Book 2: Chapter 3: Maaaax is coming to geeeeeet yooooou! |
Later, some argued as they ran for their lives.
“Did he say his name was MAX?” A panicked voice demanded to know.
“That’s a stupid children’s rhyme!” shouted someone else.
“Then what the hell was that?”
“It’s an illusion!”
“I can smell it! He smelled like blood!”
“It’s a trick!”
“He chopped Maris in half, he split her in two, DID YOU SEE WHAT FELL OUT?”
“Don’t fall for these lies!”
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Earlier…
A twisted figure stood before the Night Wolves, where the captive’s body had once been. A spindly, mismatched nightmarish thing clad from head to toe in ruined blackened armor, with a tattered cloak draped over its shoulders, the tail of which lay carelessly on the sodden earth. That armor at one time might have been beautiful, but now innumerable rends and gashes coated its pitted surface, alongside burns, rust and dirt. It was tarnished, battered, dented, worn, and all the more terrifying for its faults, because unnatural light leaked into the air from where it had been pierced.
“Who the fuck are you?” Anders growled in what he hoped was a fearsome rasp. To his own ears, it sounded like a startled yelp. It was humiliating. He was a King, a fucking KING, by the gods! No one made him feel small. No made him look weak. No one!
And yet…
The hideous figure did not deign to respond. Instead, its rusted armor creaked as he turned his head this way and that, gazing upon the assembled Night Wolves. Did he now realize the extent of his error? Did he now see the enormity of Anders’ power? Of whose grasp he now stood in? Why wouldn’t he say anything?
“Hey! I’m talking to you!” With the eyes of his people upon him, Anders strode towards the thing and planted himself directly in its path. By Fenrir, this creature was tall. He easily towered over Anders, almost twice his height even with his mis-proportioned limbs pointing this way and that. Fucking monster! But Anders wouldn’t be cowed. He was a child of Fenrir, the bringer of ruin. He held his Warhammer tightly in his grip, the shaft still slick with the blood of that defiant captive.
The feel of his weapon in his hand emboldened Anders and made him feel the power of his bloodline once more. Whatever this creature was, it would pay for interfering with the business of the tribe.
“You have five seconds to tell me your—” is what Anders began to say, when the armored monster lazily backhanded him. A mere slap, that somehow took the enraged wolf off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby tree. Anders gasped, stunned. The power behind that single blow could have easily killed him. The bastard was holding back.
It was playing with him!
“Strike the fucker down!” screamed Lyselle. At the words of his faithful second, the Night Wolves brought their arms to bear and threw themselves at the silent figure. Arrows punched through his armor, sending pieces of it scattering everywhere. The sound of the pack's roars deafened Ander's ears, as their weapons struck true over and over again in the darkened woods.
Yet the armored giant did not back down. He did not step back. He didn’t acknowledge a single hit with a scream of pain, or even a grunt of annoyance. A single shot struck his helmet, hitting him right between the eyes. Not a single drop of blood spilled out.
Nothing.
Languidly, the figure raised a hand. What was it doing? What was he doing—
Fear struck Anders at his core. Fear so primal and terrible, he could scarcely process it. The beatings he had received as a child, the torment of feeling alone that haunted him his entire life, the stress of surviving the desert war, these were nothing compared to what now assailed him. This was what a mouse felt in the jaws of a cat. The fly in the spider’s web. Helpless, hopeless, futile, small, weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak--
“Kill it, kill it, kill it!” Anders screamed wildly! His Wolves answered his cry, and charged at the figure, going for its legs, its knees, trying to bring it down however they could. In response, a massive axe that blazed with unnatural red fire appeared in the giant’s hand. The first Night Wolf that lept at him, he casually bisected, letting two even halves fall to the ground in a crimson spatter. Others tried to flank him to no avail, the bastard was just too fast. No motion was wasted. Whenever the axe was swung, someone died.
Why wouldn’t anyone kill it? Why wouldn’t anyone save Anders? Someone had to save him!
“Lyselle,” Anders moaned. “Lyselle, you have to—”
Lyselle didn’t have to do anything. A huge black wolf with a black pelt even darker than the axe wielder’s ugly armor, trotted casually out of the shadows, and opened its mouth. Opened it wide; its jaw extended with the ease of a serpent’s and had Lyselle’s entire head gripped snugly between its teeth. Her body was paralyzed by terror; she could offer no resistance. The Wolf didn’t mind. With a crunching sound not unlike taking a bite out of a fresh apple, the beast bit down and happily swallowed her entire head.
