A/N: Two Months... Two, stinking, bloody, gosh-danged months. That was when I last updated. And I am sorry. I actually got writers block on this chapter, something I thought would never happen. And I am so upset that it did. Fora few reasons. One being that Summer is supposed to be the time where I could update much more frequently. Two being that the longer I wait, the more people forget about my story, an the more people lose interest. Hell, I almost lost interest in my own story! So, I am sorry.
Also, there is another something that has come to mind; the rating of this story. Recently, thanks to a peers, I have come to question the rating of this story. Sure, not a lot bad happens. Except the torture, strong implications of sexual activity, gore, and a lot of violence. So, I have put it up to you. And I am begging, please vote in this poll. IT is on my account, and I need to know what my readers think. Please vote!
Chapter 27: The Trial of Combat
"How am I alive?" That was the first question that Aiden asked. The second was right on the heels of the first. "Where is Keeja?" The Dark Dragon, Spyro, stared down at Aiden, looking almost relieved.
"I brought you back to life." Spyro said simply. "Do you not remember? Think on the time before, then after your death." Aiden stared up at him, confused slightly, but never so confused as to not obey his master. He thought on the moments before his death, fighting, feeling pain, seeing his master arrive, then nothing. Then he remembered an odd feeling. More like, the sudden shift from feeling, to feeling nothing. Then he his memory became fuzzy and dream like, but he saw. He saw Spyro unleash rage upon the would-be assassins. He saw them die, one by one. Then he saw Spyro mourn over his body. He saw his head reattached, then Keeja leave by Spyro's order. Spyro then held up an orb of black and white energy, and pressed it into Aiden's chest.
"I, I see… but I can't explain." Aiden said confusedly. Spyro nodded.
"You were nothing more then a spirit yet to leave this mortal world. I placed the soul of another dragon into your body, and your essence immediately entered in again." Spyro related. Aiden was shocked to say the least. his head dropped back onto the pillow. "It is a shock, I know. But, I have granted you a two week leave. You may relax as you see fit." Aiden was surprised again. Why would Spyro do that? He needed all of his men, at all times. "You were just dead; you need time to settle in, recuperate." Spyro answered Aiden's unasked question.
"Why can I feel?" Aiden asked his next question. He decided to take things one at a time. This was the second question. It was also the question that conflicted him. Did he want his feelings back? To actually know what was happening to him, to know what it is like to feel pain and suffering, to know what it is like to hold and be held? Or did he want to please the only father he ever known, to serve a just cause to his utmost, and continue his crusade against the Guardians?
"Well, someone has been slipping some form of potion that enhances physical feeling into your food and water rations." Spyro huffed out, but Aiden caught a previously thought impossible, mischievous glint in his eye. "That is another reason for your leave; till it wears off." Spyro explained. He sighed deeply, and looked to his paws before looking Aiden dead in the eye.
"Aiden, you are my most faithful servant. You are the one I trust most. I hope that you will enjoy your break, and recover well, Meus Semper Fidelis." Spyro admitted, quickly turning away and leaving. It was wonder for Aiden; pure wonder. His master had shown care for him, and probably made it so he could feel; his face even adopted an emotion of honesty, relief, and gladness at Aiden's survival. "Also, your slave has been begging to see you." Spyro tossed over his shoulder. As the purple left, another dragon slipped in, this one dark blue with katana shaped horns and tail spade. She trembled as she crept closer to Aiden, stretching a paw out to touch the emotionless green dragon in front of her, Upon contact and feeling warm, rough scales, she shivered and bowed at the foot of the bed.
"Master… you live…" Keeja was definitely subdued. Aiden frowned, then threw some of the sheets to the side and moved himself to the far edge of the bed. He raised a wing and motioned for Keeja to lay by him. She followed the wordless command, slinking into bed and laying next to Aiden. He rolled on his side, rolling her as well so the were chest to chest. He lowered his wing over her, one paw slipping around her waist and pulling her closer. The other paw hooked and round her neck and brought it into his chest, then he arched his neck so his snout was pressed firmly against the nape of Keeja's neck. She gasped little, but slipped her arms around Aiden's neck, snuggled a bit closer, and closed her eyes.
