Chapter 3: Collars Disguised As Ribbons

It had been nine long years since Fenrir's discovery of his semblance, and in those years Fenrir had grown strong indeed. Gone was the scrawny youth; now Fenrir was a hulking thing, broad-shouldered and bull-chested. He still kept his hair short and spiky, but the flecks of silver had now become stripes. He was taller too, arguably the tallest present within the Branwen Tribe, clearly he inherited his father's height.

Fenrir now walked about the encampment in a suit of sickly-blue armour, kept tight to his frame through the use of leather straps. He earned each piece of scrap from raids among the nearby villages, batting aside local militia with his fists. He often wore a mask too, inspired by his dear cousin Raven. One in the shape of a wolf, though it left the bottom half of his face exposed, Fenrir wanted his foes to see him grin. After all it was only polite to let them know he was having fun.

His face changed too with age. He now bared a similarity to Qrow, though his face was broader and clean-shaven. There was both enough similarities and differences to his cousin in Fenrir's face, that it unnerved many of the Branwens that looked at Fenrir. As for the Branwen siblings themselves, they never returned to their tribe. An unspoken failure. As to vocalise such would lead to swift punishment from Odin, who had only grown more violent in his old age.

Not only in size had Fenrir grown, with the strength of his semblance behind him Fenrir had grown in his standing. Not enough that he'd be considered a fully-fledged member, despite his relation to Tyr, but enough that there was some form of grudging respect from the Branwens. No longer did there mock him for his Faunus traits, but Fenrir always felt their eyes glaring at him in contempt.

Fenrir weathered their disdain with ease, he may aid them in raids but he knew he'd never be considered a Branwen. Not that it mattered to him, for as he grew in age his wrath against his 'family' grew too. The death of Isabelline had not been forgotten by her son.

Fenrir pushed thoughts of vengeance aside, as he marched towards Odin's tent. While his thoughts were easily pushed aside, his semblance was not. Since that fateful day, Fenrir's semblance never subsided, hounding him constantly even in his dreams. It was like the roaring of a wolf.

He couldn't sleep anymore, it wouldn't let him. All he suffered were nightmares, reminders of who he failed. And even in those moments it still the audacity to call to him. Wanting him to indulge in his blood lust and to be lost to the berserker rage. The vent his rage upon the world until he collapsed from exhaustion or someone simply ended his life.

It only let him feel satisfaction when he indulged it. When his body and aura burned, and any who stood before his onslaught were broken like dolls. Fenrir shuddered with pleasure as he recalled his last battle, the feeling of honest fight. With that his mood soured, as his semblance began to thrum again. Trying to tempt him.

He clutched his head in irritation as he entered his uncle's tent. He was to act as muscle again on a raid, but this was due to some last minute changes and last minute threats. Apparently their recent target, the village of Sgudal, had gained been overwhelmed by a vicious pack of Grimm.

This particular pack had been butting heads with the Branwens some time now, to the point where it was enough to cause concern among the Branwens tribe. Fenrir sneered at the thought that the 'Mighty' Branwens cower like children at the thought of Grimm. His sneer caught the attention of both Odin and Tyr, and both Branwen brothers bristled with fury.

"Wipe that off sneer your face whelp, I won't have you sneer at my brother!" Tyr snapped irritably.

"You never did discipline him enough, Tyr," Odin added, Fenrir noted just how tired his uncle now looked. "I won't have your beastly thing think it can glower at its betters."

Fenrir shrugged one shoulder, enjoying how much more an impact his silence had in angering his uncle and father. A moment passed, satisfied that they had asserted themselves over the Faunus, they continued the discussion of the details of the raid.

"Sgudal is currently occupied with the bloody Grimm, despite this there's still some good loot to be found," Odin said. "Sgudal was an old blacksmith village, and a good one at that. I heard they even forged weapons equal to that of Huntsmen."

Now that did piqued Fenrir's interest, it was no wonder the raid was still being carried out. It this village could forge weapons of such quality it could be consider of a similar quality to that of the Kingdoms, then no wonder it was still being carried out.

"Why am I required?" Fenrir rumbled. "Grimm are not to be underestimated, but with the amount of men you're sending makes this seem like slight overkill."

"Because the Grimm pack are led by a aged Alpha, and the rest of near enough to his level," Odin responded, his face contorted with annoyance at the defiance. "And after all, extra-muscle never went amiss."

"However once the clean-ups done you're not to touch any potential loot," Tyr added, not looking at Fenrir but passed him.

Fenrir grunted in response, he wasn't surprised. Weapons were a symbol of status among the Branwens, proof of your own might. It was bad enough that he managed to scrape together a form of armour, if he gained a weapon of such quality as they're claiming then the tribe would end up in arms at the fact the 'whelp' was allowed such.

With his orders given to him Fenrir left the tent, a scowl once again coming to his lips as his curt orders. How he longed to be rid of them, to allow himself the satisfaction of semblance. But that was foolishness, as mighty as he had become he couldn't face the entire tribe by himself. One day perhaps, Fenrir thought, as he marched towards the gathering band for the the raid, One day.

