There was something to be said in the manner they came for him, there was no sorrow in the air

around their actions, their swipes had him ripped and torn in multiple places and as the pack
approached once more for further assault his head hung in the air; defeat embracing him from
behind like a lover’s wrapped arms. He had been in their position before, hunted the few who
strayed from the pack and their ways, and like those who surrounded him he had no leniency in his
actions nor hesitation; there was no such thing as a lone Furian.

Some say when you come face to face with your mortality you start seeing all the moments in life
that shaped you, changed you, and made you the person you would finally mould into, but in those
moments that ticked by at a snail's pace only one thing crossed his mind and it had been the same
question that he had been drowning in a lake of for the past month; why did the empty in his chest
ache so much?

There had never been a Great Knight inside Abel. From the moment he was born and bore his
canines at his father for trying to separate him from his twin, he held an air of aggressiveness,
impulse, and complete disregard for reason, case and point being the turf war and demand of his
father to unite him with sister; an order growled from a pup to a wolf that could end his life with the
ease of taking a breath.

These days even the simple ideas and beliefs of the Companion that had been passed down through
the generations filled him with disdain for humanity. Stupid childhood stories passed down from his
species, taught to him by his mother, and forced upon him by his sister in that putrid righteous and
all-knowing way she sought to realign his nature and reign him in.

‘A Wolf howls to the Moon, our mother, to show Love and Honour. A Wolf howls to the Great Knight
to show loyalty and strength. A Wolf howls to the Companion, the Great Wolf in us all, to show
Freedom, Friendship, Family and above all, protection of the pack.’

Answers to questions that he had never asked dripped from his lips and left a bitterness that could
never be washed away. Vivid memories caused the ache to harrow. The empty, inside of his husk
bearing down on him more as questions long asked and forgotten were dumped into the lake it
seemed he would never see unstained.

‘The bond between the Companion and the Great Knight is the symbol of duality within us all. The
human who struggles to be noble, to fight the urge for unrequited violence and the wolf that is
natural, wild, free, and though a brilliant killer, never more so than needs to be.’

‘Why is the wolf the Companion and not the Great Knight?’
‘Wolves do not need armour. The pack is our sword and shield, our armour and strength. The human
in us needs the wolf, not the other way around. The human is feeble, soft, and easily corrupted. The
wolf is strong, brave, and stubborn. Humans often want to be left alone, to have no one to worry for
but themselves, only to find too late that they are animals too, and no animal should be alone.’

For the past month, Abel had been on the run, he had gone from predator to prey in the eyes of the
pack, there was no such thing as a lone Furian. Being cast out was akin to death in that sense.
Furians were all connected by the source, an almost unknown factor that was probably residual
magical ties left over when they were first created all those centuries ago. When the connection
they shared was cut off by their Regis or denied by too many of the pack, the Furian would soon go
crazy, forgetting themselves, and giving in to all animalistic desires until eventually they were put
down. Furians were a secretive lot and even if meant losing family, the pack and their safety came
first.

Unlike every other Furian who had their connection severed, Abel had managed to retain a sliver of
his mind, though given his personality at the best of times, perhaps there wasn’t much difference
after all. He had already concluded as to why the rabid nature hadn’t fully taken over him, unlike
most Furians he was born into the world with another at his side. Their mother used to tell him
stories of how they were birthed with intertwined tails and the moment separation had come fierce
demands of return from both Katagari were made known. They had a connection that went beyond
complex magical spells that bastardised wolves with mages, and it was this connection that kept him
teetering the line up until this point.

Unlike the disease that left man and wolf coinciding with each other in the form of Werewolves, a
Furian shifting form was effortless and without both pain and the grotesque nature of bones
snapping and flesh ripping while adjusting. Wolves that matched the size of Clydesdale horses
assaulted him again, a shoulder bash sending him across the way ending in him pushing himself out
of a fresh rubble hole in the side of the building. They were an impressive creature, created for the
sole purpose of hunting the children of dragons, and while one wasn’t quite enough to do so, a pack
of them certainly did the job.

Different streaks of fur colours danced around him in the darkness, though the park he stood in was
decently lit, they were in New York after all, and apparently, the city never slept. There were enough
trees around his location to allow for some downtime between being hunted, and while he tried to
push back the rage for those hunting him, he once again found himself lacking in morality as his
sister would say.

Snip.

A red string, unseen to the eye, yet as real as air itself, slowly descended from its anchor point in his
chest before dwindling.
The door he had kept open for over a month vanished without a trace, there was no other option to
stave off the feelings that were starting to take over and corrupt him even more. It took but a split
second once the decision was made and there was no turning back now. Shifting into his true form
he dwarfed the four around him. They were Sentinels, a rank consisting of four of the strongest
Furians amongst the pack, detailed with protection and killing someone who could end up exposing
the species fell under that job description. however, they were also Arcadians; sadly, for them.

When a Furian was born ninety-nine percent of the time they were Arcadians, born with heart,
mind, and form of a human who would innately learn about their wolf form when puberty hit. Rare
were the Katagari, born with the heart, mind, and form of the wolf; though same rules applied and
when puberty hit so too did their ability to shift form. There were discrepancies in every race and
species, from the runt of the litter to the pedigree of the pack, nothing was equal in nature.

It was all over as fast as it had started, what started out as five monstrosities fighting ended up four
ripped and shredded torn apart men laying on the ground with a single monstrosity ripping flesh
violently from a random corpse. It was a tradition and an honour to fall in battle as a Furian, they
lived like Vikings, fought like Spartans, fucked like the Romans, and rallied like bikers; there was no
better send off than the one he had graced them with, including the flesh he ate from their bodies to
nourish the life within his own.