Chapter Text
The Fox’s End.
Kuudai carefully poured the steaming tea into three cups. “It begins.”
“No, brother.” Chemach said, gently cradling her cup in her feathered hands, calm and content in a way she had not been in many years. “Not begins. It is ending at long last. Isn’t that nice? An end that is long overdue is finally upon us.”
“Indeed.” Clauneck nodded. “A fitting end, for one who has delighted in the torment of our elder sister and drove our dear mother to leave her ever beloved mate to birth and raise us alone.”
Kuudai hummed in agreement and lifted his tea cup. “To our Mother and elder sister; may this long brewed justice be all it needs be and done.”
Clauneck and Chemach nodded and lifted their cups to Kuudai’s before they all drank together.
~@~
“You’re sure you want to do this?” Ratau asked, watching Crescent mix and stir different liquids and powders into a deep pot. “It is yours by birthright, you shouldn’t-”
“I have no need for it.” Crescent assured as she added a measured cup of what could have been mistaken for crushed white powder slowly into the boiling pot, as Ratoo carefully cleaned a long necked glass bottle. “I had it removed when I promised to be the one who would sit with my littermates at their altars and see their last rites done. I never went looking for it when I lost it in Darkwood because I didn’t want it and I knew the silver pouch I kept it in would hide it from the Fox and eventually call out to Helob to be found. I chose to give it up, and it found its way back to me, now I am choosing to use it for a better purpose.”
“Don’t argue with her about it, Ratau.” Lambert said from where he was fanning the flames under the pot. Freshly sheared and looking more like his normal safe again as the Red Crown used the borrowed shape of a serpent to twist and coil itself into shapes and spirals to entertain Midnight. “Nilla, Lin and Lan had to beg her to keep the thing with her in a pouch as it was. If Creszy had it her way, she’d have given it to Helob herself.”
“I didn’t want it and at the time, I had no need for it.” Crescent recalled, tipping the smallest drop of shimmering blue liquid that had the consistency of oil into the pot, and stirred the contents quickly for a few minutes. “Now I have a use for it.” she said and took a drinking bowl and filled it with some of the unfinished brew and set it aside from the rest, adding what Ratau knew were ingredients Baalzebub had acquired for her through means he did not dare to ask about.
The liquid in the bowl turned from a very pale red colour to a soft pinkish shade.
Ratau seemed to consider trying to argue, but Ratoo put a hand to his brother's shoulder and shook his head, offering Crescent the glass bottle. “Clean and polished, as requested.”
With a sigh, Ratau nodded. “As long as you are sure,” He said.
“I am.” She nodded and took the delicately woven treasure of silver and gold that Midas and Helob had created using what she had lost as its core, slowly peeling away the layers of gold and silver to show a small pale marble of ivory, then without hesitation she dropped it into the cup, sirred the liquid inside until it faded into white colour with no flavour and no smell, but it radiated warmth and looking into the it brought a sense of calmness and ease.
She offered the bowl to Ratau. “What our tranquility robbed from you, I gave from myself to you in return.”
“I thank you.” Ratau accepted the bowl and drank deeply.
~@~
They’d heard the call echo across their minds, like a sweet fragrance in the air. It had been a plea to come, to help, to witness and to share in the moment.
They gathered in their Mother’s garden, the young made ready for their elders, they laid out blankets, pillows, stools, benches and chairs. The older ones came soon after the young and they brought trays of food with them, fruits and sweets, cake and buns, biscuits and cookies, enough for all to share. Then the established children and some able cousins came, they were the biggest and tallest of the gathering. They were faint in appearance, proof that they were still powerful and strong, and were instead projecting themselves into Mother’s space from their places of power.
They were welcomed and accepted easily, they made themselves small so as not to impose and intimidate the small and young as they settled in with smiles and warm embraces. Such a gathering had not happened in so many lifetimes, it was nice for them all to sit and enjoy the reunion of siblings and cousins. Everyone settled into a comfortable peace about the garden, some laid back against each other, chatting and laughing with others who were seated on stools and long benches traded simple displays of magic and power to impress the still young and curious.