Aiden, seeing his slave relax, relaxed in follow. Perhaps this break wasn't going to be as bad as he thought. He realized something else. Knowing what Spryo had done for him, his feelings after his death, the fact he saved him, all of this reaffirmed Aiden's choice. Spyro was right. Syra had just lied to him, tried to gain Aiden's favor and turn him against his master. It was quite an ingenious plot. One that was probably learnt from Cynder.
Spyro had watched through a crack in the door. His once relieved face was stony again. He stood, turning neatly and prowling down the halls. He found a balcony, launching from it and flying around Spes Morte till he recognized the balcony that led to his personal quarters. He landed on his balcony, entering his room. He saw, straight in front of him the entry hall, lined with various trophies he has collected throughout his years under his master. To the left and right were two separate rooms, one being a personal armory/study for him, and the other led to his bedroom. Spyro turned and entered his personal study, going over to a table with various scrolls and written translations. To pass time, Spyro liked to translate books into ancient draconic, or from ancient draconic. Spyro had way too much time on his paws.
He sorted through the mess of scrolls, references, and books, till he found the secret panel in his desk. He opened that panel, revealing a smooth, circular, clear crystal. It was the size of a hand mirror to him, holding it and in front of him. Opening his mouth, he let out a mist of convexity, the energy colliding with the crystal and causing a purple cloud to spread through the crystal like a storm cloud. The cloud formed a fuzzy image, but one he knew well.
"Spyro, it has been too long." The image spoke in a slightly distorted voice.
"It has, my Master." Spyro replied. "We are working on bringing you back to the realms, but it is hard to know the exact time in which you will be free." Spyro relayed back. His master nodded slowly.
"And what of your plan for Aiden?"
"It worked perfectly. There was no way to link the assassins back to me, especially since they are all dead. The fact I saved him brought his trust back. So he trusts me completely. I even tricked him to think that I care for him. A simple lie, really." His master chuckled.
"Is there anyone who hears the truth from you?" His master asked with a slight grin.
"Only you, my Master." Spyro, of course, was lying.
≤Ω≥
Dimitri groaned as he stared at the bandage over his side. It would have perfectly blended with his scales, if it wasn't for the slight amount of red showing through. He was waiting on the dragoness that had helped them earlier, Cicle. She had brought a convenient bag of gems with her, and hadvery generouslydonated them to Dimitri and his 'cause'. They three dragons and Connor were back at the Tundrapack camp, which was quite different from Taigapack's camp. Tundrapack's camp sat in a bowl like depression in the ground. All along the walls of the bowl were near invisible burrows in the snow, leading to cozy dens carved from snow and ice. Like Taigapack, all the warrior dens were grouped together, just like the apprentices were grouped together, as well as the elders. Another large cooking fire sat in the center, but this one was designed to give off as little smoke as possible. If Dimitri had to guess, there was a sort of chimney like contraption dug in the ground that led the smoke somewhere else. With all the ice and snow, Dimitri found himself quite at home. He was an ice dragon.
Currently, he was in a more spacious den, with shelves that were lined with various healing herbs. He had been told by Connor he was in the Omega's den. The Omega, as explained by Connor, was a sort of shaman to the wolves. They usually didn't fight, and it was dishonorable to attack one without good reason. They healed the wounded, tended the sick, and were one of the three leading figures in each other the packs, the other two being the Alpha and Beta. The Omega also was given signs from their ancestors, and also interpreted signs. They were generally respected and wise, but also lived a life of abstinence.
But they could at least have friends…
"Here you are, sir Knight." Dimitri's head snapped to the entrance, looking at the blue head that was poking in. Cicle even had that odd little horn on the tip of her snout, like Cyril did. She nosed in a bag, full of red and green gems. They were scarce on this island, but quite plentiful in Dante's Freezer. Dimitri was a still not used to be called 'knight' instead of 'apprentice'. The title that had stuck to him since his day of hatching still clung to his instincts, just like the dragon that had been called 'Sir Knight' before him clung to his memory. "You should heal up. Connor and that one wolf, Blake, are speaking with an old wolf in a black coat."
