I did it!
I managed to get this chapter done today on, the 17th, my one year anniversary.
That's right, it's been one year since I published my first chapter here.
So thank you all who keep reading and give me the motivation to continue!

So now I only hope this is a worthy chapter for my anniversary, I think it is.

Enjoy!

The Only Corpses To Ever Matter

The sky screamed red behind me as I rushed through the frozen streets—streets fighting my every step, countering with icy stones against the soles of my feet. Felt like a slippery slope, tearing my feet in every direction as I ran. I hardly realized it, but the repeating snow biting against my palms told me the streets were winning.

The sounds of the city were dead to me, washed away by the only sound that pounded in my ears—heartbeats, beating my eardrums with a rhythm of fear, the next beat more afraid than the last.

Focus was beyond me. This… this wasn't real. The only thing that told me I was still breathing was the cold air burning in my lungs with every terror-stricken breath, followed by frosted, misty exhales.

Still, I fought on. I had to. For I had a far more dangerous opponent than frozen streets: Krev—or time, my desperate mind had yet to figure that one out.

Never had it been so easy to push through the crowd. Not that there was a crowd. The marketplace was mostly empty, but the drunks and latecomers that happened to be in my path didn't realize what hit them before I had already reached the stairs.

Not that far to Jorrvaskr now.

The air had been freezing all day, yet now it felt heated against my skin—unconscious anger building itself with pale bricks, one atop another, locking away my fear behind a wall of anger. Still, that wall was far from complete.

Ysolda is fine! Ysolda is fine! Ysolda is fine!

My mind raced. Repeatedly reassuring me that she was fine. She had to be. There was only one explanation that made sense: Krev took her to get to me. It was the only thing that made sense. She wouldn't hurt her. She wouldn't.

But she had her. And that fact only added to the bricks within me, placing more of them atop the slowly climbing wall. My fear was fading. And the pale bricks of anger began to take their grip—chafing, scratching, gnawing. How dare she take the one I love? How dare she use her against me!

No… The fear was fading, locked away inside. Anger had taken hold, justified anger that tasted of tears and blood, salt and metal. It controlled my movement, clenched my teeth, heated my skin, whitened my knuckles, and ripped open the door.

"She's taken her!" I shouted as I stormed into Jorrvaskr, not knowing if there was anyone around to hear.

"Calm down, child," Tilma said calmly as she stopped cleaning the floors and turned toward me. "Who's taken who?"

"Krev! The Silver Hand! They've taken Ysolda," I shouted.

"I said, calm down," she repeated, "What makes you think they took her?"

"By Ysmir!" I didn't have the time to explain. "She sent me my letter, the one I gave Ysolda! Drew a map on it and everything."

"Ha! Now that's a trap if I ever heard one," Vignar interrupted as he came out of his sleeping chamber, wearing nightclothes.

"Of course, it's a trap!" I shouted in response. I felt like punching his old face, I wasn't stupid, I knew it was a trap the moment I had read the letter. "Enough with this!" I couldn't waste more time talking. I need to leave, now. But first, I needed my armor.

Tilma tried to say something, but I wasn't listening anymore. My steps were set for the basement.

If I had been this fast at donning my armor when I was heading out with Skjor and Aela, things might have turned out differently.

Why was I thinking about that now?

Could I really blame myself for Skjor's death? I could, couldn't I? I had been late, too late. If that truly was the reason for his death, I couldn't make the same mistake now. I wouldn't.

I fumbled to get the leather straps buttoned in the weak candlelight, fumbled to get my dagger in place. Hastily I reached for my traveling bag, only to pull my hand back as I touched it. I didn't have the time to pack basic provisions, nor the need for them. Time was of the essence. Or was it?

Ysolda's safe, my mind repeated. Krev took her to get to me. It's me she wants. There's nothing she'd gain from hurting Ysolda.

But this was Krev… Could I really count on logic? She was unpredictable, sadistic, mental. No… I couldn't count on it. Honestly, I had no idea to what lengths she'd go. Did she even have a plan, or was it all a part of her sick game? There was no way I could know, only hope. I could only hope.

That realization only made the wall inside me stronger—pale bricks taking on a warmer hue, heating. Still, the wall was cracked—fear, seeping through like poison, barely-there behind the angered stone. But it was there, slithering around in the back of my mind, still twisting my stomach.

