The body of the Husky slumped over. Ethan sighed. "Damnit." He looked back at the castle, and noticed more arrows flying their way. His eyes shone brighter and he brought his hand up from his hip. The arrows once again didn't penetrate the wall that came up from the ground. Then the wolf noticed the soldiers charging out of the castle gates. His eyes widened in panic.
Quickly, he tossed the unconscious Husky toward his bear friend, Boris. The bear caught her, and looked at his friend. Ethan nodded, and both Boris and his feline companion nodded back in response. He looked at the cat. "Callie, you know the drill." Callie nodded, her face lit up with sadness. Boris smiled at him, also saddened.
Their plan was always simple. If the three of them were ever caught in an unlucky position, one would stay back and try to hold the enemy. Simple enough. However, their other rule was that capture by an enemy was unacceptable. Torture always makes people talk. So, they agreed that suicide was the best option to mantain their secrecy. Luckily, that had never been the case.
Boris hefted the two unconscious canines over his shoulders and began to sprint. Callie looked back at her comrade, who had drawn his sword and dagger. She sighed and began to sprint to catch up with Boris.
Ethan heard his two compatriots run into the trees behind him. He exhaled slowly and felt the world around him slow as the adrenaline began to flow. He closed his eyes, taking the sounds around him. The yells of the troops charging at him, the harsh blowing wind ripping through the evergreens, the distant running footsteps of his two comrades.
He opened his eyes. The followers of the Fenrir king were close. He smiled, all his teeth and fangs showing. Once again, his eyes began to glow. This was his ideal battlefield.
Surrounded by snow and ice, all the enemies he'd fought had either surrendered or died slowly, panicking the entire time. "Granted, now I have to deal with a small army. Usually I'm dealing with one person or a small patrol." He sighed, a vapor cloud emitting from his mouth. "Guess we'll all see if I can handle this without dying."
They were close now, no more than eight-hundred feet away. "Alright then, let's get this over with." His thick accent came out in full force. He began to charge toward the enemy, waiting for his moment.
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The king of Fenrir was confused. Firstly, how did these characters, whoever they were, get into his castle? Secondly, what did they want with his son? And third, what was this idiot who was charging them think he was doing? He smiled. Not to worry, he thought. This would be an easy kill.
The distance between the two of them was little more than a hundred feet. The king drew his sword back, prepared to stab the brave but foolish wolf. Fifty feet now. The king readied himself.
Suddenly, what could only be described as a wave of ice appeared and started to rapidly approach them. The snow around it was simply swept aside like it was nothing.
The king then noticed that the white wolf in front of him had glowing, ice blue eyes. His eyes narrowed. A sorcerer. If there was one thing he hated more than mix-breeds and mutts, it was magic wielders. And above all, this one was using the king's own land to his advantage!
The ice wave suddenly disappeared into the ground, only to suddenly whip out under his troops feet, sending them flying. Luckily for the king, he managed to ride the momentum from the attack, sending him even faster toward the attacker. Said attacker readied his sword and dagger.
The king landed in front of the combatant, the distance between them no more than ten feet. He looked at him. The sorcerer's eyes still glowed, but his face was stoic. No emotion showed. "A lot like Chase when he is in combat. Interesting."
The troops behind the king had managed to recover and were now running toward him to give their assistance. The king held up his hand, signaling them to stop. They did so, though they were confused. "He is mine to kill, and mine only." The king announced this loudly. Both him and his opponent smiled at each other, and began to circle each other, their eye contact never wavering. The troops looked on, anxious.
They continued the circle. Then, the sorcerer simply disappeared out of thin air, then reappeared right in front of the king, thrusting his sword forward. The king blocked it, then sliced his blade at the wolf's throat. The canine leaned backward, dodging the blade, and attacked.
The king smiled. He felt the rush of battle once again.
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Ethan dodged another attack from the king. "Damn, this guy's quick with a blade. But let's see him dodge this." He activated his teleportation again, popping up behind the king. He seemed to anticipate it, and in one swift movement, he twisted his body, spun, and thrust his sword forward.
The blade caught Ethan straight over the heart and burrowed into his chest. He paused, caught off guard by the sudden pain in his chest. Blood dripped from the wound onto the king's royal blade. "Well shite." This was the only thought that went through Ethan's mind as he growled before everything went blank.
