Back in the days of yore, they referred to me by many names: Viktor, the Prince of Darkness, Astranalogous, Asteroid the Conqueror, but most know me by one name, a name that haunts every mortal that ever knew me. I am Vadrigar. I have existed since what many would consider the beginning of time when one, a fallen angel, a particularly vengeful Lucifer, was plunged into eternal fires below. The loss of grace, the loss of love, and the loss of divinity… it was enough to thrust the demon king into an infinite, eternal despair. And so… I was born.
My "father", for lack of a more appropriate term, hated me and feared me, for he knew just what I was and just what I was capable of. I was his sin, his hubris, and the refusal to repent. As the Dark Lord strayed ever further from The Light, I would become stronger. I… the manifestation of my father's despair, an eternally growing mass of suffering, eventually would become an unstoppable being. They couldn't kill me, no matter how hard they tried, so they settled on imprisoning me.
As I hover in the endless reaches at the end of time, I send little pieces of myself across the multiverse, infecting your worlds, dismantling your civilizations, and crippling the weakened and the meek. I exist solely to cause suffering and destruction. I feed off of sadness, a god of schadenfreude. I have taken many forms, depending on who heard my call. Men, women, children. It matters not. They are all my little toys.
My latest outing has yielded a most peculiar host, a young man named Arthur, a weak little goat but a wielder of magic. This young man fancied himself a hero and thought he would go about ceasing local threats, thwarting ne'er-do-wells, and other meaningless pecuniary acts of heroic pageantry. Oh, the irony in possessing this fool was palpable.
This victim's story begins like many others, with the discovery of a power beyond their wielding. Arthur was a procurer of magical gems, seeking to gate-keep magic. You know how mortals are, after all. They're like children. The more you try to enforce prohibition on them, the harder they rebel. The forces of darkness, my disciples, didn't like this one bit. And when my dear host threatened to take that power away from my disciples, it was time for me to intervene.
The young man and his friend, an obnoxiously sentimental axolotl, staged an attack on my disciples, forcing them into battle. These rogues fought valiantly, I must admit, but my forces were far too great. As the foolish young men retreated, having seized my black book, they fled aboard their flying instrument, across the nightly sea. These poor, naive young men had no idea of the power they held. Curious, the goat had indulged in my text, a book bound by the flesh of the innocent, marked in blood and signed in tears. Through incantation of the unholy language, he had established a connection for which I could speak to him, personally.
He heard my voice, echoing, scratching away at his brain, whispering into his kind and sensitive ears. It was madness. I called from the book. He and that pink fool had retaliated. They had attacked my disciples, killing them with magic, more than I felt comfortable with. Needless to say, this would not be tolerated. I had summoned this young man, and promised it all, unlimited wealth, the ability to protect loved ones, immortality, and, like all pathetic mortals, he took the bait.
The insipid little amphibian saw the lust for power in his eyes, and pulled at his friend, begging for him not to listen! They struggled, my host and the axolotl, for command of the book. This would-be savior, this interferer, he tried to take this book, destroy it! My loyal host would not have it. Heeding my word, he thrust himself into the abyss below, a chasm. As the young man watched helplessly, my host plummeted to what most would believe to be his doom, for none could survive the fall. Many have tried and failed.
As much as I wanted to, I couldn't let this young goat die. He was too important, and while it is less than ideal to possess such a weakling, it was his will that had given in. It was his desire for power, a sin too strong to ignore, that lured him to me. Using my will from the book, I had shifted the earth, creating a tunnel, a deep burrow. The young man, rather than collide with the mass of bones and death below, would continue to descend deep into the bowels of hell where he would remain my little plaything for a decade and a half. I must say, his endurance was commendable.
Arthur landed headfirst into the deep river of blood, rising to the surface, choking, panicking, drowning. As he rode the river, he would inevitably come upon a bank. Salvation!… Or so he thought. He rose from the riverbank, bathed in the blood of the sufferers as he approached the shores of oblivion. Through flesh and bone, the shivering, cowering little whelp trod. Without his friend, lost and abandoned in the forbidden realm, the goat would persevere, albeit with great care.
As he approached the Mouth of Madness, the gaping maw unhinged, jaw-dropping to the ground, welcoming him within. Into the pitch-black throat, his little hooves carried him, sightless, blinded. Arthur approached the stairway and stood at the top. He was hesitant. Never before in life had he been so filled with uncertainty, such vulnerability, such cowardice. The tiny goat shuffled his way into the pit below, descending the spiral stairs into a room reeking of sulfur and rot.
He approached the grand altar, the home of my summoning, trembling as the book grew heavier and heavier, his mind playing tricks on him, his mortal conscience begging him not to follow. The fool was weak and desperate. He thought if the book could get him into this mess, certainly it could get him out as well… or so he thought.
Arthur laid the book down, opening the passages. This was my time to shine, through my will, the pages turned, directing the lad to the proper passage, lightened in gold so that there would be no confusion for my host. Transparency was most important. He read the passages aloud, eloquently, and clearly. He had done me proud. And now, the poor, naive little goat had let me in! I, the spirit bound within the book rose before the timid creature, my girth and mass most intimidating, my visceral and otherworldly presence terrified the poor creature. He fled and I made haste. I do enjoy the thrill of a good chase.
I think it's needless to say he did not make it very far before I had seized his body and forced my putrid spirit within. Through those beautiful sapphire blue eyes coated in tears of pure terror, I had forced my way into this tiny body. He screamed and wailed, much to my delight as he writhed and jerked on the floor, seizing and gripping as he wailed in unholy agony. All that noise would cease within an instant, however, and the goat would fall victim, lying within a pool of his own fluids until I could take what is mine… everything.
