn to catch up.

Did the Raven notice the claw marks to where Mal had traveled? Or that it was as straight as, ahem, the crow flies? Come on now, get here already, the show is about to start.

Not from the dark places, but from the roof, there in the glaring sun to hide him… like a Hawk. Vel lept, soft as dreamless sleep, he landed behind the man.
That growling voice spoke.

“You smell like a Nelsen. Funny, killed a few of your family before. Don’t remember it being this easy.”

The back of the James’s head was seized, skull forced sharply forward with swift inhuman strength. Crunch. Both the side of the cars roof, and James’s face went. A dent in both, the human’s features, and the body of the red unignited car with peeling paint. Human’s were such fragile things. A gurgling sound, James wasn’t dead yet. Good.

Lifting him like a toy, a smashed, bleeding, limp toy by that grip that had yet to relinquish, Vel dragged the human off his feet. Held him high for Huginn to see. Vel grabbed the man's forearm, not by the wrist because that separates easier, and tore from James his limb. Like the hunter had taken from the Goddess? Demon? Walking city?

A tearing, bone snapping, tendon shredding sound. Wet. Red.
Gurgling screams.
The other arm.
More screaming gurgled, before trauma alone silenced James.
Again Vel tossed this bit of the hunter away without a thought.

Free hand, (that looked like a claw just for a moment there, didn’t it Huginn? ) dove into the hunters ruined jacket, as he hung there in the air. Vel found the tool of the trademark, that sawed off, that too smelled of magnesium. The Wolf pressed the barrow underneath the near-corpses chin, pressed it against the throat, pressed its form to aim at the spine.

“Obliteration.”

The Wolf whispered as if understanding the term for the first time, and pulled the trigger to send a spray of flame through. Severing spine. Searing flesh. Decapitating without claws or teeth.

Weight suddenly was a lot lighter. Only holding the head, but this too was dropped a moment later. A foot coming down, popping it like that one suicidal balloon at a party. It wasn’t to the gore, or the mess, or the pieces of James that Vel was looking once the red spray was out of the air. No, it didn't even matter to him now he seemed to be half covered in a new shade of red. Instead that hand, covered in drying fluid, reached up towards the distance between himself and Huginn.

No words needed, the statement clear…
Pay up.

Wolf in City of Glass

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?”

Wolf in City of Glass

Creatures such as this need not to sustain themselves through the use of devouring meat, vegetables, or other such trivial things. There were other feasts, darker meals to which should not be named in polite places. So, it was an odd feeling, but being creatures of flesh and blood, we would know a name for that sensation to which the Wolf began to suffer. It was a hidden heat, a spice, one which seemed to grow from the gut after putting a peppered meal down our gullets. It was a heat rising from below, to flush the face. It was a pepper’s oil lingering in our lips as second after second, the acidity of it began to tear through our systems.

It was the Wolf’s Bane, we know that, Mal knows that, but the Wolf? Well, all he knew was that sensation was growing, flowing, searing at the back of his throat.

That forward assault was halted upon the reaching out of the gigantic arm, and a backwards lunge scattered pebbles of concrete torn free by talon-like back paws.

What did you do? The Wolf asked inside himself, but only in the dark there found that Mal was smiling knowingly.

Though the call for battle could not allow for such a conversation to continue, and in truth one should expect the creature just to turn tail should they not? Yet, this city is where it was bound, neither by Mal or its own will. Something was here, and wherever the Wolf was, well that was its kingdom was it not? So yes, it does make sense that it had started this fight, fun as it was. It does make sense to a criminal’s lips to say that you pick a fight with the biggest baddest mofo there was to put fear behind your name.

Though, enough of these thoughts, for what it boiled down to was this, the Wolf needed to end this fight quickly. Knew enough of that sensation to know that much.

It’s smiling face tilted upwards towards the beast-giant-woman before him, nostrils flared, and golden eyes shown. A deep breath taken in, one with lungs that were used to howling, used to tracking, used to find blood, bone, and meat.