The village of Sgudal was in ruins, abandoned by those who formerly lived there. The only life left were the Grimm, and they seemed very irate at the bandits who had come to out them from their new den. Very irate indeed, not that bothered Fenrir none. He could do with a fight. And the Grimm seemed only happy to comply.

Fenrir smashed his skull into that of the Beowolf, grinning to himself as he heard the resounding crunch. It didn't kill the brute but it did make it falter, taking advantage of this Fenrir wrap his broad arms around its waist before turning and impaling the thing on jagged piece of rubble.

Around Fenrir heard similar sounds of violence, as man and beast clashed in the ruins of the village. It thrilled him to hear the roar of combat, as it dulled his own semblance's roars. Fenrir ducked as a cat-sized Nevermore came swooping in, intent on clawing out his face. Before the beast could come out of his reach, Fenrir grabbed it's leg, dashing the Grimm on the ground.

In truth, while ferocious, this pack had disappointed him. Where were the fangs and claws? Where were the Alpha? Suddenly, a deafening roar could be heard and the pack of bandits turned to see a particularly large and grizzled Beowolf. Fenrir grinned, now this was what he wanted.

The other bandits parted for Fenrir, who strood towards the giant Grimm, rolling his shoulders in anticipation. His semblance bayed in anticipation too, as if it sensed it was soon to be unleashed.

"Come brother wolf!" Fenrir bellowed at the Grimm beast. "Let us see whose teeth are sharper!"

With that Fenrir gave in to his semblance, growling with pleasure as he did so. Oh it hurt him, tore him. But at the same time sent all his nerves on fire, burning him with might. With an undulating, blood-curdling scream. Fenrir bounded across the courtyard throwing himself at the Grimm. There was no strategy in such an attack, only a desire to see his foe torn apart by his own hands.

The Beowolf, clearly not use to prey attacking it, weathered the tackle. It responded with uppercutting Fenrir, sending him sprawling back. Fenrir collided with a nearby building, falling to his knees. Oh how wonderful, he thought, To feel the pain of battle once again.

Fenrir looked down upon his right arm to noticed that it had twisted at a sickly angle, he grunted, as he let his semblance burn through his arm. He grunted in pain as it knitted broken bone and flesh, before finally gasping in pleasure as his newly fixed arm. Fenrir crouched onto his hands and knees, before roaring his defiance to the Alpha Grimm. In that moment the similarity between the man and beast was uncanny.

Fenrir snarled as a lesser Beowolf jumped at him thinking he was easy prey. Fenrir deposed it of such a notion by grabbing the beast by the head and tail. Lifting it above his head Fenrir brought it crashing down on his knee shattering it's spine. He tossed the corpse at the Alpha who smashed it's lesser aside, Fenrir chuckled at it's knack of violence. It roared at Fenrir, spreading its arms wide. Almost like an invite.

Fenrir bellowed back and charged, throwing a powerful left-hook at the beast's skull face. With surprising grace, for a monster it's size, it slipped beneath the blow. It then sunk it's claws into Fenrir's armour, grasping him by his shoulder. Fenrir grunted in annoyance, a downside to his semblance; though it empowered him and his aura, it also burned through it, meaning that aura was an unreliable shield at the best of times. In response, Fenrir clutched down on the arm, forcing fingers through the Grimm's arm.

The beast cocked his head in confusion at the prey's strategy, only to find Fenrir twisting. With a roar of effort, Fenrir spun around sending the beast sprawling over his shoulders and smashing it onto it's back. Pressing the advantage, Fenrir leapt onto the beast's chest. Wrapping his right hand around it's throat to keep it pinned, Fenrir began to lay hammer-blow after hammer-blow to the beast.

The Beowolf flailed and roared in an attempt to tear the prey off, but when it's protest grew too violent Fenrir twisted and tore one of it's offending limbs off. With his lips dripping saliva and blood Fenrir, grinned with satisfaction. With it's skull mask shattered and face a mangled mess, the Grimm let out a sigh before going slack.

With the death of their Alpha the Grimm pack lost it's animalistic morale, and began to turn and flee. Fenrir stared at the deteriorating body of the Alpha, breathing heavy and low. He clutched his head in frustration as his semblance roared in fury, again it was denied it's full freedom. He wouldn't sleep this night. After a few long seconds, Fenrir felt the tenseness in his body dissipate and control return fully to him. Now that the fighting was done it time to see if the prize was worth it.

The bandits smashed down the iron-shod doors to the large smithy, and gasped in surprise at what they saw. Cleavers, swords, spears and all manner of other weapons forged to perfection. The rumours were true, this really was a cornucopia of weapons. Fenrir himself was dazzled by the weapons, they were glorious. Fenrir thanked whatever unsung hero had forged this weapons, as the poor soul most likely became prey for the Grimm.

