In the small town of Haruka, three days after the attack on Mistral ….
Smoke was rising from the town's fading ember. Buildings were torn down brick by brick. Taverns and Inns were raided for supplies, blacksmiths were robbed of iron and steel. An unforgiving gale swept through the streets of Haruka, a pack of wolves preying on sheep. Daylight came like a solemn eye watching in horror as it illuminated the streets littered with bodies, the blood stained houses, and the lone man crawling his way from the town square. His legs were mangled beyond use. And the only thought that could plague his mind was the narrow tunnel of survival.
He never expected this, any of this. When he was assigned to Haruka two months ago, he was already picturing two months of watching livestock and simpletons coexist in a newly-built and smelly settlement. But now he couldn't even picture himself ever using his legs again as he dragged his way out of the slaughter behind him. A few men like him were lucky enough to barely survive the chaos that ensued but weren't lucky enough to endure the killing blows as the raiders swept through the town, like locusts on the field.
So he crawled, he crawled as fast as his arms could carry him. Squirming at a snail's pace, passing by broken shields and shattered swords, clambering through shrapnel and skull fragments. But where else could he crawl to? The dirt road leading to the capital city? The hollow pass to the mountains? Or the weeping willow tree at the edge of town? He did not know, he only knew he had to crawl away. It didn't matter, anyway. He wasn't going away unnoticed as a massive axe hanged over him, like a pendulum in motion, inching closer and closer by the minute.
Jin Jackal's steel is dyed a dry crimson, it's seen enough battle for one night but it hungers for more. Mistral's military has gotten soft, softer than he remembers or perhaps he has gotten stronger. It has been years since the Armistice between the Wild Faunus Clans and the Mistral council, and it seems that the comfort the kingdom enjoys has bred weakness. This small town is a testament to that.
The light breeze grazed upon Jin's short, light-golden hair, a gentle caress in the bloody morning. Flesh and innards were dripping off his thick leather armour. The coming dawn illuminated the clan's sigil on his back, The Devouring Jaws of Clan Jackal. He follows the pathetic worm before him as it crawls to its safe space. Fleeing desperately into the haven of the willow tree. As his men cleaved and cut the remnants of the town guard, Jin's axe hovered over the injured man, hungering.
And his hulking boot presses down on the man's shattered foot. There is no more scream for pain, no cry in fear. Just a hopeless attempt to claw a way out as Jin lifts his axe over his head and swings with strength that could cleave mountains.
The sunrise greets a graveyard, a town succumbs to war and ruin.
Jin stands by the willow tree, enthralled by the long array of leaves flowing from its branches. A mellow yellowish-brown complements the meek sunlight. Memories he is not fond of but the weeping willow is a reminder. A constant voice in the shadow and the cold, awakening his true purpose for everything does. All the battles he had to fight, all the alliances he had to forge, all the people he had to lose.
Everything he did was and is, for his clan, his pack.
It has been more than twenty years since he lost his mother, Ividja , who always professed deeply her love of the forests of Mistral. Though she does not hunt with the rest of the clan, she was often found lost in the woods, chasing after butterflies and foxes and rabbits. "One with the woods," the clan called her, but there was another reason for her penchant of the forests. It was something she always told him and his brother, Devin, when they were younger, old tales that the clans used to believe in that have faded into obscurity. "Diwa", he recalls, or rather, her voice whispers into his ear. Old spirits it the forests, faces hiding behind trees and underneath lakes. Creatures that were neither god nor man but were made by the God of Creation long before mankind was born. Mischievous things, playful yet deceitful and many of them toyed humanity and faunus alike. Yet they still lived by laws given to them by the God-brothers, laws that fortify their place in the world, laws that Jin would have remembered had he paid attention to his mother's tales.
