Brace For the Wolves

by Nathan Thompson

  The wolf-thing had caught my arm. I had stuck in the way. He bit down with a fleshy, crunching noise, and I felt bone crack as my vital guard was overwhelmed.

  I had yanked the ruined limb downward with as much force as I could so that I could sink my own itching teeth into the monster's neck. I had to bite hard. The blasted thing's hide and fur were both thick, and horrible-tasting. I had to twist and jerk my mouth all over just to break the skin. But it must have worked because a little bit of the monster's salty blood as it fell into my mouth.

  I can't believe it...

  Pain's last message didn't even hurt. And that was a whole new level of wrong.

  I began to heat up. That was weird, because I was still losing blood from my ruined arm. It should have been getting colder, like when Cavus had made me bleed to death from dismemberment. But it didn't.

  And I didn't care.

  Because I raged.

  He's really allowing this... Pain said again.

  I am, the small quiet voice spoke. Were they talking to each other now? Somehow I didn't think so. My inside voices just all competed for my own attention.

  I am allowing this. Because you will still hold fast, Wes.

  And because I rage.

  I shook my head. It was a useless distraction. What they were saying wasn't important right now. What was important was spitting these loose teeth out of my mouth and biting down with my real incisors.

  That worked much better. Hide parted easily from the power of my stretching jaw. This time flesh came with me when I pulled my jaws away. I swallowed the chunk as quickly as I could, needing the extra fuel.

  I didn't have time for another bite though, because the other beasts were circling me now.

  The monster gripping my arm was growing weaker. Impatient, I pulled my short-bladed sword free and swung my weapon down at the base of where I had bitten the beast. The weapon sliced into the new hole easily, sheared through the bone, and blew its way out of the other side of the monster's neck. The howler's head came free as the body fell, and I was able to jerk my arm free of his remaining teeth.

  Most of those had broken on my forearm's scales.

  I stared around me, looking at the monsters that had thought fit to drag me away. To take my blood. To offer me disrespect. They had been trying to take from me forever. Just like everything else had.

  But that was done. No more.

  Today I would do the taking.

  They were backing away from me, looking uncertain. A few were even lowering their heads in submission. But that was stupid right now. Why would I accept the submission of something that had just tried to take my blood?

  Besides, they owed me blood. And lots of it.

  All of it.

  Because when I finally had enough, no one would ever take from me again.

  The nearest wolf monster rose on his hind legs, cautiously walking to the left. I decided to start with him. I darted forward, realizing that my Battleform was trying to engage but lacked the mana to do so. That was fine. I'd have more mana after I ate. The Hordebeast tried to dodge but wasn't fast enough. My weapon came down on the monster's knee, slicing halfway through. Then I stuck my free talon into his neck and yanked the thing downward. There. Much better. It was a bit embarrassing that the stupid eight-foot-tall thing still had almost a foot of height on me. I bit into my second throat of the day, this time making sure I got a proper mouthful that would take time to chew. I tore my maw free about the same time that I pulled my sword out. The monster managed to swing a weak claw at my right pectoral muscle, but since he couldn't pierce the red scales he just scattered more links of my now-ruined chainmail. As the howler sank to his knees I gave him a sneer with both rows of teeth and decapitated him with another powerful swing.

  As the headless corpse tumbled to the ground, I swallowed some more food and turned to look at the other predators. No, that wasn't right. Before me, they were prey now. And judging by the looks in their eyes and the way they sniffed, they were starting to realize it too.

  “Traitor-prince,” one growled.

  “No,” I replied, walking toward him. “You don't get to call me that.”

  I put my undignified weapon away. Its material and craftsmanship was... passable, but its power was unworthy of me. And besides, at this point it was barely better at cutting than my foreclaws were. But all of my other weapons weren't even good enough for shock troops, with the exception of the looted Horde cleaver. Reluctantly, I pulled the weapon out, checked its balance with one hand, and found it suitable.

  “You don't get to call me that,” I continued. “Because the subjects can't decide whether a prince, or any ruler, has turned traitor. Because if they got to make decisions at all concerning their prince, they wouldn't be subjects at all. They'd be lords. Or kings. Or some kind of congress or parliament, which form whenever a ruler is really weak. But my true subjects can never call me traitor, not any more than my tea kettle back home can call me traitor for my using it to make coffee.”

  Wrong, something inside of me said. That idea is wrong.

  I ignored it. I was still hungry.

  “Contract,” one of the bolder monsters growled. “You formed...”