Angry as I was, I was still afraid.

Without realizing it, I had frozen. Staring at the ring on my finger, grasping my gloves with my other hand.

She's safe… She's safe…

I tore my focus from my ring, convincing myself she was and pushed my hand into my glove. Strapped on my vambraces. Reached for my axe. And left.

Tilma and Vignar were still in the mead-hall. Whatever they had been talking about, their voices ceased the moment I ascended the stairs. They both looked worried. Couldn't blame them, I must have looked worse—desperation, anger, and fear tend to leave a harsh expression.

"You can't go alone," Vignar said, stepping in front of me to hinder my steps. And what was he going to do about it? Come along? Pull a muscle lifting a sword? Nag them to death? "Companions never fight without a shield-sibling. At least wait till someone returns."

Wait until someone returns? Everyone just left. They wouldn't be back for days, weeks. Did he really believe I had that time? The very thought of it only served to add fuel to my anger.

I've never had a staredown with an old man before. He was serious, but so was I. And I wasn't about to wait around simply because he said so.

"…What choice do I have?" He didn't answer—there was no answer. I wouldn't threaten an old man, but nothing felt beneath me now. "Step aside… before I make you."

For a second, I thought he wouldn't bend. But his hard eyes quickly changed, a retreating expression on his face. And I knew why. I could feel it. Awakened. Glaring through my eyes.

I was surprised my wolf hadn't awakened sooner. But the wall of anger in me, the stones, were now burning. And locked away behind it, there was no longer any fear. But hatred… Yellow seeping fury—flowing through the cracks like bitter mist. Begging to come out.

I could feel him. Standing in the place of my former fear. Scraping his claws against the wall—intimidatingly slow.

I don't know if Vignar stepped aside because of me, or because of who was glaring him down through my eyes. Didn't care either. For aside he stepped, looking down as he did. And I didn't hesitate to walk past him.

The aurora burned with green above my head, twisting and turning like flames on waves across the starry sky, giving color to the white snowy fields before me. But I was far too distracted by purpose to appreciate its beauty.

I knew the direction, but not the location—pinpointing it from a hand-drawn map, almost faded in my memory, wasn't possible. Even if I had a map with me, it wouldn't be possible.

Northwest. Somewhere toward the mountains. That's all I had to go by.

How far had I walked? How long? It felt like an eternity, yet at the same time, I could feel myself losing seconds, minutes—time I couldn't waste. Every second was precious.

Whiterun was far behind me, and the mountains equally far ahead. Shor… I could use Aela right now. She's the best tracker I know. She would have found something, smelled something. My own nose only caught frozen air and frost. My eyes, untouched snow—stretching to the distant treeline.

It was cold, but anger kept me warm. And the anger kept me walking, no matter the deep snow. Desperate anger fueled my strife, motivated my every step, drove me forward, forced me.

She's safe. She's safe. She's safe. My mantra continued, truth be told it didn't help so much anymore, never really did.

The trees were closer now—a faint scent of cold bark and wood—but the snow was still untouched.

There had to be something to follow, anything. Someone had left the letter. They must have walked back, or ridden. They must have left some tracks behind, footprints, horse tracks, anything. They wouldn't move through heavy vegetation—so neither did I.

It was darker now. The aurora barely glowed through the fir trees over my head, and my sight served me less and less the further I walked.

Think like your prey, become like your prey. Move where they would move.

It was a basic tracking tactic when you didn't have anything to follow—and right now, I didn't. I could only guess as I moved between the trees, and I never was any good at guessing. I liked being the one in control, and now… I had none. Krev was the one holding it all. And I realized now… that she always had.

Ever since Skjor, she had been in control. Perhaps even before that. How long had she been around before we met her? The things we saw… found, in that fort. The chamber. The werewolves… She must have been at it for years.

Not at all like the dogs we had when I was a kid, her words spoke in my mind. Not years… decades.

Right now, I felt she was the only one in control. And I hated it. And I feared it. Hated it. Feared it. Hated it. Feared it… But mostly, I hated it!

Everything within me screamed I couldn't let her have Ysolda a second longer than she already had. I'll prevent it, if it's the last thing I'll do, I'll prevent it.

Stendarr's mercy. Mara's love. Ysmir, Ysgramor, Talos, and Shor… Guide me.

