Reincarnated as an AXE!

Who's afraid of the big bad:

Deep within the woods, gathered the Night Wolves. Their steeds were tied outside a clearing to the north, while they held their rally in the black center of the forest. It was a holy site according to their leader, where they could truly commune with nature, their ancestors, and allegedly, their own dead god, the beast of darkness, Fenrir. But today was not a day for mystical rites.

In the center of a small, raised stage, upon a throne carved meticulously from aged oak, sat golden-haired Anders Stegg. He was forty-three years old, heavily muscled, tall, and a true Lycanthrope. Not only could he summon changes within his body and increase his already impressive physical abilities, but he could hear the great voice of the dark. The whispers of his forbear, the great destroyer, Fenris himself! Anders was the first in generations who could do that, a sign that marked him as destined for greatness. A sign that marked him as a king.

Throughout Anders' life, he’d been thirsty for purpose and had fought for numerous causes. As a youth, he fought against authority. As a man, he’d fought in foreign wars on behalf of the authority. In the years that followed, and after time spent in prison, he battled in the name of anarchism, and had even dabbled in racist ideology. He did all these things before finally discovering his true nature and realizing that there were no superior humans. Humans were mere prey. Food for the beast. Lesser than.

After making this great discovery, Anders founded the Night Wolves and set about building his Feral Kingdom. And it had been going great too, until this unexpected attack.

On each side of his throne, stood his chief lieutenants: Lyselle Oak, and Davis Greely. Both were his most reliable enforcers, the leaders who ranked just beneath him in authority who could be counted upon to enforce his will. Well, one of them, anyway. Poor Davis. Stupid Davis. The old man had truly fucked up and lost his king a third of the entire pack.

“That’s him, boss. That’s the bastard who stuck me in the eye,” Davis grunted, as he pointed at the chained stranger. A pair of Anders’ enforcers dragged the silly looking runt in his stolen, mismatched clothing, forward. A strange, small man who offered no resistance.

Breathing in his scent, Anders noted that there did seem to be something slightly off about him, but nothing else. Probably some narcotic. He looked like a feeble user of the leaf. It was pathetic to lose yourself to the false pleasures of this world. But that was mankind for you. The runt was just another aimless member of the aimless herd.

...And yet, he’d somehow been a part of the slaughter of his pack. He had to have been, his was the strongest scent there.

Davis' remaining eye twitched nervously as he beheld the prisoner, his skin pale and flushed. Anders was disappointed to see that his damaged eye hadn’t yet restored itself. It was a symptom of impurity, of weakness. As his right fist, Anders expected more of him. Not that it really mattered anymore, but still.

No, no, Anders should be more generous in his assessment of his friend. Even though Davis had been having problems breathing after they’d found him in that room, it was still a testament to his sheer tenacity that he’d survived being impaled for so long. He was a strong old wolf, and that deserved respect. He was a true warrior and Anders was going to miss him terribly.

“But who hung you on that wall, old man?” Anders asked reproachfully. It wasn't the first time he'd asked that question. The answers he’d received were always frustrating.

“I told you; I don’t know. I just remember there was screaming, and it got dark. Real dark. I tried to get us organized, so we could fight back against whatever was happening, but the next thing I knew, I was flying back and then something had me by the throat and—and…”

It must have been a spell, Anders decided. True, no one had smelled any explosive residue, but that was just the mundane material that vanilla humans used for their spell craft mischief. Clearly, someone had used magic to make a mess of everyone and everything in the tavern. It was the only thing that made sense. The runt didn’t look like any kind of magus, though. There was a mystery at play here. Anders hated mysteries. He preferred simple, straightforward solutions. He rose from his throne, and began to stalk across the stage, deciding how best to do what was now necessary.

Fully erect, Anders stood taller than anyone else in the gathering, clad only in black leather breeches and boots. At his side, he carried the symbol of his authority: a silver-tipped Warhammer with a heavy seventy-five-pound head balanced on a steel alloy handle. The weapon was ridiculously imbalanced and difficult to handle, but Anders could wield it skillfully with one hand. His mastery of the weapon had earned him fame while he warred against the disparate tribes in the region during his campaign to unite them under his banner.

“I know you’re angry, my children,” he called to the pack, his voice soaring over them, imbuing them with his strength. “We’ve lost so many of brothers and sisters due to no fault of our own—"

“You eat kids, dumbass,” muttered the stranger.

Anders cocked an eyebrow, amused that the prisoner had enough guts to talk back, and that he was surprised Anders could hear him. “No, boy, we eat the weak. We cull them from the herd as is our rightful due. Humans are no different than any other animal. Do you mourn the calf that becomes your venison?”

“Venison is deer meat, fuckwit. You’re thinking of veal.”

Lyselle surged forward, slapping the fool hard enough to bring him to his knees. To lead the Night Wolves in battle as a female meant she had to be twice as aggressive as any male and ten times as devoted to Anders’ vision. A powerful, athletic woman dressed in simple hunting leathers, her auburn hair flowed from side to side as she shook her head.