  “No I didn't,” I replied, advancing forward, twirling my cleaver by the handle. It felt smaller for some reason, but so far that hadn't affected its balance any. I'd have to get a proper weapon one of these days though. “I formed nothing with you. And I wouldn't need to, because princes are born, not contracted. The moment you called me 'traitor-prince' was the moment you joined a rebellion. You are the traitors, not me. And now it's time for you to die a traitor's death.”

  Three of them snarled, and leaped at me, coming from different locations each. My cleaver decapitated one, my hand-talons had torn the throat of a second, and as soon as that palm was clear I pointed it to the third howler and fired off a massive lightning bolt into his face.

  The size of the new bolt surprised even me, and I saw the monster flop backwards as his vital guard tried and failed to keep his face from cooking off. He twitched a few times and then went still.

  A tiny portion of myself insisted that my bolt should not have been that powerful. But why wouldn't it be that powerful?

  Power was my birthright.

  It had always been.

  I brought the Horde remains in my claw back to my mouth for more food. It tasted terrible, but I could probably get used to it if I had to. Not that I should ever have to.

  If I could just remember how to cook it... I thought, struggling to remember a suitable spell from the Ideal of Fire. Then I had to ask myself a second question. My body's eighteenth birthday had been earlier this year. Could I be ready to do breath elements now? I'd have to breathe the right kind of fire, but...

  Focus, I told myself. One of them is trying to run. Another was starting to howl out an alarm.

  I snarled in aggravation. Fortunately, they were both in the same direction. It would have been embarrassing if one had escaped. As it was though, I dashed past the howler, embedding my cleaver into wherever the hell his larynx probably was, and jamming it deeply enough in there to do the job just in case I was wrong. He tumbled to his knees, vital guard giving him an extra handful more moments of gurgling, choking life, and I dashed for the runner.

  I couldn't believe this. The maggot had actually dared to refuse my implied order to stand still and wait for his death. And they still had the nerve to call me traitor.

  Insufferable. Baffling even.

  Any king worth his salt knew that when the subjects got that brazen, you had to make their deaths extra horrible.

  No, a voice inside me said. I am not killing them for that. I am killing them because they threaten my actual subjects.

  I growled irritably at the strange passenger and barreled after the running Horde. Horde. Running from me.

  That fact brought to bear just how pitiful of a job my ancestors had done in preparing a proper inheritance for me. They leave behind subjects
brazen enough to actually refuse me, actually try to impose conditions on me, and then expect me to honor them as proper forefathers. Worthless. I was going to stomp out every memory of Aegrim's name for this.

  Aegrim is not my father, the stubborn voice inside me said. Pain is not my father.

  I shook my head again, put on another burst of speed, and tackled the fleeing wolf monster in the back. The force of my blow knocked the air out of him, but he still tried to turn and grapple with me.

  It was adorable.

  I caught the lupine Hordebeast's arm in one of my talon-hands and just stared as he struggled to move his arm an inch.

  “Why are you even doing that?” I asked the creature curiously. “What gave you the impression that you were strong, compared to me? What gave you the impression that you were ever anything, compared to me?”

  “Not right,” the monster half-growled, half-whimpered. “Supposed to lead us.”

  “I tried,” I told the stupid thing. “And you didn't follow.”

  “Orders,” the monster wheezed, muzzle twisting in pain from the way I was bending his arm. “Didn't... make... sense.”

  “Then you follow them anyway,” I said simply. “Until you either see my glorious wisdom and praise me for it, or you have the privilege of dying in my name.”

  Stop it! the wrong me said. That's not what this is about!

  “Please,” the monster begged. “Master...”

  “And there you go with demands again,” I noted, twisting the thing's puny, scale-less arm. It snapped audibly not a moment later, and the howler began living up to his name. Which was amusing, but inconvenient. I jammed a talon into where my genetic memories said that his windpipe was. His vital guard was still struggling to repair his broken arm, and the addition of a second critical wound would tax it.

  And best of all, the thing had to stop talking.

  “All of this chasing, all of these fights, all of this 'traitor-prince' nonsense, just because you had an attitude demanding that I lead you. 'Master, lead us,' you wanted. 'Master, make us strong again.' Think about something, while you struggle to breathe down there. Think about how you tried to make me 'Master' by giving me orders.”

  I kicked at one of the thing's hind legs, frowned when it didn't break, kicked it again, and then smiled when I heard it snap.