Comatose, he would lie there, for years, kept alive only by my will. This young man would not die. I wouldn't allow it! He was chosen! He would be mine, my vessel. I had chased him, tormenting him within the long, twisted mental labyrinth. I had haunted him, hunted him in a game of sport, a mouse to my cat. I had tormented him, filling him with grand delusions, visions of the ones he loved, the faithful mate, the daughter, and his pink lover.
These mirages would stalk my host, feigning a desire to embrace the young man before capturing him, torturing him with bodily mutilation as I cackled at his ceaseless pain. Of course, none of it was real, but one wouldn't know considering the tears he wept. But it had to be gradual, his descent, slow. I was to weaken him, demoralize him, and break him into complacency, but to do that, I needed to dangle little bits of hope before him. He would awaken suddenly to the illusion of his friends and family before him, smiling. At last, the nightmare would be over!
I would provide him with this soft sense of relief, of hope, giving him just the right glimmer, just enough to bring a smile, only to tear that illusion violently away from him in a jarring and uncanny manner! I would remind him, day in and day out that it could all change in an instant. I told him I could give him unlimited power, the ability to become a god among creatures. I had promised him the ability to destroy his weak enemies, the authority to claim all the militaries of the world for his liking, and yet, for fifteen years, he had resisted.
I had taken his dear friends, his mare, biological child, and secret lover, and made a mockery of them. The pink one, I had corrupted, infusing him with my evil, creating a new being. He would recognize his lover as the device for his torture. I would use the young Aristotle to commit heinous acts within his mind, to beat, stab, bludgeon, and incinerate the illusions of the woman and child. He would hallucinate as I plucked from his memories and forced him to watch as I killed them over… and over… and over, slowly, and with explicit detail.
The caricature of Aristotle cackled with joy as he tore them limb from limb, pulling at the nerve endings, the snapping of muscle whipping my host in his precious, sensitive ears. These acts, these atrocities would be his nightmare for well over a decade, and far be it for me to ever allow the affair to grow dull. I had to liven things up, for this was for my entertainment too, after all.
Fifteen years… It took that long to break this young man, fifteen years of denying the inevitable, of refusing to allow my will. It's like he knew just what kind of evil I am. He would… I would show him. I would pull this host into my realm, allow him, the privileged sole individual the joy of beholding my true form, a celestial titan, floating at the end of space, at the end of time, a horror of unspeakable ugliness, of unlimited power, a being so bloated with sin, that my very body would expand to the size of Jupiter.
My eyes, pallid and opaque, my flesh, twisted and diseased over rotten bone, an exposed and infected rib cage enclosing my visible organs, a blackened heart beating, coursing the evil through my veins, a wide grin of thousands of long, razor-sharp spiked teeth, straight horns extending like elongated mountains into the endless sky, framing my head like a crown, an entangled mass of hair reaching into infinity. My form, tumorous, parasitic, and garishly asymmetrical, a hideous and grotesque malformation to represent what I am on the inside… a perfect being.
My true form terrified the goat. His eyes grew wide, and he let out a blood-curdling screech no self-respecting man would ever utter. I extended before him, my long, rotten, cadaverous hand, offering him a simple plea deal. After fifteen years, his mind had shattered his soul had been tortured, beaten, and burned beyond recognition. His face was blank, devoid of all emotion. He was so feeble at this point. With my mere fingertip, I drew his head upward and forced him to gaze upon me before I had asked but one more time. "Do you yield?"
I was surprised when he had managed to conjure so much as a single tear from his dried red eyes as he lamented pathetically. He wanted out, and he didn't care how. He told me, he just wanted the pain to go away. Arthur had one simple request of me, expressing the desire to see his tiny child, her sweet little face once more, then he would release himself unto me, willingly. I had fulfilled my bargain, granting his eyes access to the child for a mere moment. With that satisfaction, he would willingly allow the ultimate evil into his world.
This foolish goat child, young Arthur would doom the world. He had no idea what he had unleashed. I filled the body with my essence, pouring my blackness into his veins. Arthur would be taking a long, much-needed nap... and I would take control. I opened my eyes... his eyes... our eyes. The feeling of mortal flesh is not the most comfortable of feelings for me, but it is the price I paid for my escape into your worlds. This mortal, such a small, feeble body, but it would do... for now. I ascended the stairway and out of the esophagus. Now it was time to fulfill his wish.
The child... as I sent my consciousness through the airwaves of their earth, I had contacted the young girl, his daughter, fulfilled that wish, and I left. Finally, the first breath of surface air through our lungs, pure air devoid of sulfur. It would not last. I would soon turn the world into a pyre. As above, so below. It had taken a while to get used to this form, the two-fingered hooves, and the general weightlessness of this small body. It had given me a great advantage, however, agility, and the use of this goat's latent magical prowess. I would perfect these abilities with my knowledge, and absorb the new powers into my vast arsenal.
Where this mortal had struggled with this magic, I would wield it with precision, tactic, and grace. After escaping, observing my situation, and releasing the puppet from his untimely tomb, I ventured out into the world to see what wonders there were to behold, and what fun there was to be had in toying with these creatures. My ventures would lead me to a humble bar. It appeared no different than before. That was my past up to the current point.
Asserting my dominance, I trod into the bar, past the patrons, and over to the counter. I sat upon the stool, this foolish being was simply too short. I didn't know how long I could tolerate it, but I digress. I hadn't killed anyone... here... yet... but the night was still young, and my thirst was unquenchable. For the time being, I read the menu. Simple beverages lined the roster, but one stuck out like a rather sore appendage, "Monster Brew", apparently a drink none of the simple patrons were particularly fond of, but that the neighboring monsters, a troublesome bunch, preferred. The Monster Brew was likely the finest beverage in the pub, a severed eye floating among the internal juices and organs and mixed with a nice shot of whiskey for a good punch to the throat on the way down. Sounded appetizing.
