A/N: The song is Sonne by Rammstein.

Betaed and corrected by Scottishvalhalla. You have him to thank for lesser suffering levels.

\m/

Her story was long, but as Judith went on about what she saw and felt, the burden on her shoulders and the fear dissipated. As if lifted by some invisible hand.

Nearby, Nicholas silently toiled, setting up a fire and a place to sleep. His ears never turned away from the bunny though. And the doe, while retelling her visions, observed the much older tod. He didn't seem to need or do much. A soft touch, and the earth folded upon itself, forming a small hole into which a bunch of thin branches and leaves were tossed. A quiet breath, brought to life an unnatural fire. Another, and the wind changed direction, no longer bothering the two mammals covering behind an old tree…

By the time the bunny had finished the story, she somehow felt calmer. A quilt, probably made of wool, was draped around her form, protection against the chill of the night. The fox himself was lying the way she saw him do when they first met, bent over the cackling fire, his muzzle resting in the flames. Strangely, this small gesture has brought more ease to her than any words ever could. But, Nicholas didn't intend to leave her story without an answer. After all, his silence was one of pause and concentration, and not of ignoring her.

- I don't think you understand the significance of your existence, Judith. Yet.

\m/

They only thing I remember from the time of my childhood is running. Away. From something I never knew.

Parents. They tend to be like that - keeping things away from their child to try and spare them from the horrors of adulthood and responsibility for something they didn't choose.

My eyes. My sight, to be more precise, for you won't find anything wrong with me on the outside. But, I see things differently. Well, I never knew of the fact I was different, I thought everyone saw the world the way I do. Until they were no more. I was nine, I think, when our house was burnt down. And those prey mammals seemed like such kind creatures at that time. I survived, the parting gift from my mother and my father. Sometimes I think it's sad I can't even remember their names. The other times I am just happy not to be burdened by the heavy weight attachment brings into one's life. Especially as long one as mine.

The times of my youth were… troubled. Me and Finneas were just another couple of worthless brats, who were lucky to even get a semblance of meal each day. We did all we could to survive: stealing, working, hustling, selling, lying, telling truth. No one cared for us, and we cared for no one else but we. The only way for us to survive was to stick together, and so we did, despite Finneas's constant grumbling. At some point in time, a bunch of other kids like us joined, and our duo became a small gypsy camp. Wherever we roamed, that place was our home. I always tried not to attract attention, and taught that to others, but at some point that is nay impossible.

Guess we just were unlucky enough to gain the attention of a wrong individual. Or. Maybe we were just lucky enough to meet him.

I don't think I will be able to ever forget the helpless feeling as we raced to get away from those prey mammals, as they chased us, hooting and laughing when a spear or a spell would mark another one of my underlings' death. We, the ones born hunters, were hunted. And not just by some deluded and inbred son of a prey noble. No. This was a very deliberate act. We were to be sacrifices.

I think… my paws were already bathed in the blood of other living mammals before that day, but I still didn't use my sight, not really understanding its significance. Mind you, I consider myself to be among the smartest mammals to ever live. Nevertheless, there was only one mammal I know about, who understood what was the curse bestowed upon her and how to use it, without external help. She also was the only other in possession of death's eyes in the last three thousand years.

That day, when Finneas was grazed by a spell, everything changed. The armored brute was about to spear my friend in the back, as he was sprawled on the ground right after the fall, and I couldn't make myself run away anymore. Maybe it's not right to put value on someone's life, but to me, while the loss of others was regrettable, Finneas was the only one whom I would have given mine for.

I had a short sword, a poorly cared for thing made out of iron. Probably not a threat even to someone clad in just proper lizard-skin armor. I cut through that bastard's steel plated leg, like it was nothing. But when he fell, wailing like a pig, I tried to stab him in the place where I knew his heart was, and I couldn't even graze the backplate. Then it dawned on me. With the rusted and mostly blunt edge of my blade I kept tracing the lines until the screams stopped. I remember the feeling of exhilaration that overwhelmed my body and mind. At the sound of hooves clapping behind me, my body reacted on its own. I met them with my sword clutched firmly in hand and a snarl on my lips.