Dimitri searched his recent memory, trying to find a wolf that matched that description. Perhaps it was the leader of Northpack? He grabbed the gems, healing himself then cutting away the bandage. He stared longingly at the empty area on his haunch, wishing he had his blade-sheath with him. He missed the comforting weight of it on his leg, and the assurance of always having a weapon that came with the blade. He had left it at the Taigapack camp.
He stood, his side now unmarred, and trotted out of the camp with Cicle. They both saw Ciarán, the old gray wolf still leaning against his cane; beside him were two other black coated warriors from Northpack. Ciarán was speaking in wolfish to Blake and Connor, looking very upset while Connor looked utterly shocked. Ciarán growled slightly, but beckoned Connor to follow him. The two sat down on the ground, and a checkered board was laid in front of them.
But Connor failed the Hunting Trial, so why was he proceeding onto the Trial of Strategy? Dimitri knew that he would get no answer soon, so he sunk back into the snow, sleeping peacefully. Through his cracked open eyelids, he saw Cicle settling down, and Syra curling right next to Connor's sleeping form.
When Dimitri woke again, it was dark, and Ciarán was sleeping with several other Northpack warriors. They were almost impossible to see, their seemingly black coats now revealing to be midnight blue with darker and lighter patches, making it break up any sharp and clear image. Great camouflage for darkness. Connor was sitting against a rock, his eyes closed and his chest regularly raising and falling; Syra was laying across his lap, also sleeping.
"You wonder the outcome, no?" Dimitri turned as he heard someone speaking behind him. He saw Blake, the pure black wolf was standing behind him. "Well?" The alpha nimbly hopped onto an outcropping sheet of ice, pushing a rock behind him to rest against.
"Sorry, I was a bit distracted." Dimitri said, rubbing his eyes to remove the sleep. "Yes, I am curious as to the various outcomes of the Trials." Dimitri stated, hoping to gain a clear answer. Blake smiled.
"Ciarán wanted to know if Connor had won the Trial. I said he proved himself honorable. Ciarán asked again, and I answered the same." Blake looked down at Dimitri, kneeling in front of the dragon. "My warriors tell me of what happened. Connor forsook safety to save the life of a child. What is more honorable than that? He proved himself unable to hunt a Tundrapack warrior, but he is not a Tundrapack Warrior." Blake smiled slyly at the end of his sentence. Dimitri couldn't help be at awe.
"And, the Trial of Strategy?" Dimitri asked.
"He won. That simple. All that is left is the Trail of Combat." Blake answered. "The contestant should come from Taigapack." Blake observed quietly.
Dimitri shrugged. "I care not. We need the bolster of the wolves forces."
"Why should your war affect us?" Blake asked. "We have apes far, far north, but they leave us alone." Dimitri shook his head.
"Spyro will not leave you alone forever. What ever his plan be, it shall spread everywhere." Dimitri said certainly.
"It is hard to think that one dragon has caused such mischief throughout your realms." Blake said.
"It wasn't just Spyro. For the past thousand years, dragons and apes have been an almost constant state of war. One would end, then another would start a few years later for whatever reason." Dimitri lamented. "War is no longer a feared occasion, just an inevitable event. Something to be wary of, but not really feared."
"There was only a few wars that have ever been recorded in wolfish history." Blake said simply. "Then, our ancestors told us to stop killing and introduced the Code of Honor. Rarely did a war spring up." The leader of Tunrdapack finished
"Then this must be a peaceful life." Dimitri concluded from Blake's story.
"No." He correct bluntly. "Despite no wars, the wolves here are constantly fighting. Wedo not like to share, and it is always a struggle for survival." Blake said. "But we can meet kindly. Once a month, at least." Blake said as he crossed his arms and leaned back.
Yourancestors, are they like ours?" Dimitri asked. It was interesting to him, to be in a society that condoned beating each other senseless but still rejected murder, and to hear about their own laws and ideas.