"I'll take a Monster Brew."
The entire bar froze, almost like they had never witnessed an individual order a drink from the bar before. I'm being facetious of course. The real issue is that I wasn't a "monster", at least not by their definition. Unlike the ghouls that would rarely frequent for such a beverage before going along their merry way, I was, on the surface, a mere goat, and a rather non-threatening one at that. The bartender just stared at me. I was growing quite irritated already. Had he not redirected his gaze the second we made contact, I would have added his eyes to the concoction myself.
"Buddy, are you sure you want that? I know you goats have some iron stomachs, but I've never seen anyone but a monster take one of those and keep it down. You ain't the first guy to try one of those on a bet."
The nerve of this foolish giraffe! He had craned his neck downward toward me with a raised brow, and I had merely returned a gaze like I would remove a large enough piece of his neck to make us the same height, and this body was not particularly tall at all.
"Did I stutter?"
I raised a brow of my own before he had begun to argue with me. He shut up pretty quickly once I had slammed a rather large purse of coins upon the table. The people of the bar seemed rather alarmed, as though they were beholding a ghost. I suppose in hindsight, I was. But something else seemed to bother these patrons. For even though I had yet to make a name for myself, (don't worry, I'll get there soon enough), it appears as though Arthur here had some preceding infamy of his own. A large, boisterous individual from the back of the bar approached me, seeking to oppose me.
As the obedient giraffe had handed me the Monster Brew, he walked away, half anticipating a cleanup, half anticipating psychosis. Nevertheless, he was not happy. I didn't care. I swirled my brew, the thick, viscous mucus of the liquid snaked around the tiny pieces of ice, the eye spun around, settling in a stare right back at me that had given me an admitted slight smile. The foolish bison from the back had reached my table to "converse".
"You look mighty familiar. I swear I've seen you before, but not alone. You used to travel with someone, I believe."
I ignored the simpleton, staring at my brew as I laid my head on the table with a scowl. He was irritating me now. The bovine moron continued.
"Yeah, I remember you. You used to pal around with that axolotl. Caused all sorts of trouble for me and my gang with all your good boy crap. I ain't seen you in years but you haven't aged a day… odd. No matter, I'll—"
He had grown on my nerves. I kindly told him to be quiet.
"Shut the hell up."
He signaled to his men. Bad move. Contrary to what you may believe about me, considering my previous actions, I HATE bullies. I had signaled him but once, with the raise of a finger. I wanted to finish my drink, so I took my Monster Brew and chugged. The thick liquid of blended with juicy innards, the viscous and gelatinous texture of the eyeball as it slid down into the gullet, I held the glass vertically and poured the entire thing in one long shot as the patrons watched in awe. Never before had they seen a non-monster consume such a drink, and not once had anyone been bold enough to chug it.
The gentlemen associated with my foe's gang surrounded the table and the bison made the mistake of putting himself within reach, a fatal move. Letting out a hearty "ahh!" of satisfaction, I slammed the class against the counter, shattering the tip, and I ran that jagged edge across his fat, hairy neck right across his carotid artery. The bison clenched his neck, blood rushing from his severed vein at an alarming speed into my face and onto the floor. He fell to his knees, his eyes wide with fear. He anticipated death, and I smiled as I longed for it eagerly.
The following men approached, running at me with blunt objects: blackjacks, clubs, and knives of their own. They were positively spoiling me with the possibilities. It had been so very long since I had engaged in a true conflict with mortals… too long. I had been parched with a thirst for blood. A tall, muscular rabbit leaped at me, dagger in hand. I rolled behind my bar stool as he plunged the blade deep into the wood. Lifting the stool, I slammed the foolish lagomorph in his white-furred jaw, shattering his teeth and sending him to the floor, stumbling over the bison.
Drawing the dagger from the stool, I discarded the wooden seat directly into the approaching torso of the following leather-clad raccoon fellow. Dashing in, I sent my knee into his snout. He staggered backward, and, in a reverse grip, I slid the steel blade along his exposed belly, spilling his small intestines, digesting innards and gallons of blood onto the floor. Just as his bison friend did, the raccoon died in mere moments.
The bartender was panicked. He sought to alert the authorities. I couldn't have that, so I tossed the dagger with the precision of a master marksman, the dagger puncturing the thick skull of the giraffe right between his eyes as he reached for the telephone. He fell to his knees, slamming his head into the counter before succumbing to the head trauma on the wooden floor.
My next victim was a sticky warthog adorned in a vest and pickelhaube. Running at me with a belt in his hand, he swung downward, crashing through the table behind me and onto the floor, destroying the table. Equipping myself once more, the warthog rebounded, seeking to strangle me with the belt. With a smile of pure joy running across my face, I ram the splintered table leg straight into the sow's eye with enough force to not only remove his helmet but pierce the back of his skull, forcing gray matter and brain tissue into the floor.
This carnage had proven to be the most fun I'd had in ages. Like a shark, I demanded more! Several more foes approached in a group, literally raining cats and dogs. This was fine by me, my perverted blood lust would not be stilled so easily. I wanted more death! More wails of the innocent! It wasn't enough! But now that I was outnumbered, I knew it was time to bring out the big guns. Relying on sheer agility and fighting prowess was no longer enough. Even with my unmatched speed, the four or more enemies would not present a fair fight.
Extending my hand—hoof—forward, I channeled my demonic powers. Telekinetically, I plunged the leading cat into the ceiling above, piercing the wood with his skull before pulling back downward on the body, ripping the head off, decapitating the foe in a raw and messy fashion. His blood poured all over me and onto the floor. I was now utterly drenched in the blood of my foes, from my head straight down to my quaint little goat hoof toes.