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The now wounded wolf teleported again, the strange wisps from the after effect dissipating. The king did a quick spin, sweeping his sword in the hope that it would catch the fighter in the leg. However what instead transpired shocked everyone.
The king's opponent had seemingly teleported above their leader, his eyes glowing bright, his hands lit up with two orbs of pure magic, and about a thousand icicles above him. He thrusted his hands forward, the sharp spears of ice flying straight at the grouped mass of the foot soldiers.
All of the men were speared by the projectiles. Most caught one in their chest, collapsing after the initial shock. The attacker landed, bleeding profusely from his chest wound. He growled and placed his hand onto his chest, ice filling the gash and, temporarily at least, stopped the bleeding.
The king stumbled backward, shock, sadness, and rage filling his body all at once. He stood back up, shaking in pure, unbridled anger. His opponent looked up and smiled once again, though more strained than before. He stood up and raised his sword in a defensive stance.
The king swung his sword in a figure eight, taking up his usual attacking stance, blade pointed forward across his forearm, body twisted to the side. His growl was low, and met by a responding growl from his opponent.
They dashed at each other. The king was only slightly fatigued, while the wolf he was fighting was severely wounded. His responses were slower, and he wasn't teleporting. A sizable gash appeared on his arms and the king sliced his sword. Now limited to only one hand, the combatant was forced to use his left hand, desperately trying to hold off the onslaught of the king's blade.
The king sliced the other arm of his lesser duler, the blade in his hand falling uselessly to the ground. He fell to his knees, seemingly in defeat. He held up his hands, bleeding from multiple wounds, the agony in his eyes betraying the stoic look on his face, strained and heavy breaths filling his lungs.
The king leveled his sword at the defeated canine, right over his heart where he'd first failed to spear it. How, he had no idea, but he knew that this time he would not miss. He spoke, his voice filled with the anger that he felt. "Who are you?"
The response given was simple enough to understand, though the accent made it slightly more difficult. "Fuck off." The wolf leaned his head back, smiling. This only made the king more angry. He pressed his blade harder into the chest of the wolf, grinning as he groaned in pain. "I'll ask again, who are you?"
The king suddenly found that the wolf had locked eyes with him. Recognition came across the king's eyes, and he let his sword tip fall to the ground. He teared up. "E-Ethan?" He dropped his sword and stumbled backward.
Ethan's eyes lit up once more, a giant spear of ice coming up from the ground, directly behind the king, spearing him through the abdomen. Ethan struggled to stand up, then walked over to the king, placing his hand on his face as the king choked on his blood, looking at him in shock. "It didn't have to go like this." Ethan's voice was filled with sadness and agony.
He walked over to his sword and dagger, picking them up with his injured arms. He made a coat of solid ice over and in the wounds. He'd have to find the meet up point quickly before he bled out. He looked back at the king, bleeding slowly, looking at him, begging for help with his eyes. He chuckled sadly and shook his head. "Stubborn old man."
He staggered away before any additional reinforcements could catch up to him. However, he nearly passed out after trying to sprint to the meet up point. "Damn, I've lost too much blood." His mind was clouded, and he could barely think straight. He trudged on, listening for anyone trying to follow him. Luckily, he didn't hear anything trying to follow and eventually kill him.
He tripped over a log and fell into the freezing river. He struggled to keep afloat, finally finding purchase on the river bank. He pulled himself up, shivering hard. He stumbled on, the only thing on his mind was finding the rendezvous.
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Callie was worried. It had been nearly over an hour and Ethan still hadn't shown up. Boris tended to their kidnapped royal's, while the rest of the caravan from their town had shown up for transportation. Two of Boris's cousins had been pulling a wagon behind them, while the rest of their backup had come on foot. The rest of the party was a mixture of different species, from the goat men of the mountains and even a few cheetahs from the far off savannah. They in particular looked the most uncomfortable in the cold.
Everest stirred, her eyes fluttering open. Boris looked over at his feline friend. His velvety voice traveled smoothly. "Callie, I think they're waking up." Callie didn't respond, still looking through the tree line for her canine partner. Boris walked over to her, resting his hand on her shoulder. "He'll be here soon. I'm sure of it." Callie sighed and nodded. "So, what do we do with those two?" Boris looked back over at their two kidnapped canines as he said this. Callie shrugged. "Is it just the female?"