Instantly the bandits descended on the weapons, testing them to how balance they felt. Despite their strength, the Branwen tribe always did rely on quantity over quality, the weapons they possessed often unreliable at the best of times. Now that would change. Fenrir grunted in disgust as he watch the Branwen fight like rats, he shook his head as he then apologised to whatever hero forged these blades, as his final legacy ended up in the grubby heads of bandits.

As he turned to leave, all too aware that he was forbidden from any scraps. But something in the pile caught his eye. Something very fetching indeed. Fenrir walked towards it, inwardly grinning as bandits stepped aside in fear. He clutched the shaft of the weapon and pulled it out of the pile, marveling at the sights of it. It was very easy on Fenrir's eyes indeed.

It was monstrous hybrid of an axe and chainsaw. It was beautiful; an engine was attached to the head of it, while it's teeth were as monstrous as Fenrir's own fangs. Fenrir gripped it in his left hand, it felt natural like it belonged. The axe head was curved thing, cruel and ready to bite into flesh. With that Fenrir pressed a button on the shaft, delighting in the roar as it revved into life. Oh yes this would do nicely, Fenrir thought.

"Oy Fenrir!" one bandit yelled. "Y'know you're not allowed any of thes-."

As soon as the words left the fool's mouth, Fenrir was in front of him. Looming over him like mountain over a hill. Whatever dispute the bandit had died in his throat as Fenrir grinned at him. Inviting a fight.

"You care to take it from me?" Fenrir rumbled, amusement present in his voice. "Any of you wishing to part this beauty from me?"

The bandits looked away, all of them clearly too tired from the bout with the Grimm to invite conflict with Fenrir. Fenrir look down at his axe and decided it need a name. All the best weapons had a name. He pondered for a moment looking down at the axe before and answer finally came to him.

Hati. An old monster from one of his fairy tales, one which his mother read to him. A monster who's hate burned eternal and whole world fled from it's sight, before finally being slain by The Jade Emperor. The name seemed fitting as in Fenrir's hands as Hati would never stop. And the Branwens would fear it as much as the much as the world dreaded it's namesake.

Another feast in celebration of another successful plan. Only this time Fenrir was allowed the pleasure of being present. Fenrir watched the debauchery with a sneer on his lips; drunken, dancing fools attempted to flirt, while about him others screech songs of victory. As for the weapons they had been placed in one tent for safe-keeping. Hati however, remained with Fenrir. It seemed none with to part it from him.

As for the songs there were good songs, such a shame the Branwens had to ruin them. All this noise did nothing to enrapture him, only anger him. His semblance thrummed loudly in the base of his skull, and absently he clutched his head. He had no such wanting to reveal such a weakness. He instead focused his gaze on the campfire, finding it soothing till out of the corner of his eye he noticed his father.

Tyr Branwen stared at his errant child and Fenrir matched his glare unflinching. Both his father and uncle were enraged that he'd defy them so, but did little to act on such anger. Something which did not go unnoticed by Fenrir. Fenrir watched as Tyr turned from him and helped Odin to his feet and the tribe leader began to bellow another speech. Fenrir smirked to himself. Not this time.

"My brave warriors, you've done me proud bringing these weapons," Odin said. "Now we can begin our true path in crushing the Huntsmen."

"I thought that began with Qrow and Raven!" Fenrir said, standing up to stare down his uncle and father. "Another failure to add to an ever-growing list."

"Whelp, you forget yourself," Tyr said. "Now apologize to your leader."

"I apologize for your weakness, Uncle," Fenrir said, grinning at the shock and angered bandits. "I am truly sorry that despite believing you are strong when you are in fact a small, frail thing."

Fenrir clutched Hati, enjoying the confidence that the weapon gave him. His semblance howled, urging him onward.

"If we're truly strong, then why do we cower in these miserably woods, picking away at the scraps of others? We cower whenever Huntsmen appear due to his failure!" Fenrir roared, pointing Hati at Odin. "We are now capable of doing so much, yet we laze about claiming we are mighty. Falsehoods and self-delusion!"

"Are you quite done you miserable, half-breed creature?" Tyr asked, his burning in reflection of the campfire.

Fenrir spat into the fire.

"I'm done."

With that Fenrir shouldered his axe and matched away to his tent, laughing loudly as he did so. So many long years he wanted to tear down their hypocrisy, he pondered why today of all days. Perhaps claiming his axe prompted the boost in confidence. Or perhaps it was simply his semblance. Either way Fenrir didn't care, he didn't care about whatever nightmares would face tonight. He had his fun.

"Your whelp's use has now run its course," Odin snarled to his brother as the silhouette of Fenrir disappeared. "Deal with him."

"Believe me brother, I've already decided how to do so," responded Tyr, his eyes alight with rage.

Today may have been a small victory for the beast, to embarrass Tyr so much. But tomorrow, Tyr would take everything from him. This much he swore.

Author's Note: So Fenrir finally has his weapon Hati. Fun fact: Hati means 'one who hates' which suites Fenrir just fine. If you've enjoyed this chapter please remember to review as every little helps. And hope you all enjoy the rest of your day, have a good one!