Then, from the gate of the garden, another arrived. They were late, slow because of their age as they walked with short strides aided by a cane. Their weakness and pain was obvious at a glance in this place, their form had flickered between opaque and clear states with every breath, yet they bore it without complaint as they maintained a familiar form with a smile upon their face as they looked upon their gathered siblings and cousins.
They had not come alone, as cradled close to their heart with a secure wrap and swaddled warmly in a blanket, was a sleeping baby.
They were welcomed with love and warmth, a path cleared for others to bring them the softest, most comfortable chair so they can sit and rest their aching body and the warmest blanket was draped around them to keep any chill away. Once seated, they allowed the wrap to fall away and show their gathered siblings and cousins the baby.
Joy and shock flood the space, tears and questions are held at bay only because the baby, the baby brother they had all thought long lost because of Father’s cruelty and neglect, cooed loudly and reached out to them all with his little arms waving in uncoordinated greeting. He recognized them. He remembered them!
One after another, they took turns to come and greet their baby brother, tears and joyful greetings, tender kisses and soft embraces are shared once more with whispered apologies and promises that he is safe, he is loved and wanted, that the cruelty he has suffered will never be allowed to happen again. The reunion is truly completed. Filled with smiles and chatter amongst themselves as the baby cooed and babbled at them all, his little self cradled and held by each of his siblings with unwavering love as his tiny hands held their giant fingers and harmless gums chewing on sweet flavoured foods.
“Are we all here?” One of the younger ones asked, her voice had painted the air with gentle notes of bird song.
“There doesn’t seem to be so many of us.” Another admitted, the continued flutter of his delicate wings a clear sign of his excitement to be around so many elders.
“All of us who can be here. The Golden Touch, and others who remain within the Mortal lands can not attend here, but they listen and have sent their offerings of teas and wonderful treats to share. It has been so long since we were all together like this. It is easy to forget how many of us there are.” One of the elders nodded his horned head.
“Are we ready?” A sibling asked, their long tail wound loosely about six others in a loose embrace.
“We are. And the Golden Touch has been so kind as to send us a gift.” Answered a cousin and from a vacant chair, had lifted a large book. “A story. For our beloved baby brother and our soon to be cured sibling.” He read off from a small note.
“Ah, well, if it is a story to be read, I humbly ask permission to be its narrator.” The oldest brother had hooted with a kind smile.
“Thank you, Stolas.” The sickly one permitted with a nod and with that permission, the book was offered to the oldest brother and they all moved to better listen as the book was opened wide and he read aloud to them.
~@~
On this morning, in land where magic, faith, gods, divines and all manner of mortal and fairy things lived. A Queen upon her throne in the land once eternally golden and auburn has bid of her people; Go. Go out into the lands, into the Darkest Woods, the Deep Anchor and the Cradle of Silk. Go and paint upon every door, every window you find a rune. A rune that keeps the wicked and foul away. A rune that banishes the chilling cold and bitter lies. Go to these places and when the paint runs out, hang these woven wreaths of silver and gold upon the doors, for these things will protect what is loved and cherished.
And so they have come out of her land and into the neighbouring lands of darkest woods, of deepest anchor and silken cradle, armed not with weapons of war but paint and wreaths a plenty. And upon every door and window the rune of the protector is painted and wreaths hung, until there is no paint left and no wreaths remain. They are welcomed into the sheltering homes of others with warmth and kindness, given hot tea and fresh food, safe from what is to come.
The setting sun’s warmth was absent this evening. As was the normal dance of shadows and light across the ground and along the horizon. It seemed that the celestial thing and the very land knew there was no point in such grand and dramatic displays, not when their splendour and beauty would only be wasted.
