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When the next time for her spar with the fox came, Judy was no longer feeling that warmth of acceptance and camaraderie. Her whole body was shaking the moment she saw Nicholas start his preparations. The tod would unbutton and take off his outer leather jacket, that had metal plates sewn over it to protect most vital points. Next, the chainmail, mastercrafted by the tiny hands of thousand shrews and tempered by the solitary polar bear smiths. Last was the simple but thick cotton tunic, which hid the tod's thick and glossy winter fur. But what hit her the most was the fact Nicholas had no scars. Stuart of clan Hopps, one of the most proficient bunny warriors in centuries, had scars. She had scars. Everyone she knew through her time of service to Lord Big, had scars. Even Tyhja, who seemed to rival the red fox in warcraft, sported one (though well hidden) running vertically through his left eye, from the middle of his forehead to the end of his cheekbone. Judith never saw it, but she knew it was there.
It was a rare sight for a prey mammal, to see a predator's body. This time around, the bunny, trying to distract herself from the fear welling up inside, focused on studying it. With how easily Nicholas wielded his blades and moved his body for long periods of time, she expected the fox to be all about muscles. But to her great surprise, it was not the case. Most of the bulkiness came from the garments he wore, while the tod himself was surprisingly lean. Granted, his fur covered his body, but still…
The first strike was swift and merciless, the shaft of the spear gifted to Judith by the very same fox being positioned barely on time to prevent her untimely demise. The bunny, running on pure instinct, her mind and body too strained to properly coordinate, kept retreating from the attacking fox, barely able to parry and evade the swings and thrusts of his longsword.
- What's wrong, Carrots? - Nicholas stopped his advance, giving the bunny a moment to recover and retaliate. She never did, much to his displeasure.
Ever since two days ago, when Judith fainted amidst his spar with Tyhja, the bunny has been acting strange around them. The change was barely perceptible, but for someone as old as he, it was as bright as the sun. There was another reason.
- You don't talk about what you have seen, yet you have been flinching from my every move, as if trying to reestablish the reputation of your species as nothing more than cowards who can do nothing but farm. - This drew a reaction from the shivering bunny. With a cry she charged her quarry, offering only three straightforward slashes, that were easily deflected, before the fox regained his smile and countered with a sideways slash.
- What is it? Are you afraid of me now? Afraid that I might snap and kill you?! - His words were filled with feeling as was his thrust, aimed straight for the bunnies neck. Judith couldn't help herself. She has seen and felt through the innumerable mammals that fell by the paws of this very unassuming red fox. Her eyes closed as her body folded, trying to become as small as possible and maybe escape this fearsome reality.
- I knew it. - The disappointment she heard in the fox's tone was nearly palpable. Steps, carrying the fox away, and then the sound of a sword being sheathed. The bunny wanted to unfurl, to raise up her head and say that she was fine. That she was sorry and this would not happen again. She didn't want her second chance at making friends with this particular individual to go to waste. But…
- Look, Carrots. I get you, trust me, I do. Even I was once young and emotionally unstable. But silence gets you nowhere. Holding it all inside doesn't get you anywhere. Or makes you just as insufferable as one wolf I know. - The last part was said in a hushed whisper, with a note of annoyance, but the bunny's ears easily picked that snippet up. Nicholas was not someone to hold a grudge, she knew it. And she knew another chance given. Her heartbeat slowly returned back to its normal rhythm, nose stopped twitching, and her mind regained control of the body.
- I am sorry. I know you wouldn't do anything that would harm me, I do! But… but… - The twitching renewed as the stinging in her eyes grew stronger, those green eyes holding within them nothing but understanding and support. This time, there was nothing lurking in the darkness, as if that part never existed. Or was it because that part was also who the fox was and now it just joined to those other parts that were able to show compassion?
- Judith. Tell me. What did you see? - His voice was soft, but firm. Encouraging, coercing. Nicholas of clan Wilde, the one known as Helvegen, and feared as the second Red King, was probably the only mammal alive to be able to pull off such a trick. There was nothing left for the bunny to do, than to tell the truth that she desperately wanted to hide.
- Everything.
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The history would forever remain silent on how did it happen, but the seventy thousand strong united prey army was annihilated by the predators, numbering seven times less. But Judith already knew all that. The fierceness of the bears. The relentlessness of the canines. Constant barrage of spells from vulpine elementalists and arrows from the felines. Their rage and the fear they steered in the hearts of those who opposed them. This all has been aptly described in the disputed historical book, that came from under the feather of Castro Bowanida, the Commander and only survival of the Wolfsmund carnage. The ink has captured what he saw. But it could never show what he and those under him felt…
It was a massacre. And at the point of this massacre, a certain red fox was leading. Not with his words. No, he was silent. His actions, though, spoke louder than any words could. His green eyes gazed upon this world and the prey in front of him with savage madness and bloodlust. The tod's armor and blades were covered in blood and gore of countless slain, their corpses littering the path he took.