"I ain't get a mange-covered clue." Blake said casually. Dimitri couldn't help but be interested by the wolf's personality as well. Blake appeared laid back, but the lack of a smile gave him a very stoic and serious approach, which was only in great confusion to his demeanor and making him hard to approach. That would usually deter one from selecting Blake as a leader. He was not personable, people wouldn't say he is a natural leader.. Dimitri then realized the point of the Trials of the Alphas. It was not to choose the kindest leader, or the most political or even a natural leader. It was about finding the one that could provide food for the clan. The one that could defend his clan. The one that could organize their warriors for war if it came down to that. The leaders of the Icefang did not 'lead' in the sense of giving orders and meting out justice like the Guardians and Knights of Warfang. The Alpha's lead by serving, by carrying the needs of their people one their shoulders.
With that thought, Dimitri asked another question on his mind. "What happened to Connor?" Blake went quiet, then answered.
"His daughter, a pretty cailin named Branna, had recently became a warrior. He took on her on a patrol around the order Taigapack territory. A few hours later, they found him holding her dead body. There were two other dead bodies, and he was covered in blood, his weapons also bloody. It didn't take a master to figure out what happened. Three dead wolves, and one alive." Blake sighed, the young alpha leaning forward and resting his arms against his knees. "Different packs say different things. His own will say he was innocent. Northpack will say he is a murderer."
Dimitri lowered his head, realizing the account he heard from Aislyn could be false due to emotional bias. He decided to change the subject.
"Who is to fight Connor for the Trial of Combat?"
"The wolf with a leor torsca sized bone to pick with him."
≤Ω≥
"The rules of the Trial of Combat are simple, as they are the almost same rules as a regular fights." Conor said to Dimitri and Syra as the walked along. "I will explain them to you. The defender chooses the weapon they will fight with. In usual combat, it is considered dishonorable to attack an opponent with a different weapon than what they attack you with, but this is designed in the defender's favor." Connor explained. They were currently walking back to Taigapack from Tundrapack, escorted by the Tundrapack warriors. Connor was explaining the rules of the Trial of Combat.
"The rest of the rules are pretty much the same. The two fight until one of them yields. Or, if things get drastic, die."
"I thought the wolves didn't kill each other?" Dimitri questioned, wishing to know more.
"That is usually the case." Connor said. "But if an opponent refuses to yield after being clearly beaten three times, then they have proved themselves a fool. We've no need of fools." Connor said grimly. "Most all are smart enough to know when they are beaten, so this rarely happens."
Dimitri nodded. This culture was odd to him. He lived in a world where everything was set in law. Here, things seemed to be based more on the circumstance surrounding the event and less on the event itself. Whatever rules there were could be bent, but not broken. It was so different from his stony laws in Warfang.
"That means you could die!" Syra exclaimed, her face fearful.
"Yes…" Connor said slowly. "It could. But I will not let it come to that." The old warrior said, smiling down at Syra. He placed his hand on her head, gently stroking it in a attempts to calm her. It worked as she settled a little and appeared less puffed up.
"Just watch your ribs." Syra said, Connor wincing a little. His ribs had been cracked from his charge on Scathe; not to the extent that he was unable to fight, but to the extent that he had trouble breathing and any extra pressure hurt. Also moving his arms hurt his chest as well. The crack, as far as Dimitri could tell, was on both the left and right sides, so moving either of Connor's arms aggravated the cracked ribs, and breathing any more than small breaths was painful for the old wolf.
They came to the pine forest that was Taigapack's territory. Usually, they would have been simply dropped off and left to go home themselves. However, Connor noticed that they weren't heading for the camp. They were heading for the clearing that hosted the Assembling, for one simple reason. A public place for Connor's final trial. Most likely because they didn't trust Taigapack to hold an honorable account of who had truly won the Trial of Combat. Ironic, since the one of the packs they expected to hold a true account actually told them false.
They all trotted steadily. Cicle had flown ahead to find Angel and tell her of what had happened, but Dimitri had elected to walk with Connor. Syra had refused to leave her father. After a substantial amount of traveling through the woods, to the point that the crunch of snow had become as natural and expected as the beat of a heart. They had arrived at area for the Assembling. Wolves from all the pack milled around in the tense air, mumbling small gossip as they tried to pass the time. When Connor had arrived, the murmur of gossip increased slightly. Dimitri watched the old wary wolf as he sighed and walked to the center of clearing, where stood Liam and the other Alpha's.