She was a wild woman, nearly uncontrollable in her rage. By the gods, Anders loved her for it.

“Watch your fucking mouth, meat,” she hissed before spitting on their captive.

“Now, now, Lyselle. This opportunistic thief is our guest,” Anders said in a genteel voice. “He doesn’t rightly know our customs, so what say we give him a little leeway? We’ve got some questions after all, don’t we?”

“If you say so, King. Only because you say so,” she said, returning to her place at his side. But she continued to glare at their prisoner.

“I love your loyalty, Lyselle,” Anders said, once again directing his voice to the excited crowd. “See boys, that’s a real woman for you! Someone willing to defend the honor of her king! Anyone can suffer a blow, turn the other cheek like a weak little martyr. How much worthier is a follower who will shed blood for you, hmmm? That’s called fire! Breath it in!”

“Lyselle!” called someone from the crowd.

“Lyselle!” cried another voice.

“Lyselle!”

And so on, and so forth. For her part, Lyselle preened in their praise, delighted to be acknowledged by her tribe. Anders let it continue for a bit, before gently cutting in. It was good to let your subordinates share in the limelight, but you mustn’t ever let your followers forget who it was that ran the show. This was Anders’ stage, after all.

“But unfortunately, there are also other ways a King must be served. His interests must be protected. His people must be safeguarded against harm. For how can they protect their King, if their King does not protect them? Do you understand what I’m telling you…Davis?”

Anders spun and pointed his Warhammer at Davis’ head. The old man sputtered in surprise. “W-what?”

Anders sighed. “Caught off guard yet again. Davis. When I made you my right hand, I had you swear an oath of fealty and service. Do you understand what that means? You were supposed to protect what’s mine. What’s ours. But you blew it, my friend. You fucked up real bad.”

Finally sensing what was coming, Davis tried to backpedal off the stage, all to no avail. With a nod from Anders, two enforcers grabbed the old man from behind byeach arm and held him firmly in place. Anders strode over to him with grave finality and clapped a firm hand down hard on his doomed friend’s shoulder.

“I love you, Davis. I’ll always love you. But you failed to protect my people. You failed to protect the pack. And failure must always have consequences.” Before Davis could say anything in response, Anders was at his throat. He bit deeply, ripping out the old wolf’s windpipe, blood flowing in a river down his jaw as he spit out the ragged chunk of meat. He caught Davis in his arms and gently lay him on the ground, fondly stroking his spasming face until death claimed him.

The little man snickered at the sight.

Anders glared at him, before turning to address the crowd. “That was a necessary justice,” he told them. “We all loved Davis, but no Wolf stands greater than the pack. And no member of our tribe can ever fail his people as spectacularly as he failed us! Davis will not join us in the darkness that awaits. His soul will fall into the earth to slumber eternally, like that of a common animal. Like that of a common man. But do not mourn his loss. With his weakness gone, we’re stronger than ever! And in time, our memories of him will fade away like ripples on pond water. The pack is strong!”

“The pack is strong!” the crowd shouted back, enthusiasm quickly replacing sorrow.

“We are the children of Fenrir!” Anders roared. “The Darkness that heralds the end of worlds. We swallow the weak just as our ancestor swallowed the crippled god, Odin. We are not slaves to reason or regret! We hold the power! We are the power! The inheritors of a great legacy—

“You can’t change, can you?” smirked the captive.

“What? What did you say to me?” Anders asked him.

“Well, I see some sharp teeth; I see some claws and a little extra hair here and there. You definitely have the sense of smell and you in particular seem a little stronger than your followers, but that’s all there is to you, isn’t it? You inbred fucks can’t actually transform into wolves, can you? You’re not pure enough.”

“Our bloodline can be traced back a thousand generations!” screamed Lyselle with murderous fury. “We’re descended from the Wolf god himself; you don’t know shit!” she screeched. “What would a fucking human possibly know about our ways?”

The stranger laughed at her, a dry, mocking cackle that caused Ander to grind his teeth. “What does a fucking human know? A fucking human knows he shouldn't fuck his relatives, you silly cow! He said your name was Lyselle, right? Did that unusual sounding name make you feel special or something, you stupid bitch? Where I’m from, that’s a misspelling of a cleaning chemical that people use on their toilets!”

Pushed too hard by his words, Lyselle leapt at the fool and lashed out with her claws. His laughter turned into screams of pain as she cut deeply into his face, over and over again.

“Laugh at me again, bastard!” she screamed in her frenzy as she cut away at him. “Laugh at me again, laugh at me again!”

“Stop cutting me and I will! FUUUCK, that one hurt!” the captive screamed.

Lyselle tore his eye out with her teeth, then repeatedly headbutted his nose, smashing it into a fountaining nub. As her victim gasped and gargled in pain, she straddled his body, bringing her hands tightly around his throat. Strangling him.

Anders let it continue for a long while, before interceding. It was good to let Lyselle to avenge herself on this worthless meat, to let him know that no mere human could ever speak such words to a Wolf without consequence. However, Anders was still the king of this pack and no one died without his saying so.