Now terrified, the remaining gang members fled for the door. Oh no… I couldn't have that happening! I couldn't let my instigators leave! Not now! Not when I'm having so much fun! With my power, I seal the doors shut, forcing the cowards to play. They backed into the wall in pure horror, soiling themselves as I approached with widened, blood-red pulsing pupils and an instilled hunger for continued mayhem. I wanted it to be slow! I wanted it to be painful! Their suffering would not end until I let it be so!
I balled my hoof into what I could only vaguely describe as a fist. Spontaneously, my hand combusted, and I unleashed a flaming rock into the chest of a dog fellow backed into a wall. He, along with the wall, caught fire. They were in my hell now. The last two remaining foes were a cat and another dog. The screaming fellow still writhing on the floor would not cease.
They tried to run, making a bolt for what I assumed was the back door of the tavern. The one cat had run ahead as I used my remote powers; reaching outward, I snapped the knee of the last remaining dog. He fell to the floor, clawing at the wood as I reached into the hand of the fallen and charred cat, still hot to the touch as he lay, his body crackling and crisping on the floor. I drew the hot survival knife from his sheath, a fine weapon, and I approached the dog. He begged me, tears dropping on the floor like hot lead as I stood over him.
"Don't kill me! Please!"
I inquired of the dog. I wanted to know whose payroll these fools were on. They recognized Arthur, and I wanted to know why."
"What do you know of me?"
I dug my hoof into his spine. Why would anyone recognize a dead man, especially a dead man who had disappeared fifteen years ago?
"All I know is that the boss recognized you, I swear!"
I twist my leg, digging deeper into his back. I wanted answers.
"Okay, okay! We've been following you for a while now. Someone rich and powerful heard rumors of your return... and we were sent to do some intel."
I stared down at him in disgust. I wonder, how long had I been spied on?
"Who hired you fools to pursue me?"
I dug my hoof into his wound, pushing deeper into the blood. He wailed in agony.
"All I know is he's a white wolf, owns a big resort hotel!"
Searching through Arthur's mind, I had found a memory of such a white wolf.
"Dutch."
I iterated the name before the fool and he had tried to flee. Stomping hard into his back to cease his movement, I plunged the knife into his back, over, and over, and over, and over again, the sound of puncturing flesh and increasingly weakening screams like music to my ears! I must have stabbed the back of that dog about thirty or forty times. I do not know for sure. I lost count. Slouching to behold my work, I rose, standing erect. The other fool had disappeared. No matter. I should have finished the job, but for what it's worth, the joy I felt in knowing that others would arrive to find a burning pyre and a bar filled with the bodies of someone's family was unparalleled.
The bar was collapsing, so I threw the door from its hinges and left. Moments later, the roof collapsed in on the victims. I had left, taking in a great gust of burning air into my tiny goat lungs, marinated in the dried blood and body fluids of my host and my victims. But still, I wanted more. The terror would have to wait, I'm afraid, for what was supposed to be a simple stop for a drink had turned into a bloodbath, and I was far behind schedule, and considerably off-point. I would keep the white wolf waiting no longer.
I wanted to beat the child and her foolish mentor to the chase. It was time to head to the big city, where I would pursue the Gem of Bravery. It wasn't as though I had required such an object, but I had coveted it for the sole reason of it not being within my possession. The last thing I'd want is for these simpletons to believe that there would be any means of stopping me. I would destroy these gems, and along with them, all hope of these mortals ever gaining mastery of their magic. In many ways, I was solving a moral dilemma for these creatures, to destroy magic, or perpetuate the endless war for their possession. I had decided then and there, none of them would have it. They were unworthy.
Into the city and past many mortals I journeyed, unbathed, my fur died as red as my eyes. They couldn't stand the stench of me. I had largely ignored them as I was laser-focused on my goal. Nevertheless, their cowardice always made me chuckle. Approaching the front door of the Razzle Dazzle, I had been met by two rather large and imposing guards. It was time to allow my minions to do my work. Having absorbed the souls of my victims at the bar, I had amassed a bit of a following.
Extending my reach, I had utilized my necromancy, and the bodies of the fallen would reform and reanimate. I sent my ghouls to dispatch the guards. The bikers tackled the security, tearing the flesh from their necks with their chainsaw-like teeth, dismembering and disemboweling them in a sickening fashion right in front of the lobby for horrified onlookers to behold. These souls would be added to my roster, my ever-growing army of the undead.
As my forces multiplied, I made my way up to the lobby counter. I approached a sniveling chameleon by the name of Hosea Hayes. Standing a mere foot from the creature, I peered into the fool's soul. Immediately, I was met with fear and disgust, but I had made it clear right away, I would tolerate no resistance.
"You will take me to the white wolf, Dutch."
The puny fool took one look at me (and one whiff) and knew right then and there that I wasn't bluffing. If my appearance wasn't enough, the invasion of my expanding roster of the dead made my motive quite crystal clear.
"Y-y-yes sir. F-follow me."
Compliance! Excellent. Although I must admit, I was disappointed it was so easy to coerce this lizard. Eager to remove himself from the situation, the chameleon had taken me by the hoof, choosing to escort me directly. Now it was my turn to protest in disgust. I snatched my hoof from this fool's grip. I leaned in, offering a single warning. Hayes cowered.
"Touch me again and I will burn your soul."
The lobby had become filled with the dead. Hayes made haste through the halls, up to the elevator, mashing the button as hard as he could, several times. He was desperate. This chameleon, sweating profusely from every pore, looked at me, trying to engage in small talk to fill the awkward tension.
"S-so, what brings you here? You really n-need that gem, right? Look... I can get in a lot of trouble for this... I'm putting my job on the line here—"
Several guards rushed the halls, approached by the army of the dead. They aimed their weapons at us. I would not tolerate this. Without so much as diverting my gaze from the chameleon's terror-filled beady little eyes, I pointed my palm toward the end of the hall, unleashing a molten fire blast at the ceiling above the guards, collapsing the floor in on them. Now we were barricaded in. My look did not leave the chameleon's eyes until the elevator had arrived. A tiny bell with a joyous ping signaled its arrival.