"Tá tú tagtha faoi dheireadh. Ní raibh a fhios againn má bhí tú ag dul a thagann nó nach bhfuil." Liam said with a nod of his head. Only a few other Alpha's following his nod. Blake was there as well, having left before with Ciarán. The old alpha of Northpack was muttering, probably about how he would fight Conor if he could.
Connor leaned down, gently peeling Syra from his side and nudging her to Dimitri. The small black child whimpered slightly, now pressing her self to Dimitri's side, making him a little uncomfortable. To calm her, the young Knight simply stroked her paw with his. The motion had the desired effect, and she calmed., albeit slightly.
Connor stood in front of the six Alpha's, saying in his own language "Cé atá chun aghaidh a thabhairt dom le haghaidh na trialach seo?" None of the Alpha's stepped forward. Instead, a young, eager, voice spoke out.
"Tá mé an ceann a aghaidh leat, 'athair'.' The voice was definitely familiar, but not in its usual angry tone. It seemed almost, happy. Dimitri swung his head to the voice and held his tongue, so as not to speak a curse in the draconic language.
The one to fight Connor to decide if Connor still held his honor, if his word is to be trusted and if the wolves will join the Guardians and Their Armies, was the young, strong, skilled, and very hate filled red warrior, Clancy. Connor's son.
≤Ω≥
"Why him? He is not an Alpha." Connor stated, motioning to his son, the reddish brown warrior baring his teeth and the loner.
"Because 'he is an unbiased member of Taigapack.'" Liam said in a mocking voice. Ciarán glared at him, not enjoying the mockery, but not saying a thing about it. It didn't change that he had won. And Connor knew why. He had to fight someone younger then him, stronger then him, faster then him, and while Connor doesn't want to harm his son, his son would feel none of the same feelings. Connor's heart sunk as he remembered the sharp pain in his ribs. This would not be easy…
Why did this have to be done? Why did he have to go through this trial? What was the whole point of it all? The rescue the guardian of Electricity, that was obvious. Why does it matter? Why is Connor going to such lengths, for a war he doesn't care about, for dragons he doesn't care about? For what reason! Why was he in the place he was not to return to, why did he have to fight his son? How did he get dragged into this all, and what keeps him from leaving?
Connor gained his answer when a snout bumped into his arm. he looked down the vibrant purple eyes of Syra, of the dragoness who seemed to be Branna, his beloved, dead daughter. The answer only brought to important, confusing questions forth. Was he doing this, this fighting, this pain, these trials for Syra, his adopted daughter? Or was he doing it for Branna, his begotten daughter? The answer was not one to be gained in that moment, for Clancy was calling out to him.
"Do you now choose to leave?" Clancy said in a provoking fashion, the hints of a sumg grin running from his face as he pulled out his sword, dropped it point first into the ground. He then removed his shield, leaning it against his sword as he removed his harness, tossing it in the snow. Connor nodded his head solemnly, copying the motions of Clancy and removing his sword, shield, and harness. Clancy stared hard at Connor, then turned to the crowd of wolves around them. He and Connor had most of the clearing to fight, with the wolves bleeding through around ten feet past the treeline, or perched in trees. After grabbing his sword and shield, holding the sword in his right and the shield in his left Clancy began to speak.
"I have chosen my sword and shield to face the loner and challenger, Connor Oakentree." Clancy said, pointing his sword at the wolf who was his father, Connor having by now picked up his own sword and shield. With a firm stomp on the snow packed ground from Clancy, the Trial of Combat began.
Connor and Clancy circled each other slowly staring at each other a they tried to gauge who would attack first, as well as remember each other enough to guess their style. Connor himself had much more happening in his head then Clancy. Mostly, it was his ribs, which still ached. Connor realized how much of a handicap they really were. He couldn't breathe deeply without being in pain because of his ribs; this meant he would tire much quicker, or have to be in a lot of pain to take actual breaths. Also, he could barely move his arms for strikes. Connor grimaced when he realized swinging his arms is something that couldn't be avoided at all. Plus, Connor would have to protect his side and ribs at as much as possible to avoid being struck there. This was not going to be an easy fight, at all.