The witch, a deer doe, spoke words of praise and admiration, how my talent would be wasted outside and how she wished for me to join her army. Never had anyone spoke to me as convincingly or as sincerely as she did. Moreso, that witch was a better hustler than I was! Imagine that. But all her smooth talking was undone after she spoke the one condition she had. Offer our worship to the Father of All Good and Evil. At first, me and Finneas, we were confused. Taking our silence and unsure expressions for doubt on how to proceed with her proposal, the doe said something you never tell the predators. To denounce the Creator.

Predators live in a strange way, I have heard this from prey mammals, seen their way of life and partially understood why your mind thinks of us that way. We care for our lineage too much. We respect only strength. We war with each other constantly over things both petty and big. And we seem to have little care for life.

For us, predators, it's is not strange that others lead their lives in their own way, but it is strange how others cower before something you name powerful, when said power lacks strength to back it up. Or how you seem to never want to use your strength to oppose those wrong or fight for what is right. A minority rules over majority just because they express more ambition and exercise their strength to realise them. While others just talk about how this is not right. In secrecy, not to be heard and not to lose their lives.

We predators know one thing. Before the might of the Creator not even his greatest creation measures to anything. He is the only one worthy of any and all worship. To offer it to something or someone else… Both me and Finneas lowered our heads and nodded. Dropped our weapons and slowly came before that witch.

Within us something snapped at that very moment. No longer did we care for our lives or the lives of our comrades who had tried to flee. The only thing that ran through both our minds was the burning question of how to erase the existence of that deplorable witch. But we were not warriors. Just simple swindlers, shivering with fear for their lives. One - a father, the other - his son, who he loved more than some outdated belief in an opaque concept. If this would grant them their lives, the father would happily reject everything and swear fealty to anyone. After all today was his small son's birthday, and with no mother to celebrate with… A gift of life is still worth any price. With just a little kiss on the forehead for the little fox kit from the lady who was so gracious as to name it.

When Finneas's jaw locked on the doe's throat, I knew we were doomed. No weapons. No armor. No one else to come to our help. Finneas would later tell me that the only thing at that time going through his mind was a silent scream. A demand. For power to snap the witch's head and get the world rid of her foul teaching. But me? I didn't have the luxury of a single target. A woodchuck, a zebra, a hippo. All watching us with plain undisguised hatred. I felt only despair. I knew there was no talking it out. I didn't even have anything to trace the lines.

At that moment, when time seemed to stop, I remember what I screamed for. Deep within me was that unfair dimension of despair. Buried so far deep in my darkness that was hidden beyond the smiles and laughs. I screamed for the ability to turn it on them. To unleash upon my enemies such despair that they would never be able to see a single glimpse of hope. They all wanted to embrace darkness. They all rejected light. I wanted to be that darkness. I wanted to show them what it is they foolishly seek.

I think we both changed at that instant. Nobody knows what is needed or what are the requirements for receiving a part of His power. For me and Finneas, it were those screams. Our first true declarations of purpose and fealty. To our Creator. His will might have left out world and we were left to our own devices, but we would still acknowledge who was the true master and owner of us all.

But we were still weak and knew not of our newfound powers. The doe's body didn't hit the ground as her entourage drew their weapons to dispatch us. And we would be dead if not for the luck that I spoke of earlier. I met him once a long time ago, right after losing my parents. He nurtured me back into health, taught a few things and vanished into black wind one day. But I could never forget that ridiculously massive frame, nor the crozius he used as his traveling staff and weapon. That wolf appeared out of nowhere, body the size of a bear, golden eyes burning with a rage of a badger. Black cloak, long fur, right paw clutching his weapon of choice. Black winds circling his figure like the forebearers of doom.

It was as if time slowed down as I watched him raise the crozius and in a swipe sent one of the soldiers flying, armor caved in, crushing the unlucky mammal's internal organs and bones, as if it all was made of dirt.

I must say that the cultists at the time were the true deal. Not just some random mammals that chose the easy way out or who were tempted by the promises of pleasure and satisfaction of every lowly whim they would have. No. These ones were even worse, for they willingly gave up their freedom and souls to a being that claimed it could take the Creator's place and in exchange for their support that creature would make them more than just mammals. It would make them akin to the gods they so fear and worship. And these cultists would do everything in their power to ensure their master succeeds. And as we stand in their way, their hatred for us was immeasurable.

