Fatal Justice

† Chapter Ten †

Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again. 

He abruptly stopped midstride as if his paws had grown frozen to the earth when a single thought struck him. So loud and so clear, his own mental conscience had screamed it for him to hear over the haze of obedience he had learned; and the haze of anger that drove him so far away from his own humanity.

This was wrong. 

It had always been wrong. He had let his father control his thoughts for too long. In that moment, as he watched the sea of blood rushing over the land and heard the desperate cries of death, he finally heard his own thoughts. His muscles were statue-still as he chose to listen to himself rather than Braxton. Suddenly, it made sense to him. 

He had a choice.

He needed to do what was right. For once in his life, he made his own decision, and it freed the battered bird from the dark prison as he took flight with a new desire. His claws no longer sunk into the flesh of the innocent but rather the tainted, poisonous flesh of his own pack. Those spineless, worthless corpses were music to his ears as they dropped in a bloody trail. 

His own thoughts became clearer and clearer. Maybe this was his purpose, no matter how hard it might be, he would pursue justice. And right now, he wouldn't watch or aid in another innocent murder. If only for this time, he would disobey Braxton and attempt to do the right thing, and it lit a raging wildfire to burn within his soul. Strength surged through him, pushing him through the tide of blood, and he stole the lives of the wicked in the blink of an eye. 

He was done being a toy. No longer would he bow beneath Braxton. He had gotten his taste of freedom, if only in thought and will, and he was positively starving for more. What would it feel like to be truly free? He wanted to find out. Suddenly, the tide of their battle changed, as he helped the Zayev Pack members. He sought justice against the wrong, in his own terms, and he was thirsty for the satisfaction. 

Leaping from back to back, he took down unsuspecting Conquistador wolves with snarls of enthusiasm and razor claws embedded in their intestines or spinal cords. They got what was coming to them and he regretted nothing as he continued through the tearing of flesh, snapping of bones, and cries of death. He didn't care that Braxton would be furious, knowing he was disobeying a direct command--let alone fighting against the plan--but he could care less. 

He spent too much time caring, about staying hidden, about obeying, about surviving; now was the time to live and to stand up for what was right. He wasn't going back to that submissive mind he had been taught, he had found his backbone, and even if he was acting without a plan, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

This was right. 

Slowly, everything that had been painfully ingrained in him was forgotten, if only for a moment, and he grew lost in the thrill of justice. Not a single wolf he took down was innocent, their dark, corrupted souls a smudge in this world, and he took it upon himself to erase it. He would make room for the innocent to live, for something good to grow, and he was going to do it until his last breath because he was done being Braxton's obedient dog.