“Kevin…” The sandy tabby lightly smacked his forehead, his strange, yet British-like accent dancing between his teeth. “You already owe Gwen a fair amount, don’t come asking me for more stocks.”
“But Rol, please?” The Warg knelt, begging on the other side of the stall, his larger frame threatening to make the shack creak. “I promise I’ve got the marrow this time!”
“Then use it to settle your debt to Gwen!” Rolfraas’ yellow eyes narrowed, his little whiskers twitching in irritation. He fixed his worn green cloak and dusty chin-high neckline, the small scruff that made his beard staying hidden. “Do that, then I might be convinced to allow purchase.”
Kevin groaned, letting his head drop onto the small counter. He looked up at the tan Moggy, hoping against hope. “How many do you have again?”
“Two.”
“W-when will you have more?”
Rol hummed, sounding almost like a purr. “Within the next year.”
“W-wha… WHAT?!?!” Kevin then flew into a panic, grabbing the stall and shaking it like a madman.
Digging his little claws into the wood of his counter, Rol quickly grasped a silver hilt and pressed the switch. With some expert aim dashed in, a long pole sprung from the hilt on both ends. One end stabbed the ground behind the stall and the other, being completely blunt, struck Kevin in the chin. The result was a passed-out Warg and a frazzled Moggy franticly checking his workspace for damage. Rol breathed a sigh of relief, the only damages he’d found was from his own claws.
“Rol?” A sweaty voice danced in the Moggy’s eardrums, turning to see Wirh. She was a Genchyn, looking similar to Kitsunes, only shorter and stockier. The Genchyn had only one poofy tail throughout their lives, their fur always a pristine white. Her cheeks padded with red pouter; her scarlet eyes looked to the fallen Kevin in disappointment. “I’m guessing that he took it too far again?”
Rol rolled his eyes. “The poor pup nearly ripped my roof off.”
Wirh sighed, stepping past the Warg to the Moggy. “Tried to give it to him directly?”
“The pup just wouldn’t listen…” Rol rubbed his eyes, amazed at his own patience. He looked back to Wirh. “Did you need anything, Salesfem?”
“I had hoped to get some peaches, but I definitely could use more elixir.”
“Wellllll…” He raced behind his stall, searching his cabinets and boxes for her purchase. “I don’t have any more of the cherry flavored… but,” He grinned, pulling up a small box of crystal bottles, each filled with a thick golden liquid. “I found this new honey flavored—”
“YES!” Rol blinked as she pulled her purse from her shoulder. “How much for two bottles?”
The Moggy cleared his throat to reorient his mind. “That much? Eh, but then again, it is that time of year… four marrows for two.”
“Mhm.” She handed him the currency and pulled the bottles safely into her purse, nodding toward the still out-cold Kevin. “What me to send over Vruudya?”
“Please.”
With that, Wirh was off, taking her time as she walked through the town of titans. Many for the Wargs gave her space as she walked, kindly letting her scamper about at her leisure. She heard a bit of commotion up the road and to her left, deciding to check on the local tavern. Standing just outside the doors, she was greeted by Gwen, the strong and rough bartender, tossing yet another pair of troublemakers out. Wirh showed a smile to the Wargess’ face, both pairs of crimson eyes meeting.
“Hey Wirh, how you been?” Gwen sounded pleased to see her, a rarity.
“Very good as of late, but… if you see Vruudya, could you send her to Rol’s shop?”
“Did some idiot make trouble?”
“Well…” Her big ears sank.
Gwen sighed, groaning. “Kevin?”
“Y-yes…”
The Wargess groaned even louder, rubbing her face with both hands. “Sure… I’ll send her over.”
“Great! I was going to stop by the library, did you want me to find you anything?” Wirh smiled, her fuzzy ears twitching.
“Err… no, I’m good. Thanks anyway.” Gwen tried to keep a straight face, biting her cheek. “Be seein’ ya.”
“Same to you.” With that, the two parted.
“Havaak!” The Alpha of Desolation perked his ears at a silvery voice, checking the grilling teriyaki chicken for burns.
“Yeah?”
“I need help…” Luna sounded a little dejected and agitated.