It was there, perhaps not exactly dead center of the chest, just a little off to the side, but something was there. Something with those attributes that the Wolf knew. Something he could really sink his teeth into.

The creature was a wild beast, but it was a wild beast of the most dangerous kind. It could think. It could problem solve. It would plan.

Golden eyes shifted to this way to the left, and then to the right while keeping the giant form within the corner of his vision. One could almost see the gears within it moving, calculating, sorting through various options.

The woman, dare it be called that when made out of such material? Had been careless. Stomping through the forest of the city. Had crushed various things, knocked over various devices, and the Wolf had no name for what a street light should be. It was merely a metal tree that had been knocked down.

Yes, bigger claws are needed weren’t they?

Over to it the beast that once was Mal darted. Pulling two large shards of steel from its trunk. Why not use the metal on a stop sign? Or even a street sign? What movies get wrong about those is those things are meant to bend if struck. Safety in case a car had a bit of an accident you see, but the Wolf knew that not. No, instead it could rightly smell the impurity in its fabrication. Could tell those things weren’t sufficient.

This though? This would do.

Armed with now two blades as long as its forearms, it grinned up at the intended victim. Well, grinned the best it could. Look now Fellow Traveler, look at that mask that covered the man's face. It sagged, all but began to drip, the poison sinking further into the system. Though with a snarl it seemed to harden again, the beast there on display redoubling its efforts to hold on. To maintain. To be here and now in this fight.

Limb of leg went back, and pressed its claw into the ground to give a hard purchase in place. Like a runner at the start of the race, it was coiling its strength, it was plunging every bit of itself into that movement being held at bay. You could hear the talons digging down, sinking into the skin of the street.

Without a starter pistol, or anyone saying go… the form became a blur of motion.

Twenty feet. Ten feet. Five. One.

Like a javelin the shattered, sheared, metal was thrown from his left hand.
It cracked into the surface at least softening the intended projectile path of his own body, and like a knight with a lance, the right extended to drive a path for him.

The world was swallowed for him, as he drove into it.
Was it a pop, or an explosion?
The Wolf wasn’t sure.

All awareness was lost as it cut through concrete, dirt, tin, and other various materials the woman had used to construct this mockery of a body.

One moment he was going forward… and then woomp.
An impact of invisible force not only halted his journey, but with such force it threw him through the very rabbit hole to which it had carved upon striking. Back into the sunlight the Wolf was tossed, turning end over end skittering across the pavement like those pebbles he had torn free before.

At last coming to a rest, it lifted its head up. Looked at the giant of a woman, and snarled as half of its face sloughed off like dead flesh. A wet plop upon the ground, as one golden eye, and one eye of oak now underneath, rolled back inside of its skull… and hit the ground with no small amount of impact.

Blackness. The kind of black that was dark as its once ink colored form.
The poison had indeed taken its toll as Mal had intended.

One last set of words, perhaps the Wolf and Mal were more alike than at first thought.
A muttered huff of blowing dust from nostrils.
“Fuck…you…”

Down but not out. The poison lingered in veins, or at least what could be considered as such within a creature. It’s chest rising, falling, small swirls of dust like gnome sized tornadoes looking for an ant version of Dorothy to take away.

Wolf in City of Glass

That urgency of chaos did not flutter with its wings into his mind, nor did the man seem troubled on the very edge of the abyss that possibly was the end of the world. The lady's head to which was delicately perched upon his lap was placed with tenderness to the cold unforgiving floor upon which he sat. Jacket shrugged from shoulders, tucked at last beneath her skull, only now did he reach outwards towards that pistol which lay so near, forgotten, and abandoned despite its earlier threat. And hand curled around not about the grip, but rather the slide. Accompanied by its twin brother, the man used his touch to pull against it, a click, a silvery fling of raw chambered round shot into the air.

Quick as a wolf snapping its jaws, the man caught it mid flight, but its freedom did not last long. He needed a way to keep the beast weakened, a way to keep it in check, so into his mouth he popped it, and swallowed it like a pill for the cancer that was inside.