But, so was our wrath…

\m/

Johnson Chucks, ranger scout of Lady Morgana Fayle, was a devout supporter of her teaching and, despite his small stature, one of her closest inducted and the most powerful mage after the Lady. He hated predators. He was scared of them since childhood, their long sharp claws and pointy teeth. His own small size and powerlessness didn't help. Along with the fact the place where he lived predators were a plenty, the forest providing ample opportunities for hunting, lizard and bird meat harvesting, and lizard-skin craft. The predators were a rowdy bunch, always flashing their fangs at each other and others, pushing over the smaller mammals, not caring for them or their interests. Until Lady Fayle came to rule over their lands and the predators were finally gone. As well as their stupid restrictions and demands,and Johnson could finally indulge his desires and hunger for power. The Lady has noticed young woodchuck's ambition and soon enough he was one of her most trusted aides. As well as a trained elementalist and fellow follower of the Cult. And as he saw one of his subordinates die from a hand of a brutish bear, a savage predator who dared to kill one of the Cult on their land, his hatred and training told him what to do.

- Oh Earth, our Mother, daughter of the master, upon who fresh blood sacrificed has been, grant me your boon and give me strength to crush my enemies! - With each word, Johnson felt his strength and hated increase. As if he no longer was one of the smallest prey mammals, but a huge mammoth, rivaling his hippo comrade. In whose way stood someone. That small fox kit, who supposedly was the son of that tod bastard who cut Shwiney to pieces, much to the perverted delight of Lady Morgana. A true masterpiece was what she called the deed, and the red fox a master confined in the unfortunate and unfit vessel of a predator's body. Look where that fascination of a predator got her. Laying dead with a throat torn out, head turned to the side at an unnatural angle. He would not end the same. That fox kit would be the first Johnson would sacrifice with his newfound power. Or so he thought until the sand colored predator opened his muzzle.

- Let's see how that mommy of yours helps you, maggot. - Gone was the scared expression of a young defenseless pup from Finneas's muzzle, his fangs bared in a vicious snarl, his gruff low voice knocking away any suggestion of what transpired being due to luck or the predator just going savage for some reason. The woodchuck suddenly realized this was all a deliberate ruse to lull them all into feeling safe, in control. When all this time the ones pulling the strings were the ones they saw as weak.

Gnashing his front teeth, the woodchuck readied his ax, silently softening the ground under the fox - one of the favorite tricks in the cult's fighters book. Simple, effective and so satisfying when one's blade would find a back of a bewildered fallen enemy's neck.

Yet, the sandcolored tod surprised the woodchuck when he pulled out his hand and into it sand and ruble started flowing, forming a weapon one as crude as Finneas knew only too well. A club. But this one nearly twice the length of his body, sturdier, heavier, deadlier than any wooden club could ever be. He felt it, the strength coursing through his fennec body, the rule he had over the world around him in defiance of elementals, unseen beings that were in charge of upkeeping the established order of things.

Seething with anger, the young fox launched his assault. His club found the air, as his quarry avoided the swing, not trusting his body, even enhanced by the boon to withstand the impact. Not many ways of death were more painful than death from a blunt weapon, bones crushed, muscles turned into mush, internal organs bruised, awaiting the time you bled to death or mercy strike from the enemy. Johnson retaliated with his own sickles, slashing out at the unprotected body of the dog as the tod overswung, but his blades were met with a shield of sand. This was not going as planned…

Nicholas felt it. The changes within that translated to changes without. His eyes were closed shut, desperately trying to block out the visions and reign in his emotions. Still, no matter what, he could see everything, just not the way he was used to. The tod not just saw them, the red fox knew exactly what and where they were. There, a simple form, the color of blackest night, like it was devouring everything in its way - the wanderer that came to his and his brother's help. Finneas, a tiny flame of blazing yellow and bloody red.