It has been a year since his father passed away. Logge the Fire-eater they called him for when he charged against the armies of Atlas, he was always in his wolf form and he broke down their ranks with his mighty jaws as they tried to shower him with gunfire. Ruthless and unforgiving he was in war but stoic and fair he was to the clan and his family—until Ividja died. Jin will never forget how he wailed in the shaman's tent over her cold body. They found her in the lake by the mountains near Windpath, torn and ravaged by a private army from Atlas. Jackals cried into the moonlight that day, howls echoed through the ears of Mistral. Logge grew mad and relentless, even on his own sons, shaping them through fire and steel. Training became torture, hunts became raids, and though Jin shone through his father's training, Devin did not and the little jackal received the brunt of the Fire-eater's fury. So many times he remembered how close Devin was beaten to death by the madman, yet so many times he remembered remaining at his side—even now, he still does.
It has been six years since he executed his brother for treason. Both of them were raised in the era of war but Devin was the one who had barely spent his days with their mother. He was always the one that paid heed to her tales of gods and diwas but cannot remember her too clearly. Her smile, her voice, her caress were all vague memories hidden away in old lockboxes. But surprisingly enough, he did not grow cold and bitter, even with how his father treated the little jackal. He was warm and sweet, especially during their days with the White Fang, he was often the one that gave everybody smiles. Small banter in times of defeat and plenty of horseplay in times of victory. Though he was forfeited of one, how he reminded Jin of their mother was what made him regret that day all the more. For he was too much of their mother in times of war and it made grow too soft that eventually, he left the White Fang and Clan Jackal to live among the humans in their kingdoms. And this devoured their father's soul and drove him even madder. There was a hunt, Jin remembers, it wasn't brief and it costed him more friends than he could count. It was a misty memory but when they finally caught Devin, who else is there to carry out the sentence but him. But what made that day unforgettable wasn't how he flayed the back of Devin's neck and ripped out his ribs one by one. It wasn't the tears in his eyes as flesh dripped from his hands to his feet. It wasn't how he watched as they lifted him up dangling on the branches of the willow tree with arms wide open. The Screaming Angel it was called, a sacrifice through execution. No, what embedded that day in his mind was how Devin smiled at him where most would scream their hearts out. He remembers the little black jackal's laugh, the grin forever etched into his soul.
"And that's the last of 'em," delights Corvina Tempest in her small voice. The men turn their heads and see the little brown-haired girl in a thick, black blouse carrying a pike three times her size with a corpse still impaled on top. She holds on to her weapon with both hands and tries to shake the thing off. It plops to the ground almost immediately then the pike folds upon itself, shrinking into just a tiny baton in her hand before putting it in her back pocket.
"Though there wasn't much to begin with," said a hulking middle aged woman walking out of the streets with her men. She was Yelena Briarlock, Lady of Clan Briarlock and she wore thick hide armour and a grey combat skirt with her axe and sword sheathed on each side. Just like many others, she carried a large, round wooden shield on her left arm which she wielded with ease. Her hair was a wooden brown and was braided into locks that went around the tiny antlers on her head.
"I do disagree, big sister," sneered a scrawny man behind her. He had shorter braids but longer antlers on his head and wore simple cloth with a leather vest to protect his chest. "Me and Darby stabbed plenty, didn't we Darby?" he snickers.
"That we did, Boc," his twin emerges beside him, he also wears the same outfit but his locks are entangled in his antlers yet he cares little of it. "That we did."
"Oh, please you lot stumbled around in the fray and threw those tiny peckers you call swords the moment it began," remarks a stunning young woman. She has short golden hair and cat ears on her head and wears a bright red armour with golden linings drenched in blood. She wields two sickles which she sheathes back to her belt. She was Ember Khayyam, Lady of Clan Khayyam, she bears a more feared name known among the Clans.
"Slander! Lies and Slander!" shrieks Boc as he points angrily at her. She just laughs off at the bony man with the warrior women beside her.
"Stay your tongue or we'll stay it for you!" Darby threatens her with a swift wield of his blade.
"Come and try, bramblehead!" she answers with both sickles in hand and her warriors step up with her. Jin Jackal just sighs in front of them but will rather just let them burn each other out with empty threats and pretentious macho bravado than interfere.
"Everyone be quiet!" a woman's voice thunders in the morning as another one lands in place. She comes in flying down with great white wings and wearing scaled steel armour. Her blade is smooth iron and her shield thick shark hide. She has pale skin, short hair, and serrated teeth and she bares them upon the twin brothers and sends them cowering behind their sister. Ember remains unfazed.
