The Wolves Of Androg (Prompt 15)

Standing upon the edge of the rising cliff, overlooking the grand, unholy and downright hellish palace of Veranz, Colt howled at the top of his lungs. The spawn of evil, the worshippers of the devil, the flying desecration to this world, the bats, were hovering around the blasphemous palace under the hallowed moonlight. The moons were in perfect alignment tonight. Kiara and Diana had been waxing and waning, in isolation, waiting for this amalgamation. Today, they were one. Diana, as visible from the planet Androg, was shining in its glorious pearly white, curvacious and round as the planet itself, showing off its gorgeous embodiment. Kiara hid behind her sister Diana, supplementing and amplifying her glow.

Colt, the leader of the wolf pack, had been waiting for this night for centuries. Tonight, he would avenge the deaths of his forefathers. The moons, in their perfect alignment, had granted him power. His blood had transformed. His body had strengthened and his canines were now sharper than ever. He howled again, summoning the others. Soon after, a pack of a hundred blood-thirsty wolves assembled on the peak of the mountains of Gregor. Colt nodded to each and every one of them, greeting them. When he was sure, he had everyone’s attention, he began.

‘For decades, we have hungered to wipe out our sworn enemies. Our brothers and sisters have laid down their lives, sacrificing themselves to save this world. Now it is upon us. The moons give us power. I know you sense your blood boil and your muscles tighten. Today, we are invincible. It is time to avenge the deaths of our ancestors. It is time to annihilate the lifeless creatures, rapacious for the blood of innocents and the weak. Tonight, we end the line of Frigga.’

The wolves howled in unison. Their eyes had the madness of someone courting death. Droplets of their venomous saliva dripped from their pointed canines onto the ground, where it singed the mud. With a final howl of encouragement, Colt began to pace towards the palace. His pack of vengeful and pernicious loyalists followed, with each looking more hostile than the other. 

They were sprinting to their deaths.

Inside the Veranz palace, the atmosphere was starkly different. The Friggans were in the midst of a joyous celebration. It was a sacred night. Their long held prophecy was about to come true tonight as confirmed by the joining of the moons, Diana and Kiara. Frigga would awaken from his thousand year rest and assume control of the empire that his devout followers had created for him. 

To commemorate his reincarnation, immolations were made of the strongest of his enemies. Man. Pools of blood decorated the marble floors of the palace and dying humans sprawled motionlessly on the floors. Some were tied from the ceiling and their falling blood was avariciously being consumed by the delighted friggans. Yet one was untouched, unscarred. Jeremiah was tied to the vacant throne of Frigga. He was unconscious. Jeremiah was the descendant of Hunter, the king of men, who had banished friggans to the outer realms of Androg, taking advantage of the absence of Frigga. For decades, there was a power struggle between man and friggans for the control of this world and today, with the capture of Jeremiah, the war was at an end. The friggans had won.

The oldest of the old, Frigga’s chosen Ten, the true friggans, had travelled from all corners of the world to welcome their father, their God, their life-giver to his rightful place. The blood of Frigga flowed through their veins and through the veins of billions of other friggans, courtesy these Ten. Once there had been hundreds of true friggans. The war with the savage wolves had culled their population, well before the inception of mankind. Frigga had been instrumental in exterminating the existence of wolves from Androg. Injured and exhausted after the war he had handed over the reins of his hard won empire to his disciples and buried himself in his unmarked tomb, to recuperate. The Ten had ruled since, steadily spreading Frigga’s blood and augmenting the army of his supporters.

Everything had gone well for the friggans. The wars had ended and they had come out on top. They had defeated all those who dared challenge them. Now they could revel in their victory. As luck would have it, there was still one final battle to fight.

The wolves attacked. They jumped through the decorated windows, shattering the stained glass. A hundred wolves had descended upon the intoxicated and oblivious friggans, attacking them from all sides. They tore their way though the first line of the weakest friggans, ripping off their heads from their bodies. The wolves, inured by the magical moonlight, swiftly devoured their enemies. The shock of the unexpected attack had the friggans paralyzed and by the time they realized what was happening, they had suffered multitudes of casualties.

