CHPT 288: Parallels....

Claude stood in the rain for a long stretch of moments, feeling the cold icy pellets melt on his fur and seep into his skin, working to cool the feral fire that burned endlessly within.

He didn't want to move. He didn't want the rain to stop...it was like the dark and beautiful world was crying for him when he couldn't. The shower ran endlessly like tear drops, splashing into the wet marshy grass beneath to blot out the scents and sounds of the Night Runners being consumed behind him.

They didn't listen. They made the choice to be monstrous-- heartless, greedy, corrupt. They made the choice on their own. And as a result, he had no choice but to be what he was. Sure, he was a Monster in body. But he was a Lupine as a whole-- a Lupine of focused ferocity driven by his base desires and motivations.

Motivations that led him towards taking the life of four Heroes. Maybe such a word was beginning to lose meaning if beings who could torture and maim something endlessly were considered as such.

He shook off the stressful thoughts. Too tired. Too tired to consider what had become of his ideals or opinions. To try and wrap his head around it all so recently after the event was akin to trying to defeat Fenrir in a contest of raw strength.

Speaking of...

Fenrir had gifted him with more power. He could almost laugh at the fact. In his most strenuous and tragic moments-- mentally, Fenrir practically exploded with excitement off in his own realm like an invested viewer in a spectator event.

What a connection they had...

Despite the irony of it all. There was a connection. Something deeper than physical wolven appearance that screamed at him to notice as he stood in the rain that washed away all the blood and dirt in his fur.

He shook off the idea and turned, heading towards the center of the marshy clearing. All the while, Fenrir stayed at the back of his mind with the never ending endurance of a Wolf on the hunt.

Once he reached the Banshee, he loomed over the creature silently for a moment. The legion of flying Banshee's above did the same. Watching through glimmering spiritual eyes as they sang their beautifully haunting tunes.

The two stared at each-other for a long span of seconds.

The creature was female in appearance. Not uncommon among the Banshee's. She lay in the grass still as a statue. Well, most of her was still. Shinning black locks of hair that should've cupped her bluish white-skinned face, flowed upward like thick smoke tinged with a magical blue glow that left her Elven ears exposed to the elements. The glow pulsed and danced along the wavy strands of hair, keeping them in a steady state of ethereal movement. And leaving her face completely open to the moonlight above. She looked no older than twenty....but sometimes she looked no younger than death itself.

When her face wasn't twisted and rotted horrifically by unknown auditory magics. She was pretty-- in a sort of spookish wild sense. Dark outlines ringed her glowing blue eyes like warpaint that trailed down her cheeks like tears. The markings moved and snaked along her skin as if they were being viewed beneath a lake. Her full dark blue lips continued to move faintly as she sang quietly while her eyes watched him speculatively.

He saw the intelligence. He saw the fear....he saw it all. It was like Rollan said.

Claude hesitated before getting to work, choosing to slowly raise his hands in a show of harmlessness. Maybe it would've been more effective if his claws still didn't drip with blood.

Social skills that never failed to fail him....

The Banshee didn't seem to care anyway and instead continued to stare into his verdant eyes.

He shrugged it off and began removing the leather straps that shocked and held her in place.

All the while, her silent song continued as she watched. As he worked at cutting away the straps, thoughts of Fenrir continued snarling at the back of his mind.

SNIP!

When the final strap fell away, the realization hit home like a thunderstrike while he backed away from the Banshee and found himself looking at his own reflection in the watery grass ground.

The reason Fenrir and everything that came with him was gnawing away at his mind.

Fenrir. A nightmare waiting to come to life on earth, grown, created and betrayed by the Aesir Gods. A monstrous god tied to many feats....many horrors...and many names.

Fenrisúlfr...Fenrir's Wolf...

Vánagandr...Monster of the River...

And the most commonly known. Fenrir. Roughly translating to, He who Dwells in the Marshes.....

And there Claude stood. A Beast of the Beasts, slaying Night Runners viciously in the heart of an icy marsh.

His reflection stilled in the water. Frozen-- no longer a reflection of him, and instead an image.

After a single blink the image changed. And what he once saw himself as was no longer.

Looking back up at him was a wolf. The face of a pure black wiry furred wolf. It's ears laid flat against it's muscled skull while it's destructive flaming eyes ripped through him effortlessly. Eyes that looked like two worlds left in ruins. He could see the end result of absolute chaos within each fiery iris. A single large and old sword was left stabbed through its snout along with a collection of broken chains that steamed with black and red smoke. He could see the bottom of the blade as it opened it's massive jaws. An endless river ran, splashing as it crashed into each sabered tooth.

When he moved to speak, it wasn't his voice that came.

"YoU...ARe LiKE mEEeee, BoY....."

"RAGH!"

SPLSHH!

In a flash he punched the liquid reflection that wasn't his own. When the water settled, he saw himself again.

In that moment, Fenrir's words had risen from being simply a physical reference-- just as his description of Monsters had. When Fenrir said they were similar, maybe he was talking about something more than mere physical or vengeful traits. Maybe he knew something...

Claude stood up and got away from the reflective marshy waters. He wasn't even surprised. For all he knew, the gods had envisioned their chosen's futures a dozen times over. He hated to consider the future if it's what drew Fenrir to him...

The headache that once pulsed steadily within his mind had become a constant and steady hum.

When the Banshee's song reappeared, it dulled. And he felt how tired he was. Morning must have been on the horizon on the outside.

When he turned to face the now standing Banshee, he found her singing intently with her eyes closed. He could feel the magic emanating from her...and the others that flew a mere few feet above her like a supporting choir.

The song lost its doom-riddled edge and fell on his ears with a lulling effect. It seemed to do the same to everyone, since the pack of predators he entered with were sleeping.

"Wha--" Before he could finish speaking, his true exhaustion set in and hit him like a train, causing his legs to turn to jelly and send him to the floor.

Before he could hit the floor, thin arms caught his back, letting him into the cold waters as delicately as possible.

The Banshee looked down at him with an uncanny intelligence while the others circled overhead like beautifully horrifying ghosts.

When the Banshee's lips moved to sing again, sleep was almost imminent. But, not before human language began to filter into the rich and silky tones.

"....You are a tortured soul. The chorus of passing has fallen on your deaf ears countless times. And yet, here you are....saving another. You may not know what you are, but I am sure of what I see. As sure as I am of my own song. The Rugaspiora will watch over you...and I will not forget."

A cold sting nipped at his black and leathery skinned elven ears. It disappeared as quickly as it came. And then, the post full moon shift took him to the realm of slumber...where he was sure no nightmares would find him for once as the song of the Banshee's lulled him deeper and deeper away from his conscious mind.

DING!

[SpiritBorn Skill Granted!]

[(Death's Ambiance) Unlocked!]