"Just shallow bragging and empty threats, Darya. Nothing more," Ember declares with a grin as she puts her blades back. Darya eyes her deeply.
"Yes, the cat hisses when it cannot win," sneers Darby who is met with Ember's swift turn of the head and squinting sights.
Jin lets out a deep breath, breaking from his trance. "So, how does do you fair Clan Mako's first raid with us?" he asks already expecting approval.
"Hmm" she begins with a deep pondering. This raid lacked in many aspects but also opened her minds to new worlds, "it is different than raiding merchant ships along the coast. More costly but more entertaining.
"I pray you haven't lost too many men," says Yelena as she eyes her brothers down, "I know I have."
"It was just a couple big sister," pleas a cowering Boc.
"Nothing we can't replace in a day or two—or three," snivels a shaking Darby who receives the brunt of Yelena's judgment.
Jin pays no mind to the arguing siblings and turns to Darya with a steep curve on his brow, "What about the outskirts? Any news from Gravelsnout? I don't see any of their men here." His words are snide and doubtful.
She shakes her head but Corvina props up like a delighted bird hopping about and raising her hand, "It's as you said, those snotty humans tried to escape through the woods leading to Mistral city," she says with a tiny, snickering voice.
"Hmph, as you said, the Gravelsnouts rounded up the stragglers," remarks Ember with a sharp yet proud smile.
"Spread thin as their ranks may be, they still proved useful," agrees Yelena Briarlock.
Jin gives out an unimpressed yet satisfied expression and nods in agreement, "Very well, send for Gravelsnout. Tell him to round up the survivors," he asks Corvina who jolts up and runs away in a second.
But as she leaves, a messenger arrives wearing a familiar white mask lined by bright red marks. He had a black hood and dark clothes plated with bone white armour. The White Fang messenger was met with the coldest glares from the soldiers and a raised brow from Jin Jackal.
"Why are you here?" a quiet statement, a soft chill before the winter rages.
"I'm sorry, Warlord Jackal," the man catches his breath and calms his thoughts, "I have news from Brother Adam—"
"Speak," he permits with utmost courtesy.
The cowering man gulps down hard. Courage is a hard virtue to come by these days and bearing dreadful news to the man they call The Wolf, well, that takes more courage than anyone can find. "T-The White Fang, sir Warlord. They failed the attack on Mistral."
"What?!" a roar echoes in the woods of Mistral, sundering trees and sending bird to flight. A wave of gasps and disbelief ebbs through them for but a moment. Then there is anger among the bickering and whispers, ignited by failure, cemented by affirmed expectations for the young new White Fang High Chieftain.
"Miserable wretch!" screams Boc.
"After everything we've done for him—" says Darby, "and he still fails?"
"Someone more useless than the bramble-heads—that is surprising" Ember's smirk is met with quick looks from the two brothers.
"How?" is all Jin musters, holding back as hard as he can.
"Huntsmen, sir—" the man tries.
"But we have thinned down Mistral's ranks. There shouldn't have been enough to push back an attack of that scale, especially with our allies," argues the Yelena.
"Not from Mistral, Lady Briarlock but from Vale," Jin squints at him, thinking profusely. "And there were reinforcements that came from Menagerie," he informs him with light steps.
"Ghira" the wolf mutters to himself, realizing crucial failures on the White Fang.
"I see. So the Albains failed as well." Jin lets out a long sigh, it wasn't news of failure. It was a wake-up call, something he was afraid would come knocking at his door. Years ago, Adam showed promise to his father, Logge Jackal, in the raids on Atlesian caravans and supply trains. Though being merely a splinter group back then, Taurus and his men were heavily supported by Clan Jackal in their operations, with each success, he gained more of their favour. And when the fall of Beacon was orchestrated, it was the clan that supplied the men, the weapons, and the propaganda. All the way until Adam's ascension to High Chieftain, Clan Jackal stood behind him, they invested much in him and awaited the day they could reap what they sowed. But he was a bad investment, and Jin could not stomach bad investments.
Still, it doesn't mean he can't recover. Just a minor roadblock, a quick detour before engineering new plans, new stratagems to follow. Rinse and repeat.