  “But all of this could have been avoided if you had really been interested in a proper master. You see, a proper master tells you what to do. He tells you how to serve, and if you have a question you don't ask it until you have permission to speak. But instead of doing any of that, you turned on me as soon as I did something you didn't like. So die understanding this. Die understanding that your doom came not because I was an unfaithful master, but because you were all bad slaves.”

  Finally, I remembered it. I pointed my finger into the monster's gaping, pleading mouth. I worked through the Ideal's motions, and a thin ray of scorching flame burned into the lupine monster's mouth and clean out of the back of his head.

  I stopped to take a quick count.

  Four Horde monsters left. Technically five, counting the one still choking to death on my massive, firmly lodged cleaver. I wondered if that was right, if maybe I had missed one, if any had gotten away. Let's see, started with twelve, wrong-me killed one on his own, barely, then savaged a second right before I ate and decapitated it. Decapitated another one, then killed three more at once, which puts us right at the halfway point, but then I jammed my cleaver into one and chased down another. So yes, four left is correct.

  Especially after the cleaver-choker gave off one last gurgle and died.

  I focused on the four, noted that they had been wounded by wrong-me's other companions. I'd get back to them in a minute. For now though, I had to show these remaining mold-grown idiots the proper actions of a king and just how powerful the Ideal of Fire could be for...

  My head suddenly throbbed.

  Stop being an idiot! You don't know anything! You don't know anything about being a king or a prince! Stop making this fight about that! And stop saying nothing's hotter than fire!

  A jolt seared down the inside of my scales, heating my neurons in a way I had not thought possible.

  Don't do this now! I snarled at wrong-me. You're going to get us killed!

  You stupid Freaking New Guy, wrong-me growled, somehow matching my earlier snarls despite his pathetic lack of proper teeth. Ask anyone else. The only way to make me stop fighting is for you to surrender or die. Now hand back control so that I can stop us from losing.

  I actually had to struggle against his control. It was surprising. And then it was frightening.

  Because I learned that he wasn't kidding about not giving up.

  He had been wrenching for control the whole time, as hard as he could.

  And I had only realized just now. A second later and then I would have been too—

  Back.

  I wanted to sigh in relief, but there wasn't time. The Freaking New Guy was kicked to whatever corner my mind could fit him in, and I was finally free to deal with the fact that I was in some new, freaky dragon-man body that was consuming far more power out of me than the Freaking New Guy realized, despite his combatting the drain through a particularly nasty choice of dietary supplements.

  And, he was an idiot that didn't know anything about being strong.

  But focus, I told myself. No more time for talking. Bring down the last four monsters before you run out of steam and fall over.

  And then maybe figure out how to change out of freaky dragon-man form before the others see me.

  For now though, I had two to five minutes left.

  Hold fast.

  Great. More voices.

  The remaining four howlers were still trying to make up their minds about what to do. One struggled with the desire to run too, but was stopped by the knowledge that it wouldn't work. Another trembled in a way that said he wanted to kneel and submit, but struggled with the knowledge that I still wouldn't spare him. The last two clearly wanted to tear into me, but struggled with the knowledge that it would get them killed.

  Don’t have all day, I reminded myself. Focus.

  I walked past the corpse with the cleaver in his throat, ripped the weapon free, then leaped forward to clear the distance between myself and the howler that was just now turning to run. I landed next to him just as he went down on all fours and my horizontal sweep sheared clean through one leg and broke the bone in the second. I was miffed, even though I should have been impressed. Getting lasting damage through a strong vital guard is still an impressive feat.

  The bravest two charged me, determined to die fighting to the end. I could respect that idea, even if I didn't respect the Horde themselves. I took off one swiping claw with a powerful swing, still marveling that I was wielding such a massive weapon one-handed, then swept my other, taloned hand right through the monster's throat. This time, though, I didn't eat the remains. Because who the hell does that.

  If you only knew... FNG began.

  Shut up! I snapped. Back to your corner!

  As one monster knelt to choke and die, another spun his claws around at me in a whirlwind. I raised a scaled hand to block every strike, feeling my consciousness leave me even faster than it had earlier, making my original time estimate to be far too long.

  Since I was losing more consciousness than mana, I snapped my hand forward and began making swift gestures, drawing on both the Ideal of Fire and Lightning. It had to be possible to merge those schools. After all, it was possible to merge Earth and Air together to form lightning, or to send shards of rock through the air, and those Ideals were opposites. Lightning and Fire were brothers in heat. Brothers in fuel, even.