He and I boarded the elevator as the chameleon continued to mash the button for the thirtieth floor, the floor where Dutch's office and suite were located. I stood there, silently, awkwardly with my escort. He had made it quite clear his discomfort around me, brandishing a look of sour disgust over my odor, his knees trembling weakly as he tapped his foot in anxiety. He seemed to have learned at this point that I would not tolerate so much as another syllable out of him, and he obediently remained quiet.
The smooth free-form jazz of the elevator music existed only to heighten the tension between us. The ride had only lasted a little over a minute, but for me, it felt like an hour, and for my poor little escort, it likely felt like many. Knowing this, I smiled slightly on the inside. The whimsical chime of the elevator rang once again as Hayes rushed off-board, nervously rubbing his hands together as he approached his boss's office. He seemed hesitant, as though caught between blades pointing at him in all directions. I no longer needed the fool, so I blasted the door before him.
Hayes fled, screaming and panicking. I felt it would be significantly more comical to allow the fool the hope that he had evaded my wrath. If he had managed to evade, what I assumed at that point, to be hundreds of moving carcasses, he would have earned his freedom. No matter. My eyes were on much bigger targets, the white wolf, and the Gem of Bravery.
There he was, staring outside with his back turned to me in his dark brown leather chair, the smoke of a scented cigar lingered in the air, French vanilla or cherry flavored, whatever sparked his fancy any given day. I couldn't tell. He sighed, taking a long drag as he swiveled around with a smug smirk on his face. He rose with an aura of nonchalant swagger, approaching me without an inch of fear in his eyes. He would pay dearly for this arrogance. He spoke, his cool southern drawl reeking of narcissism as he structured his words in an eloquent, politically correct manner.
"So, you are the culprit, the one I've been hearing about, the troublemaker inciting chaos throughout my beloved hotel. You have a lotta nerve, walking in, tracking blood all over my expensive carpets, stinking to high heaven."
He removed a bottle of scented spray from his top drawer, spreading the room that had already been coated with a fruity scent from his cigar. Apparently, my smell had assaulted his sensitive, keen, canine snout. To him, I was positively rancid, although, possibly alluring to his natural instincts, the genes of a hardcore predator could not be denied. He finished, tossing the bottle in his drawer with a slight hint of frustration, a dwindling cool he had sought not to expose. He continued.
"You've killed so much of my security, a whole hell of a lot more than I am comfortable with, good sir. Destruction of property is one thing, but those were good men and women I had employed, many of whom had families and children. That simply cannot be tolerated."
I did not respond. I scowled at the wolf, gathering information, watching, learning, and finding out what he had up his sleeve. I was intrigued. Once more it had become apparent just how infamous my host was. Dutch squinted at me inquisitively, wagging his black-pawed finger at me as though he was on the verge of an epiphany.
"I've seen you before, I mean, not like this, not with the smell of dried blood and…"
He sniffed.
"… is that urine? Goat urine to be exact?"
I responded, indulging the wolf.
"Perhaps. My host's reputation precedes me. I hadn't anticipated coming into possession of a local celebrity."
The wolf chuckled with a snort through his black nose and a smirk framing his long snout as he placed his paws in his suit jacket pockets. He shook his head.
"I thought for sure you were dead. We all did. But you had us all fooled, didn't you? Bravo, good sir. Bravo."
He applauded mockingly. It was about then I had lost my patience and decided he was wasting my time, stalling. My expression turned to seriousness as I addressed him.
"I've come to take what's mine, something stolen a long time ago. I want that gem, and I want it now."
He looked at me as if he thought I was stupid. Just for that, I'd contemplated ripping his eyes from their sockets. He wasn't aware of just how dire the situation was. I knew he had that red gem on him, and I would obtain it, no matter what. He approached me, removing his jacket and showing the outer and inner lining, the pockets, just to prove that the gem wasn't on his person, but I knew better. I knew it wouldn't be that easy. I knew he wouldn't let me simply rip the gem right off his character. He tried to play me. So I played his little game. With my hooves behind my back, I chuckled, cracking a slight, disingenuous smile. You see, I could play the game of politics as well. I have many years of experience.
"Well then, if the gem isn't on you, then where is it? My tracking equipment has led me to this room, this very spot."
Of course, I was lying. I wanted to see if he could bluff a bluffer. I knew the gem was in his desk drawer, but I wondered just how far would he go to lie. The coldness of his baby blues upon delivering such deceit told me he was no amateur, but the light twitch of his left ear was a dead giveaway. Occasionally he would lick his lips, running his tongue across the unsightly scar running across his muzzle. Something told me he was still sore there on both the inside and out. Dutch leaned against the desk, half resting his rear end on top but not quite fully sitting. He raised one leg into the air as his weight was half-supported by the other, and stared at me half in contemplation, the other half in slight discomfort. The wolf shook his head in dismay.
"Arthur, Arthur, Arthur. Whatever will I do with you? This so-called gem of yours…"
His voice was growing slightly hoarse as he addressed me, his pupils dilating as he mocked me with air quotes. Noticing I had caught onto his rise in aggression, he cleared his throat.
"… is not in this office. You are wasting not only your time but mine. Now, I'm a very busy man, so if you don't leave, I'll be forced to call security."
He placed his paw on his phone, picked up the receiver, and placed it to his ear, which twitched slightly. Only one small problem.
"What security?"