“Hey Turkey, catch.”

The lethal weapon was tossed with careless measure towards the Bird servant, its end tumbling over and over.

“When it’s done.” Mal tapped himself between the eyes. “Don’t miss. Might take more than one. Think you can manage that at least?”

One last jab before the lights went out. One last little dig at the feathered fiend.

“Hate this part.”

From the small of his back, a place once hidden by jacket, a blade was produced. Not a switchblade, or even knife, those were modern things to which the name could not be placed upon. It was the length of his hand, and though maintained well, showed the signs of age as it rightly should. Issued in the 1800’s to those of military service, it was a thing of last resort. A thing meant for cutting rations, or killing if all else failed.

It was a tool, just as any man still under the banner of Lord or Lady was seen as. A tool for taking life.

Across his own throat it slipped, quick and smooth as butter.

Down what was inside began to flow, not red as before, because it wasn’t a wound such as was received by a speeding car. Mal opened himself up, and the man opened that particular door wide. Black like the charcoal color of his drawings. Ink like for its lack of color and grace, slipped down across his body… flowed like a source of life.

Perhaps it was waking up. Perhaps it needed a moment to breathe fresh air away from the drowning waves the soldier kept it beneath. Though, whatever the reason that it required, the moment had passed.

Not a single droplet left a stain upon the collar of his shirt. Not a single mark or smudge left upon his breast. It all suddenly whipped upward to cover his face like a death’s mask. It did not shift, or change, not in the way Creatures such as he are meant to do. It bent like liquid plastic. It formed without sound or subtle nature. Almost instantly it was pouring out of that wound, and over him. Not changing him per say, but rather replacing him.

Still the man remained long enough to turn his eyes towards that window to which they had watched a monster walk passed. Long enough to cast himself through it with the sound of shattering pane, and glittering remains all but dancing in the sunlight.

The Wolf’s bane in the system was doing its job.

It could not take him all, but parts of him as if some grisly cosplay were covered, masked, veiled. Golden eyes shown from black and white fur just over a long set of jaws. Long radar dish like ears tilted forward just on top of his head, while a human set was left uncovered just behind. Long hair had changed its color, to match the fur. Hands were no more but left to claws. Shoes replaced by talons digging into the ground beneath.

It smiled Fellow travelers.
It smiled for the madness to which it saw.
It smiled for the ability to be mostly free.

It smiled at my friend, because it was time to play.

Despite the sun. Despite the glow. Didn’t that distant outline in the sky of the moon look that much closer? Did not even humanity have a chance to see it all the more clear? It lifted its dual set of jaws, the ones that covered the face of a man, and howled. A challenge. A cry. A hunting call.

It. Was. Time. To. Kill.

Shreds of concrete beneath its feet exploded back, and the beast launched itself forward leaving behind claw marks where once it stood.

It moved like a human, yes? Was it structured like one? Time to test. Time to taste.

Like a black spear it sliced through the air, opened claws, teeth, and nails. Was there muscle to tear apart? Were there tendons to tear? Was there blood to taste? It was about to find out. Yes, it was about to find out.

Into the back of the giant woman’s heel, or rather just above it where the achilles tendon should be, the Wolf cut like a scythe through wheat. Not with a slash, or simple swing, but with his full body. It lept like a cannonball unleashed, arms outstretched, fangs and claws seeking the prey. Stone, concrete, the dirt of the city upon his tongue… but sadly.. No blood or meat.

Through the other side it pierced, coming to land before the giant without fear. Deep wounds in the structure of the wolf, cut by rebar, steel and glass, but these threaded closed almost instantly, laughter in the air.

How fun, how fun, how fun it is! No veins to bleed or muscles to weaken!

A voice echoed out, one that was threaded not just with Mal’s but rather twenty four. Twenty four innocents that Mal could not stop it from claiming. Every victim it had taken, devoured, or bled upon. With all their souls, thoughts, and words contained it smiled upwards towards the towering thing.

