Kratos

I : Finding War

When they ask if you "woke up on the wrong side of bed", I'm sure they were never expecting an answer anywhere along the lines of, "no, actually I woke up in a field thirteen miles away from my bed with a broken rib and no recollection of how I got there".

This isn't the first time this has happened, nor do I expect it to be the last. 

Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I notice movement in the tree-line at the opposite edge of the field. I sniff the air, but my senses are still foggy with sleep. I sit upright trying to get a better idea of where I am. I see a familiar green post just meters from the tree-line.

When I was young, I used to think that pack borders were magically enforced. I thought that no wolf could pass a pack border they were not invited to pass. That childish misconception was dispelled when I was seven and the first of the surrounding packs went missing.

 It was then that I realized that borders were a matter of respect, and that respect was a dying commodity.

Cringing as my ribs begin to heal inside of me, a werewolf quirk, I begin to limp in the direction of home. I limp quicker than I probably should, but these parts of the land aren't exactly safe to be walking alone in- especially injured.

As I make the familiar trek home, I try to recall last night's events. But per usual, all I can remember is going to bed, and then waking up here.

Whimpering as the cold breeze blows hard against my naked legs, I regret wearing pajama shorts last night. Luckily I never took off the giant sweatshirt Sean lent me. 

Pulling the massive sleeves tight against my body, I thrust into a light jog. The silence beomes all too eerie for this time of the day. It's early morning, birds should be chirping and the trees should be bustling. Instead, there's nothing but silence. 

The silence soon becomes unbearably loud, my heart rate picks up, practically beating out of my chest.

I pull myself into a sprint. I've never been very fast, but with adrenaline pumping through my veins, my human limitations subside allowing my wolf to drive me.

It's not long before I find myself in familiar pack territory. 

Blood. I smell blood.

Despite the foul scent, I run towards its source. Growls emerge from the village center. But before I can use my brain and think up a plan that might actually be able to help people, I run smack bang into the middle of it. Whatever it even is.

Amazing Hazel, you are amazing.

I am facing my pack who are whimpering and frightened. But no one appears hurt. The situation makes little sense to me until I hear the growls behind me. 

The sound twists the clouds and crack the ground. I scamper forward and behind some of my pack members, fearful of the sounds emerging behind me. 

Coward. I hiss at myself. 

Over the shoulders of the people in front of me, I see the workings of the sun devil himself. Just a few meters ahead, hidden partially in the shadows of the buildings behind them stand the Eight. That's what they're called. The Eight. Well, seven of the Eight.

They wear their markings like burns from the fiery pits of Hell. They wear thick painted red and black tribal-like patterns that swirl around their bodies, lightning bolts promising of the power harnessed within. There are seven of them, all tall, and only in jeans. Their faces are hard. And that's what gets me.

Why aren't they attacking us? Why are they just standing there?

Looking around, I still don't see anyone injured, yet the thick scent of blood still stings the air.

It's then that I realize the source of the foul smell. Their markings are painted with blood.

A hand touches my shoulder and I jumped, just barely holding in a scream. 

It's Sean.

"What the hell happened to you?", He asks, concerned, a grimace washing over his face.

"Another sleepwalking episode. But, what... what is this?"

"The Eight, they're here to help us, I guess."

"Help us, what do you mean? Are you crazy!?" I whisper yell, exasperatedly.

"It was the Nitoi pack. Apparently they're the pack that's been killing everyone. I don't know how they figured it out, but the Eight, they're here to protect us", Sean reassures me, but the information does little to console my growing fear. 

Looking at my frightened face he adds in, "I know, I don't like it much either."

I find it hard to believe the Eight, part of the most dangerous pack in the entire world, would feel so inclined as to help a small pack village in the middle of nowhere. But, nevertheless, I nod, my stomach doing somersaults.

Sean's my best friend, and a pack warrior, so I welcome it when he wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me to his side in a hug. Feeling protected within his grasp, being that my pitiful resumé of two defense classes don't hold a candle to Sean's years of intense warrior training in the Dark Lands, I snuggle closer into his side.

Suddenly, alpha Carter, shyly marches out from the pack house in the village center. And I say shyly because compared to the mountain of muscle and vigor that walks out behind him, he looks like a pup.

I gasp, my mouth falling open.

"Kratos", I whisper almost reflexively. 

He's huge, towering over everybody, his markings rippling over the expanse of his physique. But his are darker in color and smell stronger. One of his markings crosses onto his face, starting at his torso, twisting onto his back, and finally underneath his thick hair forming a pointed lightening bolt, ending just under his left cheek bone. 

I wonder why he painted it there. Why he painted himself at all, why any of them did?  And more importantly, who's blood did they use?

Alpha Carter opens his mouth to say something, but suddenly Kratos silences him with a quick finger motion. His nose sniffs the air wildly. 

Suddenly he stops. And quicker than I've known werewolves to move, his head snaps in my direction. 

My heart might have actually stopped beating for a few seconds because if it wasn't for Sean's firm and sturdy grip around my waist, I would've been on the ground, my legs like noodles.

His eyes are dark, not even a color, just a story trapped within those orbs like weapons to humanity. 

A growl explodes out of him, and his men get into offensive stances almost instinctively. A shudder runs through the crowd.

Kratos is mere feet away from me within a moment, forcing me to push myself into Sean. He easily broke through the row of pack warriors that had been in front of me with little effort. 

His eyes are so dark, it's as if the devil himself has taken over. Sean flies out from behind me as Kratos grabs Sean by the arm and tosses him to the side. Sean hits the ground a few meters away, knocked out cold.

Putting my hands up to protect myself, I prepare for the worst. 

"Fuck. You're mine."

I drop my hands and look into his eyes. 

Suddenly, a heat like no other burns through my body. His eyes turn bright blue. And just as I feel my body falling to the ground, explosions take me away as his hands break my fall.