“This is Jon. Out of all his brothers, he’s my favorite child. He’s sneaky. I summoned him just for you, Anders! I thought you’d enjoy seeing what a real wolf looked like. Axe Pack!”
Urine spilled freely down Anders’ pants as he beheld the sight of his proud lieutenant being devoured. The massive wolf looked at him cheerfully and licked its bloody teeth. Then, it smiled at him, a wicked, knowing grin. It was intelligent. It knew what its expressions meant. Knew what feelings they invoked in him.
Staring at him boldly, it opened its maw and gently whispered “Annnnders,” in Lyselle’s voice.
And Anders had a final coherent thought before his mind went blank:
Fuck. This. Shit.
Anders ran alone for his mount. Around him, others did the same. Those that could hold their thoughts together. Others, broken by fear, attacked each other, or harmed themselves. Most just stood there, staring blankly at nothing. Each one of them was eventually approached by the armored figure and unhurriedly struck down. The wolf happily trotted beside Anders, easily keeping pace.
“Andeeeers, why did you let me die?” Lyselle’s voice asked him.
This was a nightmare, Anders realized. No, a Night Wolf. A demon of legend that Anders had named his tribe after. A rare beast that evolved from a Dire Fang, that stalked the night roads and fed on the flesh of lost travelers. No, no, Night Wolves weren’t real, they weren’t, they weren’t. Because everyone who knew the rhymes they now sang in the taverns, they knew who the Night Wolves were bound to obey.
Stay in ‘til dawn and off the roads,
Or else he’ll come a’swinging!
You’ll know he’s coming for you,
When you hear Night Wolves
a’singing!,
He has his axe,
He’ll have your head,
When Max says hi,
THAT MEANS YOU’RE DEAD!
Max the Axe. The twisted nightmare chasing him was the Head Chopper! Ander’s family was being obliterated for no reason, by a ghoul! Somehow, they had earned its ire, and now it was ruining everything Anders had spent his life building. It wasn’t fair. It was impossible! Monsters like these weren’t real, they weren’t real! But really, what did reality have to do with anything, on a night like this?
Munch-munch, crunch-crunch, Lyselle's head was now lunch! Hahahaahahaha!
It occurred to Anders that he had been driven insane. He didn’t care. He just wanted to live. He had to get to his horse, he had to race away from here, far, far away...
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Max cocked his head in a manner that suggested he was frowning. Realizing that his prey was no longer putting up a fight and was now actively trying to flee, he decided to rectify the situation. Cowards were boring. He may as well sweep the lot of them away if they weren’t going to play with him.
Max raised his palm in their direction and began using [Earth Mastery]. His hand began glow bright with sorcerous energy. Soon, a blue ball of eldritch light burst forth from his outstretched palm and shot into the ground in a wave of destructive light that swiftly raced after the fleeing Night Wolves. People always seemed so surprised he could use lightning even though he was technically an earth mage. Hadn’t they yet realized in this world that lightning could erupt from the ground?
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Following their broken leader, the cowering wolves raced for their escape as well. Some pushed past Anders, knocking him to the ground in their haste, their respect for him lost due to sheer terror. But just as they reached their horses and the promise of escape seemed so very, very near, the world blazed in bright and unnatural hues as bolts of blinding, unnatural red lightning erupted from the ground and began killing everything they struck. Whoever was touched by it, detonated in a splash of gore, leaving behind nothing but cooked meat and charred bones.
Everything was destroyed. Everyone. The remaining wolves, the trees, even the horses. The air felt super-heated, burning Anders’ lungs as he breathed. They were dead. They were all dead. He was the only one left. His new family that loved him and protected him, they were gone.
And now Anders had no means of escape.
Tears welled in his eyes as he realized his fate. “Father,” he moaned.
The Warhammer dropped to the ground in front of his face. From behind him, a dry, amused rasp of a voice said:
“You dropped this, your grace. Was it too heavy?”
Anders looked up to see the head chopper towering over him. Red flames flickered beneath his helmet, where his eyes should have been. Made observant by sheer terror, Anders noted that the monster’s armor was slowly reknitting itself. All the damage his people had done was now being erased. Just as they had been erased by the hands of this demon.
“Did the weight of it…bother you?” continued the creature.
Anders was taken aback. Did this thing simply want to talk with him? Could it be reasoned with? A desperate spark of hope flared within him.
“What do you mean?” he asked, crawling cautiously back to his feet, but otherwise making no other moves. Certainly, no sudden ones.