"Yes. Evidently, you hit the prince a lot harder than Ethan did her."
"You know Ethan, Boris. He only did it because she would slow us down. Plus, she really wasn't supposed to be there."
Boris looked down at his feline friend, slightly annoyed. "I gathered that when she came flying down into my arms."
Callie shrugged. "I think we should just kill her and leave the body as a message."
Her large bear comrade looked shocked. He shook his head. "I now see why Marshall keeps you on a short leash and never lets you go out without one of us." He chuckled. "We'd have a lot more problems on our hands."
Once again, Callie shrugged. "Ethan would never me do that, and you know that. Especially to someone as pretty as her." She placed her hands on her hips in a mocking fashion. "My name is Ethan, last of the Ice Wolf clan, and I kill everyone who gets in my way." Callie's voice took on a much more ridiculing version of Ethan's heavy Fenririan accent. "Except any pretty females. I either knock them out or screw them." Everyone laughed heartily.
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Everest finally regained full consciousness, rubbing her head where she had been hit. Laughter filled her ears. She looked up, and almost immediately recoiled in fear. She found herself surrounded by a mixture of different species, from bears to a few goats and a couple of cheetahs. She stifled a scream.
One of the bears looked over at her. Everest recognized her as the one who had caught her when that wolf had thrown her out the window. Him! She stood up, a look of anger on her face. "Okay, first of all, where the hell am I?"
A few of the goatmen chuckled. The bear that had caught her spoke. "Well…" He hesitated for a second. "You're in the forest, a ways away from the castle where you were." He looked very apologetic. "We kind of kidnapped you and your lover here."
Everest looked even angrier. However, before she could vent said feelings, they all heard a noise in the trees. Everyone's weapons came out and Callie notched her bow, aiming at where the sound came from.
Ethan suddenly tripped through the treeline, clutching his arm and chest. Callie yelled out, rushing over to her friend. He collapsed, breathing shallowly, and his eyes seemed to be slowly losing their bright, ice blue color, fading to gray. Boris began cursing loudly, as did Callie. Everyone else had quickly established a defensive line, the goatmen with their axes out while the cheetahs whipped out their own daggers and knives.
Callie looked at Boris. "We need to get him to Skye." Boris quickly nodded and grabbed his dying friend. Ethan shivered violently. One of Boris's cousins grabbed Chase and literally threw him in the back of the wagon. Callie went over and grabbed Everest's arm. She struggled for a moment before Callie had a knife to her throat, her face lit up with rage.
"You can either come with us and continue breathing, or I can just kill you now and leave your body for the scavengers and ferals. Your choice." Her voice had gone low and dangerous, and Everset knew she meant it. Everest decided that breathing was the preferable option, nodding. Callie nodded back and continued to drag her to the wagon. Boris, already in the transport and tending to Ethan, helped her up. Callie simply leapt up, giving Everest a death stare before turning to her wounded comrade. Boris noticed and gave an apologetic look.
Everest thought to herself, "This is going to be a long trip."
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Meanwhile in the Fenririan castle, the king's physicians had managed to remove the giant ice spear from his body, but they had no hope of the king surviving. The attack had been too well placed, and the most that they could tell everyone was to consider who the next ruler would be. The king would die slowly, that they were sure of.
The queen had been sobbing in her husband's chest for a good hour now. The king could move and talk, but he knew that his time was limited. What his kingdom needed now was a new ruler, and he knew what his wife would do that night.
There was a knock on the door of the king's chamber, and several canines walked in, each from a different royal family. It was tradition in Fenrir that if the king had no children, he would pick a child from one of the other royal families whose ancestors had once sat on the throne. However, the now dying king, having no other option but to consider his last son dead, had one in mind.
Two of them were both Shepherds, both towering over the third, and both well built. They were both males, and had been good friends with Chase. However, that meant nothing to the king. While Chase was a suitable ruler even while being a soldier, these two were just that. Soldiers. They took orders and executed them.
The third was, in essence, what the king had in mind. She was a white Terrier, short, skinny, and damned good at getting her way. More so in a sense of being a good negotiator and diplomat, while also having the proper qualities of a warrior. Fast and agile, able to think on the fly, and deadly in close quarters. Her name is Sweetie, and by the First People she would make a great commander.
The king smiled. His decision was made.
Later that night, the king died. The queen commited suicide by a dagger to the heart.