"Fine," he gestures to the Briarlocks. "Bring forth the traitor, we'll try him by the willow tree." Cheers of undaunted obedience erupts from the clans, reinvigorated by the Wolf's words. Yelena turns to her brothers and signals them to fetch the traitor in chains. "Ember," Jin continues, "take your people and search every building, turn this town household by household for any remaining survivors. Bring every damn human here," Ember grins, Darya follows and with their men they scavenge the burned town, eager to feed their blades and axes once again.
"And you," he looks down on the messenger, "tell Adam to meet us by the Mangrove's road near Camp Titanfall," an order that saves the White Fang man's skin.
"The one north of the great lake, past the city of Windpath?" he stammers but intended to ask humbly.
"Yes," and a humble answer he receives, "We'll meet you after we finish what we came for here," the man nods nervously, "Go!" Jin shoos him away and off he flies with his tail between his legs.
The sky beams a humble blue hue as grey clouds approach that late autumn morning.
Cheers begin to erupt from the back of the crowd, the people gave way as Boc and Darby drag a young frail man in tattered clothes by his arms. His hands are still in chains and his reluctant feet scrape away at the ground below but when he sees Jin Jackal's waiting glare, they begin to push away and resist, like a rat fleeing when its tail is caught on the hinge of a trap.
A small crowd followed behind, prisoners held by the clans. Led by Clan Khayyam, Ember and her warriors whipped and pushed them around like cattle until they presented themselves before Jin the Wolf. Barely a few soldiers in the crowd's ranks, mostly women, children, and the elderly all ragged, filthy, and wounded. Another group walked beside them, also captives. But this one was held by a round, hulking boar of a man with thick, dark skin and sharp tusks protruding from his lower jaw. "Porto Gravelsnout!" Jin welcomes him with wide arms and he responds with a wider smile. "Did I not say this would be a worthwhile raid?" he chuckles.
The boar-man shoves his way through the lines to embrace the proud Wolf, "Indeed you did, Lord Jin. My men haven't seen a raid like this in months!"
"And there will be more to come," he smiles as he gives him a pat on the cheek before walking back to the willow tree.
Boc and Darby hold down the traitor before the tree who is still quaking in his knees. A rat eyeing down its captor as it squirms on all fours. Futile and almost pitiful for Jin Jackal to look upon had he mercy left to spare. A slower pace, like a wolf eyeing his toy, "What's your name again?"
A thousand scenarios played in his head but none of them had a question, "What?" he tried to reply.
"Your name, brother," calm like the grey sky, "What is it?"
"W-what?" he repeats, a silent squeak that the wolf heard loud and clear.
"What kind of name is Wwhat?" he looks at the Briarlock brothers who snicker at his words. "Do you speak English, Wwhat?"
"W-w-what?" he squeaks one last time before Jin drives his boot deep into his belly.
"ENGLISH YOU STUPID RAT! DO YOU SPEAK IT?!" he demands like a snarling dog as he swung his massive axe to the man's side. Embedding it on the hard ground, much to the amusement of the clansmen with him. People laugh aloud and bang their shields and chests as Jin put on a display.
"Y-y-yes" the man coughs out as he feels last night's red wine dinner coming out.
"Then what is your name?" he demands again, straight to the man's face. "A simple question, all I ask." He paces around, the crowd cheers his name.
"Pe-petey," a hint of air slivers through his about-to-be vomit-clogged throat. Petey's diaphragm wails in pain, breathing becomes heavier by the second.
"What was that?" Jin lends an ear to the aching man, more than he deserves.
"Pe-petey, sir Jackal," says Petey before turning to the ground and regurgitating what looks like hollow bean shells and digested bits of liver.
"You know why you're here, Petey? Why you stand before the clans now under the willow tree?" his massive hand almost the size of Petey's face as he flares his finger at him.
"It was becau—"
"It was because you were caught and chained and caged like wild animal!" he growls, mad as a dog and impatient as a wolf.