The ghoul knelt down and gently lifted the Warhammer. In the grip of his massive hand, it seemed so diminished. It was the symbol of Anders’ power and authority, his scepter of kingship. He had doled out such punishments with it, had claimed a river of lives, had felt such thrilling control as he wielded the ultimate authority over his victims… and yet now, seen in its true scope, the weapon seemed as silly as a child’s toy. Puny. Pointless.
Max seemed amused.
“Good heft,” he said, swinging the weapon through the air, experimentally. “Yes. A fine tool for delivering judgement! But more an executioner’s weapon than a symbol of kingship. Didn’t it bother you? Delivering the killing blows yourself? A monarch should have more restraint than that. Their word alone is life or death. Why would they sully their precious hands with the gore of their lessers?”
“Unless…?”
Anders’ eyes twitched as he desperately tried to think of an answer to the monster’s questions. “U-unless what?”
The fire in the monster’s eyes increased, raging outward in heat and power, flaring in a rollicking motion, as though the monster were attempting to hold back his laughter. “Unless…you aren’t really a king?”
The monster lashed out with the hammer, catching Anders in his ribs. Such was the power behind the blow, that not only were his ribs immediately shattered, the force behind the blow continued outward, and broke his other ribs as well. Anders spun in a drunken circle; he was now in such hideous pain that he could hardly breathe. Couldn’t get the oxygen in, no matter how hard he gasped. The monster hardly seemed concerned.
“A king should tower over his subjects in scope, little wolf. He is a giant, and his strides alone will crush the extraneous. But you aren’t a giant, are you? You’re a frail, little thing, so desperate to loom over others in order to seem large. A pup with his hackles up. Frail thing. Little thing.”
Next, the Hammer swung upwards, catching Anders under his jaw and smashing his teeth into his tongue, turning it into mulched pulp. Blood oozed in thick strings of saliva down his broken face.
“Ahhh ahhhh azhzzaaza—” he drooled.
“You called yourself the child of a god. A son of Fenrir,” Max continued. “I’ve heard of that guy before. He’s famous, even in my old world! Just looking at my boy Jonathan, I can tell your ancestral god must have been quite the beast! War songs loom in my head, majestic and unearthly at the thought of him! The howling! I’m dead, but even my heart would start pumping at the sound of that monster’s voice! Running into battle and tearing apart anything that opposed him, eating the sun itself! I’m a fan! I really am! Fenrir rules.”
“…But you, Anders? You and your so-called Night Wolves?”
With his outstretched boot, the Max gently pushed Anders onto his back, before firmly planting his foot on his throat.
“You aren’t a tenth of what he was. Diminished. Weak. Unworthy.”
No, thought Anders desperately.
“You wouldn’t have qualified as a runt in your ancestors’ litter. All yelp and no tooth! Your mother should have drowned you in her amniotic fluid. Your father should have eaten your face. You aren’t worthy of the night, Anders. Fenrir deserves a better legacy than you.”
I am the child of a god…
“You’re a stain on his lower pelt. Serve your betters as sport in Hell. They love to hunt small game in the realms below.”
The Hammer was tossed aside and now the axe was raised. Anders wanted desperately to turn his head, to close his eyes, to pray for salvation, mercy, justice, vengeance. But he couldn’t look away. The axe head loomed above him, reflecting the neutral light of the moon. So slow, so gradual, so eventual. And when it connected with Ander’s neck, he saw such light…
And then, in a reversal of the first miracle, the light gave way to darkness. And the darkness was eternal.
But Anders was not.
Max watched with satisfaction as the body twitched, spasmed, then lay still. He laughed at how silly the pretentious wolf finally looked in death. The gentle padding of paws behind him, told Max that Jonathan had finished snacking on the other crispier corpses strewn about and now he’d wanted a piece or two of Anders, having undoubtedly smelled the fool’s blood. Max gently scratched one of Jon’s ears, then guided his head to Ander’s body where he happily gorged himself.
Max nodded to himself, pleased to have provided his friend a meal he so clearly enjoyed.
He glanced at the sky, surprised to see that it was barely ten in the evening. The night had hours left to enjoy. Normally, he’d transform his meat suit back to its usual pleasing form and take off on foot. But now, seeing how beautifully the stars shone in the sky at that moment, it seemed a glorious time to go for a ride.
Patting the Night Wolf on his head, Max climbed on his back and guided Jon towards the road. Once there, Jon howled and took off at a lightning-fast pace, his fiery sparking paws sparking a trail of infernal flames that followed in their wake, all the while Max laughed madly and with great joy, as together, they tore through the world of the living.