“Come then child of lies!”
.lies.lies.lies.

Those voices echoed a fraction of a moment out of unison.

“Come then queen of falsehood!”
.falsehood.falsehood.falsehood.

Then a single voice, something so very close to Mal’s ended the challenge, the call, the warning.

“Let me show you what a monster is.”
To the left and right of its face two more canines seemed to stretch out like liquid plastic. A mimicry of Cereberus. A mockery of a guardian of hells gate.

It laughed. It jeered.

It launched forward again.

---

Look, it’s one thing to go after Vampires, Werewolves, Ghosties, and Ghouls. It was quite another thing when Godzilla’s ex-wife comes tromping through the city after you. Yes, James was mortal. Yes, James was scared. Yes, James was running his (undeniably cute) ass off. Though it was not in panic.

Never that.

Tight spaces he tread, alleyways, covered places where awnings could…

A howl.
One he knew well.
One he dreamed about regularly.

James stopped, turned, and nothing but cold hatred filled his gaze. Nothing but the need to kill clenched his jaw line to the soft hissing sound of his own breath.

“Kerberos”

The name a curse.
The name a purpose.

The name of a creature which broke order completely.
James’s true prey.

Sneering sharply, the human glanced upward at the still enraged being that could no doubt force King Kong himself to cough up alimony. His mouth tasted sour, and James spit on the ground before he turned.

Keep running you ‘idigit he told himself.
He’s here, we know that now, and that is enough for the moment.

Wolf in City of Glass

Dragon's breath is a type of shotgun shell that contains magnesium pellets or shards and creates an incendiary effect when fired. When fired, the shell can produce sparks and flames that can travel up to 100–300 feet. Dragon's breath is typically loaded into 12-gauge 23⁄4″ (18.5 mm × 69.9 mm) shot shells and can be fired from a modified choke barrel or improved cylinder bore.

---

Such a powerful name isn’t it? Dragon Breath, but despite the images to which the words conjure up, and indeed witnessing the impressive burst it creates, there were no actual dragons harmed in the making. No, it was good ol’ fashioned human ingenuity that created such ammunition. Sure, sure, using such a thing is considered a warcrime, but when ever did a man like James give a flying turtles fuck about such a piece of paper? Besides, the fight against these things wasn’t a war. No sir, it was a culling. It was a genocide. It was justice. It was right. So, if he had to use every bit of burning hell that he could get his not-so-grubby hands on?

Order must be maintained.

It was that voice, that so possessive ‘you broke my laws.’
Female yes, but behind him. Someone which he had not heard before, nor did he have the slightest sense that he was being walked up on. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and as Mal would have put it… well put him on red alert.

There was no casual comment. No slick remark, or turn of graceful motion that seemed to have all the time in the world. No, James moved as quick as a snake plucking a bird from the branch of a tree. The man moved with the quickness that was an trapdoor spider suddenly appearing from its ingenious little hideaway to snag its prey.

James was quick, had to be in his little line of work didn’t he? The fact that he still had all of his fingers, toes, eyes, and ears were proof enough of that. Perhaps to reinforce that idea, he wheeled upon the back of his heel, jacket flared open, and even before it was pulled completely free of its hold within the folds….

BOOM said the sawed off single shot boomstick.

Like a firework filled with shrapnel, searing magnesium pellets launched by the grains of ignited gunpowder. The impact would be deadly to a human, and in the confined space of the abandoned building, the sound was all but deafening. Though there was no time to gloat, no motion wasted, no pause or quarter given. No time to put out the edge of his jacket that had caught just the rim of the blast that was ejected out of the front of that modified weapon.

The clatter of the shotgun against the hard floor was nothing to his boom stick deafened ears, but he didn't need to hear the cast away now empty weapon. As if taking the momentum from it he wheeled, all but turned about on the ball of his foot, a dancer Waltzing below a chandelier could never be as punctual to rhythm as the man seemed to be. There was no grace. There was no song in his motions. Every action devoid of wasted potential. Every twitch of muscles precisely the amount he needed it to be to accomplish what was required of them.