A number of Berserkir, bear warriors, led by Finneas the fennec fox, were not able to push through the opposing mass of flesh, bone, wood and bad iron as fast, but by no means were they any less deadly. The huge whitefurred predators wielded large axes, aimed at cutting through anything offering any resistance. The sand colored fox among them was a blur, jumping from one slit throat to another as if he was an elemental of the air itself. The infamous Ulfhednar, a force comprising from old wolf warriors, their twohanded swords differing in purpose and design from one warrior to another, traversed the battlefield like some labor supervisors, offering advice, command and fighting power wherever needed. The lizard riders, working in pairs - a wolf rider and a feline archer per strider, peppered the prey lines with arrows while also scaring and distracting them by direct assaults.
Yet, the Red King advanced alone. A sight to behold, to imprint into the memory for the nightmares to eternally wake you from sleep. His blades didn't move according to any doctrine of swordfighting. They didn't move to target the most vulnerable points of his enemies. He didn't even register the presence of mammals surrounding him, focusing on something, only the fox's eyes, the pathways to Hel, could see. Like a painter, making huge swathes with his brush across the lines only he knew existed, Nicholas swinged both blades in a pattern understood not by anyone but the fox himself. Sword and shield, flesh and bone, the elements themselves - nothing could withstand. What the tod's blades touched parted, like butter before a red hot knife. Bodies fell, severed in two or more parts. Weapons were cut, as if made of wax, and not iron and hardened wood.
Finally, an elephant has intercepted the raging fox. This battle machine many times the tod's size, weighing a ton, wielded a massive warhammer. Its heavy gait sent tremors through the earth, but Nicholas seemed oblivious, utterly lost in his own painting. The warhammer fell, shocking the earth and raising a cloud of dust. Erasing the existence of the red fox… Until a resounding snap declared a divorce between the warhammer's iron head and wooden handle.
Somehow, the tod found purchase in the soft metal, his fingers sinking deep into the metal. A step back, barely seen to the eye of a commoner, adjustment of the hold on the hammer's head. A throw…
Mammals are rarely treated to the sight of wargods fighting. Most are used to hearing stories as kids, that are told to either scare them or encourage. Barely anyone thinks of them as anything real. Mammals have a tendency to lie and add details that show them in a better light to the stories they tell. This leads to the fact mammals also don't trust stories of what they have not seen, especially the tales of inmammalian fits of other mammals. Fits that gods are capable of. The strengths they possess. Thus, their belief in being able to oppose them…
A loud sound, as if a rock hitting another rock, followed the throw. And a second later, the sound of a huge body hitting the ground. The elephant was down on his knees, clutching at the gaping hole in his left side, knowing that his life was forfeit, as it seeped away with every breath he desperately tried to take.
The tod stood in front of him, both swords resting on the ground, as he only needed both his paws to deal with the biggest threat the prey army could present. Slowly, the red fox picked up both his swords from the ground, as no one around dared move, paralyzed by the sight and understanding of what they have just witnessed. His eyes never left the kneeling figure of the elephant, as if assessing it. And as if he liked what he was seeing more and more, the smile on his muzzle grew larger, revealing the sharp fangs to the world.
The first swing was slow, as if measuring, probing. The following one was sharp and fast, following a strict line. Pleased with the outcome, the red fox has unleashed a flurry of strikes, slashing and striking according to the pattern only his eyes could perceive. All to the trumpeted wails of the elephant's agony…
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In the book Bowanida wrote, that prey historians to this day finds biased and a sorry attempt at excusing his loss, there is the following passage:
"As Giram's last scream fainted, his elephant body cut into seventy six pieces, the atmosphere on the battlefield changed. Even with such a monsters on their side and without my guidance, our army still had the numbers and position in our favor. But as that black paw held my neck in an iron grip, forcing me to watch, I felt it. Descending, like the heavy snow on those grim peaks of Wolfsmund. Black, dense, squeezing all hope out of our very beings. The despair. The fear. The merciless slaughter that was brought to the field by their Red King of the Teutonic Kingdom, that would plague our lands for decades to come.
Furor Teutonicus."
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A/N: So. I have been out for a bit. Rewrote this and the following chapter a number of times. Went through a dozen changes of theme song/ chapter name. I am still out of this world, but the second chapter is ready and will be posted right after I am done with it completely.I welcome you back to suffering.