Connor could tell that Clancy, if given the opportunity, would quickly go on the offensive. That would mean that Connor taking hits. That would mean more pain and risk of aggravating his ribs, which would only make the duel by much quicker. That meant one thing simply. Connor had to attack.
Biting his tongue, he lunged forward and slashed left, aiming right for Clancy's left side and shield arm. Clancy twitched his arm, blocking the sword with his shield and quickly swinging his sword in a diagonal slash aiming for Connor's right shoulder. As Connor raised his shield arm to block, pain shot to his ribs and he cringed. He quickly changed his stance and stepped back, dodging the blow. Clancy continued the blow, the tip of his sword scratching the snow before he twisted his arm around and slashed diagonally upwards, aiming for Connor's hip this time, stepping forward to come within range. Connor was not able to move his sword to parry Clancy's strike, so he had to step back and dodge again. As Clancy set his foot down again, he crouched, bunching his legs under him then launching at Connor shield first. The older wolf bit his cheek, and sidestepped to the left, spinning and round and trying to catch a slash against Clancy's back. Clancy avoided the strike by turning the charge into a dive, and then and rolling to his feet, quickly spinning to his right and swinging at Connor again. Connor caught Clancy's blade on his own, letting out a yelp of pain as it sent needles of pain in his ribs. He pushed his blade down till his and Clancy's cross guards met and locked. Before Clancy could slam his shield into Connor, the young wolf's father raised his foot and planted it in the red warriors stomach, kicking him away putting much needed space between the two of them.
Aislyn cried as she watched. What was she to do? She couldn't help but watch as as her only and beloved mate fought Clancy, trying his best to strike him. And she couldn't help but watch as her only and beloved son fought Connor, trying his best to harm Connor as much as he could. She cried.
Clancy stepped forward, planting his right foot by Connor's left, thrusting his shield forward and slamming it against Connor's. The older wolf grunted in shock the shield bash sent shocks through his arms and into his ribs. Clancy pushed against Connor's shield, raising his sword high and then slamming the pummel down, trying to bash Connor's head with the pummel. Connor jerked his head to the side, the pummel slamming against his shoulder. Connor, in desperation to get the aggressive wolf away from him and his cracked ribs, slashed his sword at Clancy's right leg. The red wolf threw his shield arm up and to his right, throwing Connor's shield up and out of the way. During this, he had picked his foot up, moving it backwards and dodging Connor's attack, then swinging his sword and slamming it against Connor's right side. Connor's eyes bulged slightly as he leapt backwards, howling in pain and gasping for breath as one of his arms clasped around his ribs, trying to futilely suppress the pain. It didn't work at all.
Connor had to gasp again in pain, starting a vicious cycle of his deep breaths leading to pain, which lead to more deep breaths. It took a few seconds for his discipline to set in, stopping his deep breaths in favor for smaller ones. He realized he was now at the disadvantage, if he already didn't start with one. He had to strike before Clancy had the chance to.
Too late, Clancy stepped forward with his right foot, resting his weight on that foot and swinging at Connor. Connor raised his shield, blocking the sword strike. Then, he took advantage of Clancy's weight distribution and slammed his sword into Clancy's knee. The leg twisted and forced Clancy to the ground, Connor quickly bringing his sword over his head and swinging it to strike Clancy full on the back. The red warrior let himself fall back into the snow, avoiding the blow. Connor snarled slightly, pressing the tip of his sword against Clancy's chest. Clancy knocked it with his shield arm, kicking Connor away and trying to pick up his sword, completely defenseless. Connor stood still, waiting for Clancy to find his sword and feet.
"What is he doing?" Syra whispered, only to be answered by Blake.
"He cannot strike an opponent on the ground; that is dishonorable, and would make him lose. Instantly." Blake revealed with a sad sigh. Clancy's taunting of Connor, about him having no honor after Connor stomped on him, seemed to make more sense now.