Sicaro, the leader of the Ten, fortified his forces by capsuling his fighters in a narrow attack line and charged. With advanced technological weapons designed to destroy any and all obstacles in their path, they retaliated. Bullets shot through at lightning speed, lodging themselves deep into the bodies of the wolves and yet none fell. Realizing the weapons were ineffective, the friggans then attacked with their swords. For most friggans, fighting with swords was a lost art and they paid the price with their lives. A few others, who were trained in the forgotten skill, slashed their way easily through the mindlessly attacking wolves. The friggans moved at superlative speeds, whooshing away from one wolf to another. Their shining steeled swords cut through the skin of the wolves as easily as a knife cuts through butter. The tide of the battle had turned. Now the friggans and the wolves were equal in number. 

Noticing that their surprise attack was short lived and seeing the friggans recover, Colt signaled the wolves to form an assault line and attack together. They attacked the confused friggans, one at a time, unwilling to break lines, and minutes later they had cut through the soldiers protecting the Ten. Only these remained between Colt and his destiny.

With more than three times their number, the wolves were all but assured of victory. Colt howled angrily, dangerously, trying to scare the chosen to surrender. The Ten, rather than being nervous and afraid, were smiling confidently. Their eyes sparkled. 

Sicaro stepped forward and addressed Colt.

‘Your furry skins would make the perfect present for our master. I thought you all were dead. I am glad I was wrong. Humans have made us lazy. Overconfident of our skills. I thank you for destroying the weaklings in our ranks. But now, I end you for real. This time, you will not survive. I vow it in the name of Frigga.’

Sicaro dropped his sword and taking an attacking position as that of a tiger, attacked Colt. The other friggans, following their leader, rushed to kill the rest of the wolves.

Colt moved athletically, jumping left, then right, to avoid getting caught in Sicaro’s grip. He bared his teeth at every possible opening to ravage the friggan’s skin, but somehow Sicaro always escaped. Colt attacked with his paws and whetted nails. Sicaro defended himself with his cold, rocklike arms and used his knees to land a blow. Around them, both wolves and the friggans were engrossed in a murdering fray. 

Anxious about the state of the battle, Colt looked around. He saw most of his comrades had fallen. Seven friggans still stood, including Sicaro, but only a handful of wolves remained. With his focus distracted, Sicaro landed a strong punch on Colt’s jaw, throwing him backwards. Sicaro then picked up a sword lying near him and rushed to end the wolf’s life. Colt regained his composure and triggered a jump, reaching out for Sicaro’s face. Colt’s nails buried themselves in Sicaro’s neck and the motion made them fall backwards, crashing against the unconscious Jeremiah. 

Without wasting another second, Colt moved his jaw towards Sicaro’s neck and bit off a chunk of his flesh and bones. He devoured the last of the tissues attaching the neck with the rest of the body and relaxed only when he was sure that the friggan was dead.

He sighed in a mix of relief and triumph. He tried to move, but somehow he couldn’t. He looked around and was glad to see that the Ten had been destroyed. None of his brothers remained standing, though. He could hear the soft moans of the dying wolves. He glanced at his stomach and saw the deeply ensconced silver steel. His guts were hanging out, over the truly lifeless body of Sicaro. His blood, mixed with Sicaro’s was flowing on the soft incline, towards the throne, where it had made its way into the open mouth of the sacrificial human. Having accomplished his objective to seek revenge, Colt closed his eyes and breathed his last. The wolves were no more.

On the edge of the castle grounds, amidst the derelict cemetery, an untouched grave had opened. Rose from this deep sepulture, a being of immense strength and power. He rose wearing the black cloak he had been buried with. His body was hidden beneath this cloak of the night. Diana and Kiara welcomed him, focusing their glow on him. The prince of night, the moons’ lover, the rightful ruler of Androg had returned. Frigga made his way to the castle. The castle where he would be welcomed by an evolved enemy. An enemy who had in his veins the blood of man, wolf and Frigga himself. The story has just begun.