Petey is in dismay, when he heard the gunshots and ringing of swords, he pictured his salvation close to his grasp. So he begs, "I didn't mean to—"he tries but sees a hounding Jin circling around him like a wolf closing down on its prey. "My patrol was defeated, I had no choice but to surrender"
Then Jin's expression was shrouded by a dark cloud. A storm brews in his thoughts, raging violently in that sea of regrets and convictions. His mother whispers and his father screams, an endless cycle of conflict begets a hand full of fury that reaches for his massive axe and upheaves it from the ground. "Wait, no-!" Petey pleads but Jin ignores it and when the axe transforms into a shotgun—
He fires it behind his back, blowing up one of the survivor's heads into a scattered pulp of brain and skull.
The survivors scream and quiver at the sight of one of their own brutally shot at. "Aw, goddamn it," complains Porto as he was the one covered in the fleshy bits of a man's former head, trying his best to scrape and wipe away the blood from his clothes. The corpse falls forward, triggering another wave of shrieks from the survivors. Children cried, the clans cheer, Jin kept his back turned and his eyes fixated upon the tiny man, unmoved.
"Do you know the Creed, Petey?" he whispers down to the man who has pissed himself long ago.
But the shaking man had no other choice but to answer. At this point on, there are no right answers anyway, "T-t-the what?" he perks up his head, a glimmer of hope sparks desperate curiosity.
But the wolf stays his temper and shakes his head before turning around to face the clans. Silence clouds them all, anticipating his orders. His boots drive heavy into the ground, dust scatter beneath his feet. He signals one of his clansmen before walking up to Darya who watches with time shattering vigilance.
"You do the honours," he whispers to her and she subtly pops out a surprised expression.
A thick-bearded, dark-skinned man in heavy leather armour walks up to them carrying a large wooden box. He hands it to Jin who opens it immediately in front of her, inside are an iron-clad glove with finely honed fingertips and knuckles that can cut clean through flesh, a heavy squared metal hammer with its sides still smoothed clean, and a ceremonial dagger with a bone-plated hilt and serrated blade still dried with blood. "You want me to do it?" she asks reluctantly but in the back of her head, she cannot fathom the pride in carrying out the tradition and takes all of the tools out of the box and into her large scaly hands.
"Carve an angel out of him," Jin's words forces the panic out of Petey's heart.
"A Screaming Angel," Darya smiles and he nods back with simple eyes.
"Wait, please! Don't do this!" Petey instantly stands up and tries to run at the two Clan leaders but is stopped in his tracks by Boc and Darby who subdue him by the shoulders. "Please!" he cries out, tears erupt from his eyes like fountains, "Please, I had no choice," the brothers begin to carry him to the willow tree. He's still struggling from their grasp. Darya follows slowly, the glove on her left hand holds the hammer and the right holds the dagger. Still, Petey begs, "Please, they killed everybody in my group. All my friends, my clansmen, I did everything I could," one last try, one last time.
And for a moment, the Wolf turns his head and he was given a second. Just one second of Jin's priceless time, "If you did, you wouldn't be here right now," and it was a second that shattered him into a screaming mess of despair.
The brothers pull back harder, the man is driven mad by grief, kicking and screaming pleas that are neither Jin to give nor his to receive. They force him to his knees, the ground is jagged and unwelcoming. Petey fights and squeals like pig in the slaughterhouse as Darya wastes no time and makes a small incision on the mark on the back of his neck with the bladed fingertips. Then she pulls back the skin and slides the jagged dagger down his flesh and flaying huge chunk of his skin from his back.
A cry of pain echoes like a symphony. Each slide of the blade is welcomed by cheering clans. Jin Jackal paces back to his men and the other clans, his dead glare sends captive citizens to curl up into their loved ones and families as they are forced to watch a man flayed alive before them. More of Clan Jackal run up to the three carrying with them ropes and hammers and nails and hooks. They toss ropes over the willow tree's branches and secure them with hooks hammered to the ground. And while Darya carves out Petey's back from his mark, they tie knots around his arms and legs tightly and carefully, don't want to pull on his flesh too much.
"Watch," the wolf barks the order and silences the roaring crowd of clans, "and Listen."
They lend their ears and pay unwavering attention. Every clan, every man, woman, and child—everybody.