…Hircine. Lord of the hunt… Father of manbeasts… Please…

And like that, my foot landed on trampled snow. An abrupt heartbeat of hope nearly choked me as I stopped.

Had my prayers been answered? Was it faith? Luck? It didn't matter—I'll thank any delusional excuse my desperate mind could conjure—for the tracks were deep.

My heart had barely calmed before I kneeled down to feel the tracks. No animal made these tracks, nor was it made by hunters. They were too deep. Heavy armor-deep. And only warriors wore heavy armor. The Silver Hand. Must be. Couldn't be anyone else.

Before I knew it, instinct took over and I had drawn my axe and ran down the tracks, kicking snow as I went.

Aela would've recommended a stealthy approach, but I had neither the time, skill, nor patience for it—nor did I care for it, only better if they saw me coming. And the moment I began smelling fire, I knew I was on the right track. And when it came into view, a fire burning behind the trees. Again, I could feel him reawaken within me as before—hungry anger clawing behind the wall, ferociously glaring through the cracks. How quickly it grew.

I slowed down to a stop, not to get into the light. I could already see two men warming themselves by the fire. And past the fire was an old stone building. Looked like a storehouse, or an old outpost. It couldn't hold more than two or three rooms unless this place too had a basement.

I had seen what I needed to, the two men didn't look like much, and I made my axe comfortable in my hands as I began walking towards them.

To take after Farkas: Let's introduce myself.

"WHERE IS SHE?!" I shouted—roared—before they had noticed me. And with those words leaving my lips, I felt my anger turn to rage. This wouldn't be a pretty fight, my insides only wanted them dead.

They jerked toward me in surprise, drawing their swords by instinct. But their surprise quickly settled as one of them began to smile. No. Grin.

"Oh, looky here," the grinning Silver Hand started. "Seems there's a lure for wolves after all."

"That's the one?" The other Silver Hand asked.

"Does it matter?" The grinning one continued. "That armor or not, look at his eyes. That's a wolf all right."

Their brief exchange of words didn't slow my pace, I was getting close. "ANSWER ME!" I roared as I felt reason leave my mind—instinct setting in, reflexes and muscle memory taking over.

The grinning man started laughing as he charged for me, sword-arm high.

The only downside with wielding a heavy axe was that it was slow, he'd strike first. My body knew this before my mind did as I buried one foot in the snow and lifted the other.

Your weapon is nothing more than a tool. Your true weapon is your body. A faint memory of Skjor from long ago.

My boot dug into his stomach before his sword had begun its descent. He wasn't laughing anymore as my kick sent him flying back.

The other man was upon me before my foot had settled in the ground, swinging wide from the side. My torso bent backward just as my foot found ground, his sword-tip grazing my chest plate as it swung by. And as his sword missed, my muscles turned hard and I surged forward and swung my axe into his side, digging through his abdomen—his death rattle was nothing but shock and abrupt silence. His body fell the moment I forcefully removed my axe from his flesh.

I could smell the blood before I got the chance to see it, but I had more important matters to attend to—a Silver Hand gasping for air on the ground.

Maybe he wasn't as defeated as he looked—the moment I approached, he took a roaring swing for my legs.

Again reflex took my body as I kicked forward and his sword bounced sharply off the armored part of my shin. And as his sword-arm flew back, my foot quickly stomped down—pinning it in place against the snow covered ground.

Something inside of me enjoyed the sudden expression of fear in his eyes as I lifted my axe above my head—as if death itself stood before him. He wasn't wrong. The beginning of a scream took shape on his lips just as my axe dug into his chest—warm blood splattered against my face—silencing his final voice before it had begun.

My axe twisted itself out of his chest as I walked over his body, no hesitation in my steps as they aimed for the door.

The smell of warm blood burned in my nose, its taste on my lips. I could even feel the warm drips in my face. The burning behind my eyes only grew—rare as it was—a newly shared emotion.

We'll kill them all.

As I entered the prison, three Silver Hands stood battle-ready in the middle of the room, surely alerted by the earlier noises. Before they began to move, I lifted my axe above my head and threw it with all my might toward the closest man.

Skyforge steel spun through the air before it hit its mark, forcefully biting through skin and flesh before it dug into bone and threw the man back—the two others reacted as expected, surprise, shock, comprehension, and then action. One faster than the other as he decided to charge me, lifting his battle-axe above his head.