A tall zebra, running towards him with a raised shortsword, as if a rusted figurine made out of soft iron, beaten and battered by ravages of time. Foul stench surrounding its very existence. The smell made Nicholas nauseated, igniting within the fox a desire, desire to erase the source off of its miserable existence. Barely taking any air into his lungs, the red fox lifted his muzzle up, and exhaled.

There was no sound, as the heat from the fire combusted all the oxygen left in the zebra's lungs after the rush. In a few seconds all that was left was charcoal and cooling iron husk of the armor.

- Dog, what in all the blazes of cursed lands of Muspelheim was that?! - Finneas's scream brought Nicholas out of the clutches of fear. The tod snapped his eyes open to find the one he considered brother standing beside him, bloody club thrown over his shoulder like it was no deal at all. But before Nicholas could answer or ask, the air was thundered by a roar. A hippo, the size of which dwarfed even the largest of grizzly bears either of the foxes ever seen, was advancing upon the wolf. The large prey abomination was abnormal not just in its size. The armor it wore when still being a mammal somehow merged with its skin, ripped in some places by the swelling mass of muscles or tore open by bone protrusions. Against this opponent even the seemingly giant wolf was nothing. Yet somehow, Nicholas felt calm. Unlike his friend who wanted to help even out the odds.

- Paha musta veri. He won't make it alone. I don't know for how much longer this power will course, but let's help him, dog! - The fennec was about to charge straight at the argantuan monstrosity, but his red fox friend's paw stopped him.

- Finneas. Watch.

\m/

I don't remember my first kill. I don't remember the exact moment Finneas became not just a convenient acquaintance, but a friend. But I remember that day. The day we both changed. The day we learned we were not alone. I remember seeing that wolf just standing there with the crozius as the deformed hippo advanced…

Inevitable death. That was what I saw. As the monster charged, ready to trample the wolf over, the black one started his walk towards it. A steady gait, no hurry in his movements, as if just strolling around on a peaceful day. Purposeful. When they closed on each other, the wolf stretched out his paw. He stopped the charging monstrosity in its track, unable to move forward, and with the next step, he toppled it over. You should have seen the expression on Finneas's muzzle, heh. It was quite priceless. Astonished. Pure wonder I have never before or after seen. By all logic, the wolf should have been trampled, yet it was he who was trampling. A single tap from his crozius punched a hole in the skull of the fallen hippo, spilling its brain. Getting rid of the obstacle in his path like it was nothing.

But like I said, it was inevitable.

\m/

The fire silently ran along and over the tod's muzzle, as he spoke of the days long past, sharing a part of his life with the captivated bunny doe. He wide eyes were pretty close to how big they were on Finneas as the fennec witnessed it happening. But this story was told not to just share, but to impart upon the bunny an important piece of knowledge.

- We didn't suddenly change into other mammals after we received our power. We remained who we were, but now we had potential to influence our surroundings, with force. Our circumstances, our environment, shaped us into who we were and who we wanted to become. Fenrir acknowledged that potential and saw to its full realization. Oversaw us not falling away from the path we set upon. Somehow we were lucky to stick through it together, and now the three of us stand together, even when we are separated. But your path, your way, they are different. You are different, Judith. For someone like you I have waited for centuries. I want you to follow your vision and realize it. Our time, the time of predators, of war, is coming to an end. We are creating a bulwark for you and your kind to take up the responsibility for the future of our world. The future where wargods are not needed. I know you are scared, Judith, but you should not fear the light. Embrace it, for it will shine through you, just like the darkness is creeping through me. And one day. Maybe one day we can restore our Creator's will to this world…

\m/

As the stars shined on, the sleepless bunny watched over the fox, sleeping silently, trying to digest the words Nicholas spoke. As a feeling she thought was lost slowly resurfaced from the deepest parts of her soul.

Hope.

\m/

I am taking a vacation for some time. I am so effing tired of my current job, so I am looking for a new one. Something exciting and not 24/7. Being irreplaceable, while can have some benefits, usually means you are the one who is effing stuck till late. And also is a sign that something is wrong with the organisation.
Anyways, I will be back. Probably before summer even. Untill then, you have a lot more interesting stories to enjoy. Or suffer. Whatever is your wish.
Howleys.