Dutch raised his ears, dropping the phone. He knew it to be the truth. I could hear his heart racing as he started to pant slightly. I walked in circles around him. Dutch had caught wind of what I had done. Had he not smoked so much, that highly neglected sniffer of his would have picked up on the raging fires below minutes ago. Casually, he rose, moving to his desk and resting gently in his leather chair. He turned to me in such a way that I could see every limb on his body, but turned his back to a set of drawers, leaning back in his chair with his paws pressed together, his legs crossed as he faced me with an expression of contemplation.
I was not fooled so easily. He was being defensive. He knew that I knew the gem was in one of those drawers. It had been little more than confirmed at this point. I approached him, and he continued to feign calmness until I was less than a foot away from him. He growled at me slightly, and I froze in my tracks, not out of fear, but of genuine curiosity. Dutch had flared his upper lip with each inch I moved closer, licking his lips, his growls becoming increasingly feral as I inched closer. I grinned menacingly at him, slowly approaching. He swiveled back slightly in his chair.
I leaned over to reach toward the drawer, locking eyes with the beast as he lowered his ears in panic. Dutch lunged at my hoof, threatening to bite me. Quickly, I pulled my arm back. Now it was on. He had made the first move, reaching for the drawer and seizing the gem. He grasped the red, blazing gem in his paw, pushing his desk in an attempt to block me. With my telekinesis, I tossed the desk violently out the full-pane glass window of his office, shattering a massive section of the exterior. This startled the wolf, and he stared at me with widened eyes.
In a feral rage, he lunged at me, threatening me with drawn black, sharpened claws. He proved to be more deft than he looked, taking several rapid swipes at me. The last one had grazed me slightly on my face. I had to reach and touch my face, just to see if it was true, and he did. The mongrel made me bleed my own blood. I scowled in disgust. Now it was my turn. I'm certain he expected speed, but I don't know if he expected strength. I took several, precise swings, and with the deftness of a wolf, he had properly dodged, however, my last blow landed right on his jaw. He was sent backward, astonished at the sheer force behind the blow.
He was most certainly not expecting it to hurt. He saw Arthur's puny body and had expected his strength along with it, a mistake he shan't make again. He rubbed his jaw with a smile before rearing his full fangs, presenting his dark gums and lurching back into a full feral stance, his fur standing on end as he stood broadly on all fours. This behavior intrigued me so much I had tilted my head.
The white wolf had leaped at me, letting out a loud bark as he pounced. Drawing back my fist as far back as I could, I rammed it as hard as I could into his gut, winding the wolf. He wheezed on the ground, coughing, his eyes watering. The gem slid from his coat and with lightning-fast reflexes, he recovered. Thinking quickly, and acting in a desperate breakdown, the wolf held the gem over his throat, dropping it down his gullet and swallowing it, his Adam's apple protruding as the rock hit his stomach. He cackled maniacally. I beheld with wild eyes, laughing along with him. Moments after I joined, he had ceased. His face turned from insane laughter to profound confusion in an instant. I shook my head, closing my eyes with a wide grin.
"Oh-ho, big mistake, wolf. I'm gonna have a lot of fun carving that rock from your gut."
Enraged, he continued to lunge, taking swipe after swipe, growling and barking like he had lost everything that had made him sentient. If he was going to utilize his natural abilities, I figured I might as well. As he made another attempt to leap at me, I charged forward, puncturing his rib cage with my horns. He yelped loudly.
"Argh!"
The wolf staggered back, gripping his chest where I had provided him with two large holes in his rib cage, his eyes tightened with a severely pained look. He peered down to see the two bloodied holes punched into his torso. The gem had not made him as immortal as he thought. Considering the look on his face, an expression of pure awe and terror, it hadn't made him all that much braver either. His ears flattened as he shot me a single, scared look.
Now I was done playing games. Telekinetically, I pulled him in close by the collar of his jacket, cleaving him with left and right hooks, bouncing him out, and pulling him back in several times before I tossed him face-first into the wall. I would savor it. Dutch stumbled to face me once more with a blackened eye and bloody nose. He removed his expensive coat, tossing it to the floor and cracking his neck, then rubbing the blood from his snout onto his forearm as he prepared for war.
With great determination, he continued his pursuit. Desperate, Dutch leaped at me, pinning me to the floor before I tossed him backward with a kick. With everything he had, Dutch had recovered into a roll, turning around quickly to rebound. He was growling intensely, thoroughly angry. I had broken him. He swung at me with a wide haymaker. I grabbed his arm. He threw another with the other arm, and I had intercepted that as well. He tried to spin out, taking me with him. Falling hard to the ground, I landed on his back, my knee to his spine. He was weak, but he had provided a good fight.
"Do you yield?!"
He continued to struggle free for several moments as I had forced him into submission.
"I said do you yield?!"
He tried to buck me several times. I would tolerate this no longer. Telekinetically, I grabbed the angered wolf by his lower jaw, pulling it open."
"Yield or I'll make you bite your tongue off!"
I drew his tongue outward, threatening to slam his jaw down hard, severing it and causing him to bleed to death. With great panic, he tapped the floor. I released him, climbing off his back. As he tried to recover, I grabbed the weakened wolf by the scruff of his neck, a place he hadn't been touched since he was a pup, dragging him over to the window. He was astonished at my supernatural strength. As I held him outside the window, dangling by his scruff, he panicked, kicking, begging me not to drop him from thirty stories above.
"Please! D-don't drop me! W-whatever I did to you, Arthur, I'm s-sorry!"
There it was, true, transparent fear. I could see it in his eyes. His legs bent inward and his toes curled as our eyes met, his aqua blue and my crimson red, and he trembled, his long tail shaking between his legs. This was what I wanted. This was the compliance I sought for. I mocked the pitiful lobo with a chuckle.
"You see, Dutch, these gems only work if you truly believe in them. But it appears as though I've made a heathen of you."