The grenade like object not thrown, but left below his feet, and already he was moving.

Maybe not to most peoples ears, because the sight of such a thing would cause panic, but flash bangs as they are commonly referred to as, give off a certain sound. Less then a moment, just a soft hiss like that of a serpents tongue against scales was certainty there. Like a Another bright as the sun explosion. Another BOOM of disorientating impact would drive itself against ear drums, but no longer was it under his feet, because James was moving like a god damned cockroach. If you've ever lived in New York Fellow Traveler, you know just how fast and devious those little fuckers could be.

Not out the way he came, nor passed the woman who moved like a cat in the night. No, to freedom. Away from her sight. Unsure if it was a vampire, doggy, or hell.. could be even a siren for all he knew. Yet, in that flurry of two assaults all his bets were covered. It wasn't meant to kill, no. It was meant to deafen their ears, and his own. It was meant to blind. It was meant to turn the sense of scent away. It was meant as a freaking Bat Man's vanishing act.

And while his parents had not been killed by some mugger in an alley...
And while JUSTICE was never a concern of his...
Nor was he wearing black and yellow spandex...

James was very good at this little magicians trick.
He was very good at getting away.
He was very good at living.

Someone had to be right? Someone had to settle the scores. Someone had to make sure...

Order was maintained, even at the cost of ruining a perfectly good jacket.

---

Had she ever heard a Wolf give off a woof?

The impact to the ground drove a proverbial fist into the lungs of Mal, and without meaning it as a joke at all, the sound was very much like that. Perhaps a oof, or errrrf, but sure did sound like the driving force into him was a low breathless woooof didn't it? Agitation for the first time other then which was on display for the bird was on display in his next set of words. Air still fighting to come back into him...

"...you would please stop with the making me fall into things?"

Now with oak colored eyes turning upward towards the scene around him, a quick set of heads was counted. One was missing from the pack, and the women too would know it. Their little comment was clear to his ears that all but pricked upon his at the moment human shaped skull. One of them was on the ground unmoving, the other one bleeding. Recovery for him was quick, already having tended to his own wounds from earlier, perhaps not as quick as James, but quick enough. He moved beside the one who did not have motion in herself. Fingers moved without hesitation to wipe blood away from her nose, and touch slipped to the side of her neck.

"Hey, you alright?" Why do people always say that when someone is hurt. Was to trying to trick themselves into believing that the true victim of the situation was merely playing a trick? Or was it something instinctual? Mal couldn't tell you, and neither could I Fellow Traveler, all that was known is that he was just like everyone else in that regard. Her head gently cradled, his eyes flashed towards the one doubled over holding her stomach.

Panic serves nothing to a man who holds the turning of times in his hands. Cool as ever after his little cheeky comment, agitation lost, and ready to do what needs to be done. Words simple, clean, as if a soldier awaiting the voice of a general.

"Orders?"
Not what happened.
Not what went wrong.
Or god damnit that hurt.

No, just a man ready to find the solution, putting emotions and reactions aside. Those could come later. Right now one was missing. Right now it looked like they had been attacked. Something had gone wrong, that much was clear.

The Wolf inside of him laughed, laughed deeply. Mal even now could feel it there in the back of his mind. 'If only the bird could see his princess now', it mocked in silent voice in the corners of his being.

Mal though... despite that calm demeanor, despite that single word question, worry did show in his eyes. Not for the corpse. Not for the lost, but for the problem that could be solved at this very moment.

Wolf in City of Glass

The hunter with blue eyes.

---

Vampires. Werewolves. Ghosts. Demons. Fey. Goblins.

Monsters right?

They slaughter the innocent, eat hearts, make crossroad deals, and trade souls like friends sharing popcorn during the new superhero movie in the theater.

How many had they taken over the years? How many lost, deprived, sent to hell, or taken from this existence without a choice?