"He is Marked," he begins, a low moan under the greying sky, "As are all of you. The Wolf's bite is embedded on his neck as it embedded on yours." He points a sharp finger down the man, everyone's eyes flare with judgement. His words drown the man's screams like howls in the night drowning the singing forest.
"That Mark is not given! That Mark is not earned! Our elders kissed him on his Naming day as your elders kissed you." He waves his hand around the crowd, hundreds, if not thousands, raise their chins high, their eyes gaze upon a heaven-sent angel for them. A messiah in wolfskin—and his name is Jin Jackal.
"That Mark is duty, etched on skin and carved on bone!" shoulders back, chest out and his fist pounds hard on the leather armour as his howls match the shifting breeze. "Do not mistake that Mark as a trophy you bear or a medal you wear. That Mark binds you to the clan—every piece of you," a faint whisper, a grim reminder.
Petey wails like lamb in the slaughter. The serrated blade slides smoothly through his spine and chips off parts of vertebrae. It's both a miracle and a curse that he hasn't fainted from the pain yet. The skin down his neck has been peeled off like a banana and the stoic leader of Clan Mako begins flaying his back open, the dagger digs lightly into his flesh, careful to avoid hitting organs or arteries, keeping him alive as long as she can. Then the incisions are made and she begins peeling off the skin, opening his back like book. "Tooth and nail! Grit and wit, bound to the clan from your Naming day to your last breath! Remember who you are-" then his voice calms all of a sudden, like a quiet sea below the passing storm.
"And who do you think you are?" a solemn air engulfs the clans. A moment to think and rethink, to dig deep for lost answers for questions buried away long ago. But still, they remembered.
And they thundered in their steps. Hundreds cheer and chaos surrounds Jin Jackal as his clan—and all the other clans—erupt into a symphony of pounding shields and arms and weapons raised in the air. Many answered his call, an endless ocean that echoed upon itself, drowning the surviving villager's whimpers and Petey's rib cracking at the blunt of Darya's first blow.
"Jackal!" from the back prides in his clan's name.
"Jackals!" a woman corrects his misplaced pride.
"Jackals in the winter cold!" another finds depth in her duty, serenity in her purpose.
"Fangbrothers!" they embrace what they truly are.
"You are Jackals!" Jin shouts back, his voice hoarse from battle yet fierce and ferocious. "Hides thick as shields and fangs sharp as steel. Carved in battle and hardened by winters. You are not born! You are Made just as I am! Just as he was!" his points behind him. Then he turns, his glare falls upon the man whose screams are already being drowned out by the applause of his former brothers and sisters.
The hammer lands hard on his back again and Darya bends another rib backward, her hand pulls back and ready to swing again. "No one is above their clan," Jin bellows before the roaring horde. "We do not put ourselves before our Clan, even if we witness our brothers and sisters fall before us," he glances at the man behind who can no longer match his agony with tears and has been wailing for what feels like an eternity below the willow tree. "That is not what the Creed tells us."
"Dare we forget the Creed?" he throws the question and the ground shakes with Jackals shivering to their core. There are few things to fear and love in this world and Jin the Wolf is one of them.
He growls, the wolf is calm and collected. His eyes find no one, they don't need to. He knows those who stand beside him and those who don't. And the words fill his head and duty floods his heart. Thoughts of his father, his mother—and most importantly—his brother scatter in his mind for a moment but that isn't a luxury he can afford.
He looks to the pack, and only the pack, as he beckons.
I am a Jackal, Jin begins, his men follow. An unforgotten song, and this is my pack
There are many like it but this one is mine. Slowly they gathered their voices, steadily their melody rose into a harmony.
The hammer was heavy on his exposed ribs. Blood spurted from his back and muscles were torn by her blow alone.
The pack is my family, it is my life, Yelena stood with the Briarlocks in silence. Listening to the grim tune of Jackals in their finest form.
And I shall serve it as I serve my life, Ember mutters words under her breath. Long has she known part of the creed. But those nights spent with Jin Jackal taught her much more than a clan's creed, passion under soft covers, beneath watching stars. She remembered the taste of conviction, dripping sweet on his lips.
And I stand behind it in victory, she cried and pounded on her bright reddened armour. It resounded like a war drum marching on the field of war, leading her clan—her pride—into a blaze of glory, win or lose.