“That’s enough, Lyselle,” he said to her. “Get off him.”

When Lyselle ignored his orders and continued to pressing down on the captive’s throat, Anders sighed before grabbing her by her hair, hard, and pulling her away. She snapped at him, nearly completely feral in her bloodlust. Anders growled back, and bared his teeth at her, a fierce motion that snapped her back to her senses.

“I said ENOUGH! I love you girl, but don’t forget your place. And don’t ever challenge me,” he said with a voice heavy with threat.

He threw her into the pack, where others caught her before she hit the ground. Her shoulders and head were appreciably slumped, a sign of submission and apology. Anders nodded, pleased by her recognition of his authority. Then he frowned at the mutilated idiot who was causing them so much trouble. Lyselle was a wild one at times, but he needed her on his side. Disciplining her in front of the others might cause some trouble down the line, and it was all this little bastard’s fault. And how had he known about the…troubles that plagued the pack?

No, it didn’t matter.

It was time to be done with this.

“Little man, little man, little man. You have caused such trouble today,” Anders said, as he casually swung around his Warhammer. “Attacking my tribe. Stealing from my tribe. Insulting my tribe. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. Was it worth it? Provoking the wrath of the inheritors of the wild god? I bet it wasn’t. I bet you feel sorry about your choices now!

Anders knelt down and pulled the man up by the bloodied collar of his shirt. “So, tell me…how are we going to resolve this?” he asked him “Will you tell me what I want to know?”

On his back, the little man gargled blood, then chuckled. “Nah.”

The laugh was too much. It really was TOO MUCH. Lifting his boot high, Anders brought his foot down directly onto the fool’s stomach. Not only onto it, but through it. When he pulled his foot back, darkened blood and bits of exposed intestine bloomed through the new hole. It was horrific wound with torn skin flowering around it. Hideous. Wonderful.

The little man laughed even more. Mocking Anders’ reaction.

Incensed, Anders dropped to his knees and whispered hatefully into the man’s ear: “I am the inheritor of Darkness, you fucking nobody. What is so funny? Stop laughing at me and explain yourself!” He then spitefully bit into the man’s ear and pulled away, swallowing the strip of his flesh in one gulp.

The fool laughed even harder.

“Judgement!” screamed an incensed member of the pack.

“Judgement!” shouted another.

“Judgement!” This time it was Lyselle.

“Judgement! Judgement! Judgement!”

The cry echoed throughout the clearing, bellowed from the irate voices of the pack. They’d had enough of this little freak. They wanted to be done with him. Anders nodded to them while sighing inwardly, knowing now that he’d never get his answers. But that’s just how it went sometimes. Give and take was the foundation of a King’s relationship with his people.

“Your king hears you! Your king loves you! Your King heeds you!” Anders yelled to them.

Lifting the Warhammer high, Anders turned towards the dying fool. “You have defied my sovereignty, mocked my people and broken my laws, and by your cowardice and trickery, murdered the strong and defied the will of the gods. The only possible verdict is DEATH. Have you any last words before I send you to the night?”

Well, that had been a mistake. The last words were a sacred tradition, yes, but in this case, it was still a mistake.

“Is it true that your mother was so fat that Dora couldn’t explore her?” the captive asked.

“What?”

“I heard your mother was so fat that when she sat on a grocery store, she lowered the prices.”

“Stop this! Stop what you’re doing!”

“I heard your mother wears heels in the morning, but they always turn into pumps by the afternoon. Because she’s so fat—”

Anders brought the hammer down with with a furious strike, smashing the mocking idiot into nothing. Once, twice, three times, over a dozen, snarling with hatred. Only when the fool’s head had been utterly obliterated, did he stop swinging. How dare he? How dare he? Why hadn’t he been afraid? Why hadn’t he been afraid? He was supposed to be afraid!

Now feeling truly wroth, Anders turned to his people, lifting the bloodied Warhammer and howled his anger at them. To a man, they knelt in supplication, soothing his spirit with their submission and love. Anders closed his eyes, and breathed in their devotion.

It felt good. That mocking fool no longer mattered. Nothing mattered, except this feeling of absolute power. He was alpha. He was King. He was a GOD. And he always would be. Who cared what some trite nothing said? The Night Wolves would rein over the darkness forever!

“iS iT mAH tUUrN nOw?” croaked the ruined corpse.

“What?” Anders said, turning in surprise.

Blood began welling from the body. More blood than Anders had ever seen come out of...anything he ever seen in his entire life. It coated the body, flooded it, surrounded it in a foul pool. And then, slowly, the corpse was dragged downward, until it vanished from sight.

“What the hell is happening?” Lyselle asked in disturbed wonder.

Before Anders could snap back a biting retort (something along the lines of "How the hell should I know?"), something began climbing out of the blood. Something that wasn’t human.

"Running in the dark won't seem so fun,

when you look at your wounds,

and see what I've done!

Screams from you and laughs from me,

and then I'll find your FAMILY..."

Sang a jovial but unhinged voice.

And in that moment, Anders knew he should have started running.