Why do they always charge with such obvious attacks? Pathetic!

Unarmed, I readied myself as he swung down. A quick step forward invaded his space, I grabbed his arm and twisted my body, fluidly using his movement to throw him over my shoulder. He grunted as he landed hard on his back on the stone floor.

I quickly turned for the attack I knew was incoming and was faced with an incoming sword. With barely a second to react, basic instinct mastered over my training and I grabbed his sword with my bare hand, hard and fast enough that it didn't even break my skin.

It's all about grip strength.

For half a second, he gave me a shocked look before I twisted his sword aside, creating an opening, and buried my right fist in his face. His sword left his hand as he stumbled backward and fell on his ass—cries of pain as he lifted his hands to his face, blood already pouring from between his fingers.

I walked past him to get my axe.

My axe had hit bone alright, but it seems it hadn't gone through—to think the man was still alive. His eyes said it all as I grabbed the handle—nothing a hard stomp to the bar just beneath the axe-head couldn't fix. Life left him as quickly as his pained grunts went silent.

A hard jerk removed my axe from his corpse as I turned for the sitting, nose-bleeding, and groaning man.

His back was turned toward me as I lifted my axe to my side and took a swing—first time I decapitated a man. Easier than I thought. Cleaner, too.

So far this hadn't been a fair fight. It had been a series of executions.

How slow humans truly were.

I looked up at the man I had thrown over my shoulder. He had taken far too much time to get on his feet. And now, it was only him and me.

He stood frozen, almost shaking. There was fear in his eyes and fury in mine. How had I not recognized him earlier? He wasn't a man. He was a boy.

The boy who screamed ¨werewolf.¨

He had seemed a coward then, and he clearly seemed a coward now. Pathetic. But if he was here, then so must she.

"Where… is… she?..." I demanded, giving him a piercing look.

His eyes flickered in response as if my words had physically punched him. Still, he stood frozen. It looked as if he tried to speak, but no words left his lips. But subconsciously or not, he moved his eyes to one of the doors and back to me. And that's all the communication I needed.

I turned for the door, ignoring him as I did so. Mentally, he was already defeated. And no matter how enraged I was, killing someone who's clearly younger than me just felt wrong.

It had a padlock, but the old door didn't look like much. As I kicked it in the first thing that hit me was the smell, blood. Then? I saw her… My axe dropped to the floor and every hint of anger washed away. Every piece of rage faded. Any emotion I had, ceased to be.

A naked corpse hanging from the ceiling. Her arms were bruised, lifted over her head and chained by her wrists. She had defended herself. Her head was tilted forward and fiery red hair hung down covering her face. But I knew it was her… I knew it was her… Streaks of dried blood ran down her naked chest and stomach, silver-spikes through her breasts, stabbed in the shape of a cross, one in each breast. And from her waist down… She was flayed… Red dried muscles and flesh showing.

I had seen the Silver Hand… No, Krev skin werewolves. But this? A human? …My human?

The waist down, that's my rule. Even humans survive that!

She hadn't been killed. She had been tortured. To death.

How long had she been here? Hung!? Here? How long had she suffered before dying of blood loss or shock?… Hours? Days?

How long?!

I fell to my knees in front of her. There was nothing inside of me—every emotion turned cold and void. My hand was shaking as I reached for her skinless feet, wet tears now running down my stubbled cheeks. But there was nothing inside of me. Nothing… As if every emotion I had ever had run off to cover behind any piece of darkness the backside of my mind could force me to forget.

And I felt nothing… Until… A hollow burning pain in the root of my chest.

…Beneath her red body in a pool of coagulated blood, uterine fluids and pieces of placenta, I saw it… The tiniest of things… Barely even the shape of a human… I hadn't known…

A child?

There was truly nothing left inside of me…

I don't know how long I kneeled in front of them. Staring at her mutilated corpse, my premature child in my hands. Time and existence just stopped.

I forced myself to etch it all into my memory… She had been the one… my only one… and they… The two of them… They were the only corpses to ever matter…

Everything that felt empty, the deepest of emptiness, was interrupted by a sharp pain in my right shoulder. Something tore through my skin, and dug itself through my collarbone… an axe? Other than feeling the pain, I didn't react.