And fall beside it in defeat. The hammer fell again on bone and again his cry was drowned by the Creed.
To serve the pack, I must live free, the Wolf echoed his voice ever louder against the listening trees and whispering woods. His clan matched his pride, matched his roar, matched his heart.
Never to be bound in chains, the shackles upon Petey's wrists tightened as a small pump of adrenaline pulled back at the chains.
Never to be trapped in a cage, the men did not give him the room, they had to let Darya work as smoothly as she can.
I live free or die, Angels weren't easy to carve.
To serve my pack, the words began to pass through Yelena Briarlock, May my blade be swifter. A long lost song suddenly echoed upon her soul.
Than my enemies before me, it had been too long since she laid eyes upon someone with such drive and ferocity.
My shield stronger than their blows, it had been too long since she found purpose and will to move forward with her clan.
Heart be fierce and mind be sharp, it had been too long since she lived. And now, she had never felt more alive.
She thunders with the clans, moved by the howling wolf in his golden fur upon the darkening sky. "I shall hunt as a jackal, Gravelsnout wasted no time and erupted with everyone else, shaking the ground and the survivors to the core.
I shall fight as a jackal, Clan Khayyam bursts like mad lions ravaging a herd in their wake. Boc and Darby shared a grin that cuts from ear to ear as they watched Petey the rat was slowly butchered.
Jin cracked a smile, nothing could have matched his peace of mind that day. Clans united under one banner, under one goal, under one Creed. I shall live as a jackal
Or I shall die as a jackal, Petey has run out of screams and tears as Darya finishes bending the last rib. The shackles narrow again and she pins the ribs on the skin, securing them tightly. And yet he still lives, breathless and dazed but still alive by a thread. Then he is hoisted up into the air, lifted atop the willow's weeping branches with his back opened like book for the entire village to see.
A Screaming Angel that has breathed its last by the willow tree.
And the clans screamed and cheered and howled. A great triumph is bestowed upon them today. A village overpowered, a traitor tried and sentenced, a wolf grinning at the sight of the first of many victories.
Jin stands down and walks to Porto, Darya looks up marvelling at her handiwork. She catches a quick glimpse of Jin impressed at her first try, a swift nod from him congratulates her, though she is proud enough to know she doesn't need any. Porto meets the wolf's red eyes, squinting narrowly and sharply at them as if asking, "What do we do with them?" he shifts his gaze at the remaining survivors frozen in horror.
And the wolf replied, "Make that Willow wail." And the hulking Gravelsnout smiled.
"Alright! You heard the man!" he beckons at all the clans, Darya raises her head and a brow, Yelena turns sharply at the boar, and Ember smiles in delight, it is the moment she's been waiting for.
"Nails and Hammers!" she screams at her clan and they cheer as they run back behind the yard and each grabs stout hammers and rusty nails. And when there were no more hammers to get, they picked up rocks and bricks and gave them to the other clans.
Jin walks past the crowd as the Gravelsnouts and Briarlocks begin dragging the survivors by the tree. Whimpering people are hurled and thrown about by the yard. They gaze upon the sight of a bleeding Petey above them as the Faunus push them to the tree. Darby has the first honour, he grabs an old man by his neck and pins him by the hard bark and then stabs him in the back with the long nail. The hammer fell quick and heavy, and he repeatedly pounded hard with it, laughing and snickering all the way. And when the nail was fixed deep on his back and pierced through his chest, he took another one and pinned it on the arm with the same rapid and maddening motion.
And though Jin walks back into the city without bothering to look back at the mounds of people being nailed into the Willow tree, he still finds a clean serenity in hearing the cries of pain and anguish behind. It was a mellow tune playing softly for his ears, like clear water on a warm summer day.
He stops for a moment and takes that one long breath of fresh air. The sky begins to clear again, the sun peeking out behind grey, rainless clouds. It shines its radiance upon the burned down remains of Haruka.
Another deep breath to clear his thoughts. Memories are persistent pests that cloud judgment and decision. His mother, his father, his brother are all distractions he has neither the time nor the patience for.
But Adam Taurus—now, that's someone that's deserving of his time- only his time.