I smiled, tossing the wolf back into his office and onto his face. He turned around and looked up at me. From my green jacket pocket, I drew a dagger, twirling it maliciously in my hand, and grinning down at him. The last thing he saw was the tiny white heart on the bottom of my hoof before he was out. He awakened nearly an hour later, groggy, his vision blurry as he laid eyes on me. I knelt on a knee before him, smiling. The deed was done, and I had claimed what was mine.
"It's about time you awakened."
He saw it, the gem. Looking down at his gut, he screamed in horror.
"Let this be a lesson to you not to cross me."
With immense anxiety, his cool entirely broken, he questioned me.
"What have you done to me?!"
I retorted with a slight giggle, very much pleased with my surgical work. He should be grateful. I could have allowed him to bleed to death, but that wasn't the point. I wasn't ready to end his suffering. I grinned, mockingly.
"I left you with a little souvenir… to remember me by."
He reached out toward me.
"My gem!"
Grasping it, my eyes flared bright red at him, and he recoiled. Taking the gem in my hand, I held it before me. Channeling, I sent lightning through the orb. It sparked and crackled in my hand. I applied pressure to the gem, slowly, forming a crack in it.
"What are you doing?! No!"
He backed away, unable to behold my power. The gem had shattered and crumbled to dust within my hand, and a red mist lingered through the air and up to my nostrils. Inhaling, I consumed the magic. The Gem of Bravery was no more. One down, many more to go. I would have them all. I would destroy them all. The white wolf gazed upon me as if I were a nightmare come true. I had ruined his day, and most likely, his life. He was ruined.
"What have you done?! You're mad!"
I approached him slowly, and he continued to back away in fear.
"We will meet again someday, wolf. Maybe learn to travel in a pack. Next time, you won't forget my name. You will see it every time you look in the mirror. Know it. Fear it. Goodbye, Dutch."
I had approached the window. He looked at me as if to coerce me not to jump, even after all I had done. I turned to him one more time, raising my nose as I took a whiff of the air.
"What is that awful stench? Could that be the smell of… wolf urine? You'd better clean yourself up."
As I faced the wolf, I extended my arms, the wind blowing at the back of my next as I allowed myself to fall out the window. The wolf rose from the floor with haste, but by the time he made his way to the window to gaze down at the street below, I was already gone. Dutch would, I assume, take a good look in the mirror when he had the chance, and see the magnificent letter V stitched into his belly. I had branded him. He was mine now, forever. The fur would recover, for sure, but he would be left with a V-shaped scar to remind him of what I had done. He had been shamed.
He would remain in that office for the next few hours until the authorities could make their way into the building after clearing through the hordes and breaking through my barricades. He would survive, but the damage had been done, and no longer would Dutch be able to exploit his massive wealth to rebuild. Still, it wasn't the money he had worried about, but me. The wolf could simply exploit the stock market to make back a sizable wealth. He had done so for years.
Dutch had spent a long time thinking about that beating I gave him, thinking about the fact he had allowed a goat roughly half his weight to best him, beat him, and shame him. He had spent the night in the hospital as the doctors cleaned him up, and stitched his ribs, the several cuts on his face, and my admittedly sloppily placed V on his chest still ailed him with great pain, but he shrugged it off like the class act he was.
It was his pride that most of all. He rose from his bed, lifting the sea foam green hospital gown and looking in the bathroom mirror at my work. It made him angry. He pinched his lips together to prevent himself from screaming aloud or punching the mirror. He went back to bed, lying down and staring at the ceiling fan as he could swear it was moving in slow motion. Dutch would receive a few surprised guests later in the hour.
He was quiet and contemplative. Basile, his trusty cohort, had come to see him. He had no idea what had happened and rushed to the ER the second he caught wind. Basile was grateful to have not been in anywhere near the Razzle Dazzle during my attack. He brought a "get well" card with him, one of those cards with a ridiculous harmless pun, and even though Basil didn't want to come off as "overly sentimental", he knew those were Dutch's favorite.
Hayes had followed close by, wielding a rather large stuffed bear for his boss with one of those holiday bows placed comically on top of its noggin, just to cheer the boss up. Hayes was significantly more transparent about his disgusting sentimentality. Dutch chuckled from his bed but was left with a painful reminder not to do so in the form of his punctures. He had asked for no painkillers. He outright refused. The doctors took one look at his scowl and understood perfectly well. Basile looked at his boss with a cringe, stating the obvious.
"Jeez, somebody did a number on you, boss. What the hell happened?"
Dutch was reading his card. It took him a second to answer, not even dignifying Basile with a gaze.
"A ghost happened, Basile. The ghost of a goat."
Basile was confused. He cocked his head with a raised brow.
"A ghost? Are you telling me a ghost beat the crap outta you?"
Dutch snapped his card shut, placing it gently on the table as he shot Basile an unamused look. Basil grinned in discomfort, his white fangs begging Dutch not to kill him. Coming to his defense, Hayes felt inclined to chime in, having been there to witness the carnage himself. He figured he could gain some favor with the boss by attempting to salvage his dignity.
"It was worse than any ghost, Basile. We're talking about a goat that had been dead for more than a decade coming back and hand-delivering the boss his lunch."
Basile was now even more confused, and hungry now that lunch had been mentioned. Dutch elaborated further on the story.
"The madman had taken my gem, claiming that was his and that I had done some injustice to him and gotten what I deserved. A bunch of poppycock. But now that you mention it, he was very UNLIKE Arthur. He was indecent, covered horn to hoof in blood and urine, like an undignified animal, barging into MY office, demanding my…"
The wolf had realized just how mad I had gotten him. He recomposed himself, running his paw back through his slick hair.
"… demanding my gem. I don't even know why. The moment he had it, he destroyed it."
The wolf stared blankly at the floor for a disturbing amount of time in dead silence. Basile and Hayes traded looks of confusion, shrugging. They excused themselves, leaving with one last worried look.