Connor swung his forward in an upwards slash at Clancy. The red warrior side stepped, crossing his legs and dodging the strike, then spun around and swung his sword at Connor's leg. Connor twisted, facing Clancy and dropped his shield to block the blow. He didn't see Clancy swinging his shield arm at his head. Clancy's shield collided with Connor's forehead, right on his eyebrows, a sickening and icy clear crack echoing off the trees. Connor was knocked right off his feet, his feet leaving the ground till his back slammed against the frozen dirt, the tightly packed snow do nothing to cushion him as the back of his head thudded against the ground. The impact sent lances of cutting pain into Connor's ribs, knocking the breath out him and starting the vicious cycle of deep breaths bringing pain and more deep breaths. Connor had barely managed to move his head back away from Clancy's shield blow, so he wasn't quite unconscious. However, his head ached like he had had a shield slammed into his forehead. Blood from the slit skin on his forehead trickled down his fur into his eyes, making him blink. Connor found that closing his eyes slightly elevated the massive pain in his skull, and also made things seem, warmer, and lighter. It was so easy to just close his eyes and ignore the pain in his ribs, in his head, in his back, in his very mind, and ignore his shame, his sense of failure and loss, of the humbling feeling that head lost to his son, and that his son had mercilessly beaten him.
Yes, he still had several more chances to get up and fight, but then what? Death? More pain? He could barely find the strength to open his eyes. The black was soinviting, so warm, so comforting. He could just rest and, and stare, and not care about anything…
Connor could have sworn he saw two purple eyes in the black, stirring him from his reverie enough to open his eyes, and see the tip of Clancy's sword pressing into his coat. He couldn't give up, at all. A plan was quickly sprung to his mind. It seemed one of the best ways to eat your opponent wasto know him.
"Clancy," Connor said as he looked up at the red warrior. Hopefully, it would work. "My son."He said.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline that made Clancy do it. Perhaps he hated Connor enough that the even mention of their relationship sent him into his anger. Or perhaps he felt Connor didn't deserve to call him 'son'. What ever it was, it caused Clancy to do just what Connor wanted.
Clancy growled loudly and angrily, raising his right foot to stomp right onto Connor's cracked ribs. Connor rolled, biting his cheek in attempts to dull the pain from the added pressure on his ribs; the older wolf quickly tasted blood. Clancy's foot was planted heavily in the snow, the red warrior putting all his weight into the stomp. Connor, when had rolled so that his feet were facing Clancy's right side, pulled his knees to his chest and kicked out with both of his feet, his booted feet colliding with the back of Clancy's knees and forcing him to his knees, his back facing Connor.
The exiled Alpha didn't hold back his howl of pain as he rolled this feet, folding his body forward and putting extra pressure on his ribs. He then launched himself, tackling Clancy from behind, sending the red wolf's sword out of his grasp. Once more, he howled in pain. Clancy thrashed and tried to throw Connor while the old wolf's hand groped for Clancy's sword. His fingers closed around its hilt as he dragged it through the snow. He grabbed onto the fur on Clancy;s head pulled it up, then pressed the sword against his throat.
"Yield."Connor barely growled through his clenched teeth. Clancy struggled and struggled, trying to get free, but to no use.
"I… yield."Clancy said. As soon as that was said, Connor rolled off of Clancy, his limbs splaying so he laid on the ground. Clancy rose to his feet, picking up his sword and sheathing it.
"Connor Oakentree, you have bested me."Clancy proclaimed to the both his 'father' and the packs. With that, he went and stood by his tear-stained mother. He put an arm around her shoulder and led her away.
Connor lay on the ground, the pain from his fight starting to make itself known to him. His vision started to fade. He saw Syra walk to his side, felt her gently licking the blood from the cut on his head. When that was clean, he felt her gently curl against his side, extending a small wing over him and resting her jaw on his neck.
At least the pain kept him warm...
A/N: There it is, the chapter that has been being waited on for a long time. I am sorry for such the wait, so I will hurry up and move onto responding to reviews.
Mavenger: Funny that you immediately think it was him, when he had left.
Avimus: That is kinda the point. Call it my opinion of adaption. You are LITERALLY bringing the child that has no relation to you, giving them a home, loving family, and making them your heir. Isn't that just beautiful?
And I submit the chapters after double checking, and they are still there! I have no idea why.
And you had better review quickly this time Avi.
BlackBird: Don't sound to happy. Now he had to do that whole fight scene above. Not good.
And of coruse I loveto toy with your emotions! I am a writer, what did you expect?
SOLI DEO GLORIA