---

This city was like so many others, and it was dressed in the gossamer gown of ignorance to the existence of anything beyond the frappuccino in a random businessman's starbucks cup. Though we’ve covered that, haven’t we Fellow Traveler, and yet for a man like him the thought still occurred time and again. Many of these people were aware of the newest update about the viral TickTock star, or the new delicacy that could be found at some vegan hotspot, but how many of them knew the actual truth?

How many of them knew what it was like to read Mark Twain, delve into the mysteries of Pictographs created by ancient civilizations which believed thunder to be the voice of a god? How many of them knew that their days were numbered, and how many believed in their own deaths as part of a natural cycle? Not many imagined the answer to be. Not many at all.

Shoes moved along with the pace that the crowds kept, his chin kept low, and the top of his head with its ink black hair kept to the gentle breeze that pushed down through the canyons of man made towers. Eyes, the color of blue, flicked this way and that as eager as candle light, and the glare of the fading sun in the distance cast hard shine across the glasses perched upon the bridge of his nose.

Like the others who passed by the homeless and their cups for change, this particular judgemental bastard moved along without much heed to their fate. Like the others who passed by the dank alleyways that branched off from the roads like cancerous trash filled veins, no attention was spared to their mysteries.

No, unlike most that his mind would mock, chide, or admonish, this was not a do-gooder. This was not a kind soul. This was not an innocent.

---

Ghouls. Zombies. Witches. Warlocks.

How many spells were cast in world history? How many skulls are crushed by void black spheres that wrap around someone's head to forever silence them?

Monsters, one and all, right?

---

The man, who bore a jacket that may look familiar in tone had the Queen but a glimpse of it, was named James, and as stated before, James was not a nice person. Even the way he moved seemed methodical, purposeful, and without err in a single stride. Every muscle below his clothing worked in tandem with his ligaments and heartbeat. Every action with reason, sanity, and determination.

Yet, it has not always been so.

There was a time, in the not so distant past, where a serial killer came across something that would not die. There was a night when neither blade, nor bullet, nor poison would end a man’s life that after inspection had no heartbeat.

That was the day that James had his second birth.

Oh, that term was used by bloodsuckers and wolves alike, but neither of those terms fit the man in the jacket with the shine on those lenses. Neither of those things could hold a candle to what he was, remained to be, and would be up to the moment of his demise.

Because all those things? Every single fucking one of them that were listed above? They held no candle, no matter how dimly lit, to the fact that humanity was in truth the real monster. For the sake of power they threw children from the tops of ziggerauts. They bled out lovers and worshippers into holy chalice, to seek power or eternal life.

I mean shit, they’ve gone and all but killed the entire fucking planet with their fumes, chemicals, and plastics. They poisoned the oceans, the sky, and even mountains were littered with frozen corpses. And why all of these sins? Why do any of it?

For power. For greed. Hell, just to do it.

No, the things that go bump in the night weren’t the real things to be feared. No my friends, it was humanity. It was the literally god damned lineage of Adam and Eve. Yes, they were the real beasts with triple six’s carved on their forehead. They were the disease that could end planets. They devour their own youth en masse in numbers that would make a Satanist Nun blush, and if you think that wrong? Well, take a look at our history Fellow Traveler. We’ve sparked wars that engulfed the planet with our hate. We built a clock that ticks down to the moment we expect to launch computers with payloads that could obliterate entire countries with radiation.

Monsters, right?

There is a place in this city, one he did not know, did not need to research or even cared to give a second thought to. Because it didn’t matter the location, or the scenery, or who owned it when or why the abandoned factory still stood.

None of it mattered, save for one simple fact.

Order must be kept.

The creatures needed to be reminded from time to time just who were the real Reapers. They needed to be taught to fuck right off back to their pathetic little holes filled with fear, piss, and their suffering.

Order must be kept.

Those who sought to live forever, must be shown that everything dies. By time, gun, sword, flame, water, or any means necessary. With only the height of five ten, he looked a paltry thing compared to some. Yes, to some the sight of him could be almost funny couldn’t it? Like a meal just standing there … waiting to be taken.