"Well, it's good to see that you're okay, but we can tell you're tired. We'll see you later, boss."
Basile tipped his hat.
"I hope he's okay."
The kindly and sympathetic Hayes was the last to leave, closing the door behind him. They whisper as they walk away, unaware that Dutch's keen hearing still puts them within earshot. Basile leaned in
"I don't know how a little twerp goat took down a big guy like the boss."
Hayes looked up at Basile. Basile just walked away.
"He looks more shaken than anything else. We should keep an eye on him. I'm worried about him."
Basile places his one paw in his pocket, placing a cigarette in his muzzle with the other as he walks away. Hayes stumbles around close behind. Basile waves him off dismissively.
"Don't be so sentimental. He probably doesn't appreciate you being so soft on him. Makes him look weak."
Dutch went to bed that night but didn't sleep a wink. He could hardly close his eyes without seeing visions of me on his eyelids. He just lay there, staring out the window in paranoia as if he could see me out there. The event played back over and over in his mind. He could feel the sensation of dangling out of the window from the back of his neck like a tiny pup. It made his blood run cold. The next morning, after his vitals were checked and he was given the okay by the doctors, Dutch was discharged. Basile had rolled him out in a wheelchair. Dutch insisted on walking out on his own, but after complaining of stomach pain, the nurses insisted that he rest.
Dutch was taken back to his lofty estate in the hills, a less-than-modest summer home he had commissioned and built to enjoy the summer weather. He had another home out in rural country, a ranch where he had felt more at home. Not like Dutch felt at home anywhere at this point. He was disturbingly quiet as Basile tried to make small talk to cheer him up. Even Basile, as cold as he was, was starting to worry about his superior.
"Well, home, sweet home, boss."
Dutch said nothing. He stared forward with bags under his eyes from lack of proper sleep. Basile thought he was about to say something only to be disappointed that he merely yawned.
"Didn't sleep well, eh boss? You know, if it's the pain keeping you up, I know a guy that can hook you up with something where you won't feel a thing... if you get my drift."
Dutch responded with a dry monotone to his voice.
"I don't need your sympathy."
He said as he rose from his wheelchair with a grimace. As Basile lowered his head, his ears drooping in shame, Dutch, feeling like a heel for his rudeness, addressed him with his back turned.
"Thank you for all your help."
He walked inside, closing the door behind him, and leaving Basile alone outside. Basile stared on with a saddened and worried expression before leaving the area and returning to his own home. Dutch limped his way over the living room, turning on his massive wall-mounted television. He rested on his wide and comfortable cream couch with a pained sigh. Grabbing the remote, he flipped the TV on, turning to his local news station to check on the stock market in hopes that he had at least passively made some of that money back. Those repairs wouldn't pay for themselves, you know.
He couldn't escape what had happened to him, no matter how hard he tried. The news was lit with photos and video footage of the carnage at Razzle Dazzle. People were interviewed after the fact, detailing their trauma about how they feared for their lives and nobody knew what to do or had any sort of plan. The only reference to me was vaguely blurry video footage of what looked like a bloody apparition following a nervous chameleon through a lobby. Hayes had to make clear through his interview that he had felt as though his life was threatened and complied to keep me from hurting anyone else. So very little good was done in that aspect.
Dutch turned off the television in disgust, tossing the remote onto the couch in frustration. He breathed a deep sigh. He decided then and there he wasn't strong enough. Deeply riddled with guilt, Dutch wasn't a man to show hard emotion. He kept such things to himself, priding himself as stoic and calm, always in control, always ahead of the curve. Now he wasn't. He had been broken. He had lost his discipline. Dutch wondered where it all went wrong, diving deep into his mind. He only had one conclusion, that he had forgotten who and what he was, a proud and noble wolf.
It was uncertain what had sparked such a radical change, but the next day, he would throw it all away. Dutch placed his several estates for sale on the housing market, and all of them sold to local celebrities within the week. Dutch had gathered his finances, selling it off, all of it. Dutch had cut a check out for Basile and Hayes. Basile took the check and his jaw dropped, his cigarette falling to the ground. Hayes had fainted in disbelief.
They'd only get one check, but one hundred million for each of them was no money to shrug off. Of each of his 400 employees, Dutch made similar checks, personally signing every one of them. He would assure that the survivors, the ones left, would be taken care of for the rest of their lives. Their deaths, to him, were his fault and his alone. He was done, done with it all. With all his money gone, Dutch disappeared.
Dutch made the long journey to the mountains of the north on foot with nothing but the clothes on his back. As he ascended the great mountains, he felt the cold air fill his lungs. Braving the harsh winds, and biting the bitter cold, the Dutch would persevere, up to the apex. High on the mountain where few dared to trek, Dutch would be approached by a massive, snarling pack of feral white wolves, each as huge as he, each of pure white fur and crystalline white eyes, almost godly regal.
They stood around Dutch, the clothed, the weakened, and impure, judging him. He tried to approach, but they snarled and barked at him, rearing fangs that could tear through an ox like tissue paper. He looked down at the ground in shame as they raised their heads and howled. He could hear it. For some reason, even with his sentience, he could hear his native tongue, understood it, and knew it to be just and honest.
With this, Dutch unbuttoned his red vest and undershirt, loosening his golden tie. He removed his clothing, tossing his undergarments and long coat into the snow. The last was his regal golden ring, very expensive, personally cut for him. He removed it from his paw, tossing it into the snow. Dutch was now completely bare, a white wolf with a large V scarred into his chest.
Taking a stance, Dutch leaned over, embracing using his hands as feet as he placed them into the snow. The wolves began to walk away. As they left, Dutch followed, off into the white nothingness of the snowy wilderness, disappearing from the world.