“Just a second.” He then flipped the chicken onto a plate, dousing the fire. Wiping his hands, he came into the living room, searching for his beloved with the plate of freshly cooked meat. “Where are you?”
“In the study.” His mate groaned.
He walked in to find Luna sitting at their desk, slumped down in the chair. She was blushing and pouting with her cheeks puffed, arms crossed over her large belly. “I need uppies.”
He smiled warmly, stepping up to the desk, setting the plate down, and holding out his hand for her. “My lady?~”
With a strained grunt, Luna gripped his hand, hauled herself out of the chair, and onto her feet. Havaak noticed she had a little perk in her step as she stood, making him smirk. “You didn’t need help.”
“No.” She admitted, smirking back as she stuck her tongue out. “I just wanted to be rescued~”
The Alpha grunted and giggled, shaking his head.
“And I smelled these…” Luna loomed and drooled over the plate of marinated chicken, right before her husband snatched it away. She nearly burst into tears. “MICAH!!”
“I was going to serve them with rice. Do you want rice with the chicken?” He asked pointedly.
Luna pouted, crossing her arms and puffing her fuzzy cheeks. “And pickle juice…”
Havaak suppressed a shutter as he neared the exit to the kitchen. “Sure…”
“And peppers too.”
“Yes dear.” He paused as he filled a pot with water, seeing a roll of paper on the counter, bound in green silk, a silver emblem pinned to it. Bringing it to himself with his magic, he unrolled the scroll. It was from Karipuur, Luna’s father. Havaak found himself swallowing, subconsciously dreading the news written on the weathered paper.
-Greetings to the Alphas of Dragneel,
You have been cordially invited to Ekklesia, the Council of Alphas. We will not be discussing anything of high importance, it’ll just be an introduction. You shall meet the other Alphas, officially. I trust you will be wise in who you bring with you. Bring those you know that will be silent when needed and fluent when needed.
I trust Luna is doing well. Is the litter healthy? She is thirty years into her carrying, a fourth of the way finished with their gestation. I pray that all will remain well, my son-in-law. Allow this old Warg to hear the cries and wails of his grandpups.
Signed, Karipuur
-=Meanwhile=-
The world was old. The mountains and rivers had risen and shifted throughout millennia. Runes of lesser creatures and former civilizations dotted the land, even close to modern territories. The ruins of an old castle, positioned outside of Norora, were no different.
Below the rotting rafters of an ancient hall, Duume sat on a crumbling throne. Pale light spilled in from cracks in the ceiling, bathing the room as the Alpha sensed six young Wargs silently entered. They kept to the shadows, Duume kept his bored expression. He didn’t even have to extend his senses to tell where they were and what they were doing. They came for blood.
He knew they’d been stalking him for the past week, watching him. He had decided to give them an obvious opening. This ruin was outside of his city’s limits, allowing for much destruction. He was without armor or weapons, almost defenseless.
“Perfect place for an ambush, don’t you think?” Duume snarked, smirking in the dim light. “Secluded. Dark. Plenty of places to hide.”
There was silence, then a young male spoke, voice thick with a northern accent. “And? If you know we’re here, why not attack?”
“Because… I’m too busy thinking…”
“A-about… what?”
“The upcoming Ekklesia. My goddaughter’s ceremony. The Alpha of Desolation. The situation down at the docks. The scrapping pups, trying to scare me.” Duume balled his fist. “And I’m wondering… why am I even bothering entertaining them?”
“W-we didn’t come to kill you!” The Warg swallowed with his lie, his stress building as he pressed himself against the fallen wall. “W-we’re just—"
“Tell me… how should I kill my killers?” The would-be assassin slung his head to the left, finding a pair of icy blue, ringless eyes glaring inches away from his face. His breathing grew shallow, his hearts all pounded behind his dark clothes and single chest plate. Duume grasped his head, prying him off the wall and bringing his ear close to his snout. He stared at the pup with a cold gaze, crystal blue eyes shining in the shadows. “You don’t have the bloodline of Nahar, do you?”
Without waiting for his stuttering answer, Duume incinerated the Warg. He dropped the charred corpse on the grimy floor. He smelled five more.