But James was a human, and he knew the truth while others did not.

Order must be kept, and the creatures needed to be taught time and again who was on the top of the food chain when it came to destruction and death. They must be reminded who the real fucking monsters were.

---

---

The oak eyed man with a green eyed Wolf inside.

They were not so far away as Mal would have liked, if he had known just what was in that abandoned building within the city, but at the moment there were other concerns. The moment that light went out, there was one last flicker of green behind almost reflective visage. Of course, the man had to bite back a retort at the Queen once more, as the woman showed almost a childish tantrum of 'fine we'll fix what we did' type mentality. Though Mal had done that for most of his life, keeping emotions bottled up, contained, trapped behind. People say it was unhealthy, but when he was infected with that curse? Well, the practice had made him rather good at keeping that Wolf inside of him... well... inside of him.

Cool attention in the near pitch flicked from the woman to the bird all the same, ears pricking against their voices in the darkness. Nose furling nostrils to keep track of their scents. It was times like this that at least the thing inside of him had a use, a purpose more then simply devouring. It made it easier on him, well, made it trivial to be honest.

Okay okay... so he couldn't help himself completely. One of his bare hands lifted up and offered a little wriggle of his fingers towards the bird.

"See you later Polly, loved our little chat. Remember to stay focused now, I believe in you."

The thing about learning to draw, about making sure every line was in its place, it effected the memory believe it or not. The dance of hers even in the gloom was being memorized, or in the least attempted to. Give Mal a chance, and no doubt the very images to which he had witnessed would later be doodled down. Reinforced within the trap of his mind.

What would happen to a man who could not die, if one tried to cast a 'come back to life spell' on himself? Curiosity pricked in his mind, rather feline for a Wolf, but the concept was intriguing all the same. Though wasn't that how all of this started Mal? Didn't curiosity in truth not kill the cat, but rather fuck it up and twist it into something else? Yes, perhaps not the best idea.

"I don't want to distract you, but thank you."

There he stood waiting, quietly, in the dark as she danced and drew upon fabrics, threads, and powers that never could the man hope to hold.

---

---

The hunter with blue eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to end you."

It had only taken five minutes, and now a torso was on the ground in front of his shoes. Still alive, well, as alive as the vampire could be. The head that was still on its shoulders spit up blood, hissed, and rolled in pain. It's limbs here and there, and a bloody hatchet that had been pulled from beneath his cloak added to the display. James had dismembered it with quick efficacy, but did not finish it as stated.

"What I'm going to do is this."

Crouching down over the writhing grisly scene, the man took a handkerchief from his pocket and removed his glasses from the bridge of his nose. Slowly, carefully, he started to wipe away the red that had splashed across the lenses.

"I'm going to pour kerosine over you, and set you on fire. Not enough that it turns you to ash."

He held the lenses up towards the window to catch only a faint glint of light to make sure all specs were cleaned.

"But enough so you feel it. Dunno how long it will take till you start coming back around, I figure it depends on when you last ate, but I'll check on you in a few hours. Then we're going to play again, and again, and again."

A smile now as those lenses were placed back onto his face, so he could see the creature moving back and forth.

"Nothing should live forever my friend, and since you thought you could? Well. We're going to make it so you know what mistake you made. We're going to play till you understand not only is it right that things die, but they should happily accept it when the time comes."

From his pocket now, a silver ... no stainless steel flask... look familiar Fellow Traveler? Looks exactly like someone else's, but instead of Honeyed Whiskey, this one had the smell of flammability. It glugged its fluid across the rolling worm like form.

"Order must be maintained.."

The hunter struck a match and looked into the flame, before with that simple smile dropped it so he could feel the heat of glowing bloom. It was beautiful, wasn't it James?

"Now, in the meantime, I smell my Wolf nearby. Feel free to keep screaming till your lungs give out. They'll come back of course, so no worries. You wanted all the time in the world after all didn't you my friend? Such fun we'll have till I get bored."

Yes, a monster wasn't he?