"Who… did it?..." A hollow question. I already knew the answer, yet those words were the only ones my broken mind could summon. I felt the sorrow in my voice, so heavy it could hardly be heard.

My body jerked as the man behind me tried to pull out his axe from my shoulder.

"Where… IS SHE?!" A rage rekindled to spread throughout my body. He had reawakened—no longer clawing and glaring from behind the wall, but tearing and howling! And for once, I didn't mind.

Violence and pain as my body jerked again and again as the man desperately tried to pull out his axe—for every emotion I felt, he clearly felt the opposite. But his axe was stuck—stuck between muscles turned hard as stone. My entire body shook as every muscle tightened, and hardened to pain beyond any justified belief.

As suddenly as the axe had dug itself into my shoulder, I began to feel the familiar pain of my bones bending and twisting within my body. My insides burned with hatred, crushed wrath. The wall was coming down, breaking from within.

It shouldn't…

It isn't even a full moon…

I could feel my skin tear as my muscles expanded. My bones growing with such force my joints dislocated with loud cracking sounds. My legs sickeningly morphed and twisted beneath me, fingers breaking and cracking in my hands.

A loud ¨pop¨ as my shoulder dislocated and the axe came loose, sending the pulling man flying back. I rose—slowly—as pieces of armor fell to the floor as I turned. I felt my jaw dislocate with a violent crack, and hang down against my chest, continuing to bend and warp outward.

Everything turned yellow within me—the wall had crumbled to dust. This rage was no longer only my own.

I was towering over the man as my eyes fell on him. Not a man. The boy!

How was my body still obeying me? How was I still aware?!

"Stendarr have mercy…" The boy whimpered in fear as he backed up against the wall—pure horror and panic in his eyes.

I reached out and grabbed his entire head in my now clawed paw. His feet left the floor as I lifted him by his head against the wall.

"ANSWER ME!" I shouted, but all that left my lungs was a long powerful inhuman roar, unlike anything I had ever heard. This was far beyond the longest I had ever been conscious during a transformation.

So this is how my wolf feels.

Extraordinary. Primal bloodlust coated in hate thick as tar. Senses sharper than morning sun. I can feel it all!

Wet tears tickling the fur within my hand as my nose told me what my eyes could not see—he had soiled himself.

I could easily hear the muffled cries from inside my paw as he—in panicked desperation and fear—kicked air and scratched his nails against my forearm, armored by fur.

My vision began to flicker. Darkness lapped vigorously at my consciousness as this body's true owner demanded my resignation, foolish as I was, I refused. I could feel him beside me, more so than ever, screaming in my ears! Howling and roaring!

My muscles tremored, refusing to move as our two consciousnesses fought for control. It took everything I had to remain conscious, and everything he had to refuse me movement—a standstill in a tug-of-war between minds.

A spark in my senses as the sound of footsteps interrupted our ¨duel.¨ Voices. I could smell their dirty bodies approaching. Fast. Still, he refused me movement.

AT IT THEN! TAKE IT!

Rape my mind with nightmares of Oblivion if you must! Coat them in your anger and spice them with my guilt! As long as you finish what I came here to do, I shall allow it! Tear down every wall of silver-armored flesh! Rip the skin from their bones and paint the hallways with their blood! Hunt down every last piece of human scum and tear them apart! And once you do… Sniff her out wherever she's covering. Trace her scent to whichever shadowy corner she so falsely deems safe… And when you find her, break her every limb. Slid your tongue beneath her skin and tear it from her flesh! Make her laughter turn into cries! Her cries into screams! And her screams into pleads. And when she does, when she pleads… when she begs for death… Refuse her. Leave her to suffer where she is. Leave her to rot in her pain and agony, anguish and torment! Leave her to drown in a pool of her own blood! Do me this, and I shall allow it!

And the moment I had set my mind for surrender, my body began to move. My fist closed and the head in my hand cracked like an egg, the body went limp only to fly through the air as my wolf cast him aside and turned for the others.

My mind was receding, vision going black, but I was still here, partially. I felt my body move, fight. I heard their battle cries echo in my mind and my wolf howled fiercely in response. Moments of pain. Moments of vanquishing. And as bones crunched between my teeth, and the taste of warm blood filled my mouth, and my mind began going blank…

The screams began.