Focusing on their positions, he summoned his powers over the elements, green flame swallowing him. Cupping his hands together at ultrasonic speeds, a ball of green liquid formed. It was sent flying to a Wargess in the corner, expanding into a tsunami of acid. A yellow sphere of fire engulfed the screaming Wargess, the acid trapped with her as the sphere steadily shrunk. He heard bone crack and meat sizzle.
“You children have never waged war, have you? Your dreams drowned in blood?” Duume snarled, teleporting next to a Warg in a shower of sparks. The Warg, for his part, didn’t panic and instead slashed the Alpha across the nose. Duume snarled again, snorting blood. Grasping the buckle of the Warg’s belt, Duume shaped it into a knife, pressing it to the assassin’s gut. But he didn’t press it between the ribs; he flicked it, his power amplifying the sound a hundred-fold. The shockwave from that single ping gifted the walls a new crimson paint-job.
Seeing their two companions fall to the Alpha, the four remaining assassins rushed Duume from the shadows. The old Alpha smiled.
For the third, Duume kicked him through a wall. The fourth was crushed under increased gravity, only a bloody crater leaving any visible trace of his existence. Duume then snatched the last two by the throats, still smirking at them.
The fifth watched in horror as his companion remained hanging by his throat, as Duume let go and gently pressed his fingertips to his chest. Duume chuckled as he thrust his hand into the Warg’s chest, the one-inch-punch rendering the fifth a bloody mess.
“Then, there was one…” Duume looked to the last surviving assassin held by the throat, glaring with a cold air. “Allow me to show you a Forbidden Power before you die.”
The final assassin’s green eyes widened in horror, struggling and beating against the claw that held him. He managed to croak out, blood gushing from his throat, “N-no! Y-you can’t—“
Raising his other hand, Duume grimaced and stuffed a claw into the last surviving Warg’s throat. A small ball of black, flowing liquid spilled down into his bowls. Duume then dropped him and slowly walked up the dais. The Warg coughed and gasped for breath, gasping for breath. “W-what… did yo—”
His question was halted by his own screams, clutching his stomach in his agony. Just as his scream reached its highest note, reality itself split. Like cracks in a window, everything that made him fragmented, billions of cracks spiderwebbing on and around him. His screams were soon drowned out by the sound of shattering glass and loud whispers, speaking of the Vordan Lord. “This isn’t the one…”
With those words, the Warg shattered into sparks of shimmering light. Duume clenched his teeth, his will crushing his oncoming shutter. He looked around in a slight panic, fully expecting someone to appear. After a moment, he sighed, sitting in the ruined throne in relief.
“The Sisters are waiting for another; won’t you entertain them?” Duume sucked in a panicked breath and bolted up, head swiveling. He found two sets of glowing yellow eyes in a dark corner, the sight making him suppress another shutter. He blinked and the entity was gone.
Not soon after, the rotten doors of the old hall burst open. Wargs, wearing trench coats, gas masks, and heavy packs stormed into the hall in formation. They all halted before the Alpha, rifles at the ready in the dark room. The company of Krieg stopped, all staring down Duume.
Then, their company split down the middle, creating a synchronized path to the door for Duume. The Alpha shook of his remaining terror and stood tall for his Krieg.
“Follow.” Duume commanded without any hesitation or doubt, stoic as he marched to the door. The Kreig obeyed, stepping in behind him two by two.
Duume exited the ruins, looking over a cleared forest with legions of Kreig. Battleships blanketed the skies. A massive carrier, matching the size of eldest wyrms, cast the entire landscape in shadow. Duume looked on, unfazed.
He turned to a Kreigsman standing at attention. “Report.”
Though his voice was muffled by the mask, Duume still heard his soldier’s words. “The Quin are no longer a threat.”
“We’re they ever? All we wanted was their lands, and they died for their pride… return to your post.”
The Kreig saluted and marched away. Duume gazed out into the billions of rows, all filled with his soldiers. His Kreigsmen. His Sons of War.
The multitudes then let out a singular cry. “HAIL TO THE ALPHA ETERNAL!!”