For who has time tonight to pause and watch the distractions when they should be hurrying to safety? Who would be so bold as to ignore the calls of the shelters? The sure and proud ring of the bells that herold protection from what is to come this night. Not the mothers, who so tenderly usher their children into such havens, dressed in their warm and snug night wear as the attendants bright ample blankets and pillows to share. Not the fathers, who put aside their spats and arguments and lay down their tools of trade in exchange for candles to share the light. Not the grandparents, blessed with wisdom and knowledge they willingly share to comfort the worried and frightened in their care. As the evening hour began, doors and windows were shut and bolted tight. Those of nocturnal natures who could, brought their families into the light and settled behind the safety of the protective runes, those who preferred to be off the ground took flight and climbed high, high into the sky above the clouds to bask in the silvery glow of the moon’s assuring light.
Burrowing worms slipped deep down into the underground. The flowers wrapped themselves warm and tucked themselves away from harm. The birds grew quiet and the insects lay still.
When the world outside the safe and warm light is so silent, even the bravest ones who dare remain in the darkness hold their breath, for what if not this loud silence, is the herald of an end?
He opened his eyes to find the cave he had claimed was filled with fog. His mind hazed and his body stiff. He forced the he could of his remaining power to his limbs to sooth the aches easily as he put his feet quietly on the ground. He’d settled in a small cave with many exits to better ventilate the smell of the salty air, he had meant to meditate, but his weakening state had allowed him to slip into slumber, and how that the tide had come in and blocked some of his exits, his robes felt heavy and damp with sea mist and-
He stopped and pressed himself against the wall. Everything screamed danger but he refused to panic, even with his hearing limited and his sight blurred, he would not rush, he couldn’t risk making any more mistakes.
“Death told me; ‘To hunt prey is simple, pup. Most prey will always run away and try to hide. Most prey will scurry and cower away from you, even if you were once a friend. Most prey is soft, my pup, it has wide eyes and rounded ears to hear and see better. Most prey has little teeth and little claws’.”
The words were spoken softly, but they were impossibly loud through the haze of fog that hung around him. A voice he did not know but was sure he should know. Male. He had made many deals with males before. He inhaled slowly, taking in the scents of the space. Stale and dry air and the smokey fog of the space. No unannounced visitors were close enough to be heard and yet the voice was close as it continued to speak.
“Death told me; ‘ Pup of mine, we are all prey until we grow big. And that is why you stay with me. So I can teach you how to hunt. You will one day be big and strong with teeth and claws to hunt and kill. But until then, my pup. You will stay with me’. He is gone now. And I am grown. And I have learnt what Death did not tell me.”
Wait.
Fog did not have a scent.
It wasn’t fog at all, it was smoke. Smoke from fires that burned at all the exits of his hole. He snarled and stepped into the nearest shadow, glad that his time meditating had allowed him to regain some of his power, even if it was to a lesser degree. He could not move far, but he could leave the smoke filled space.
“Prey is anything we want it to be.”
Horns began to sound off. Horns that haunted his dreams so long ago, so much that he had personally destroyed all he found. They were loud and painful to his ears in ways he hadn’t felt in so long, and worse, they spoke to him with venom and poison.
“Run little fox. Run. Run from us. Flee little fox. Flee. Run. Flee. Make it fun for us little fox. Run and Flee and let us chase you.” They mocked him with the reminder that he was not at the top, nor had he ever been.
Taunted him with the reminders that he had many who would happily make him a meal if he ever dared show weakness. Weakness he WAS showing now. Compelled him to make this at least somewhat entertaining and give into the instincts that screamed at him.
He refused to run, instead he stays within the shadows seeking a safe path as the horns continue to bellow. They can’t chase him if he doesn’t run.
~@~
Baal and Aym. The current Reapers, Disciples and ichor bound sons of Death himself, mouthed the words of the scripture before them, twin rings of black and red runs slowly circle at their feet as their weapons and bodies pulse with borrowed power. They offered willingly and gave without hesitation or fear, as they always have.
Death sits in a meditative pose, his third eye wide and unblinking as he draws upon all his power, reaching out and calling for the souls who can help. The Keepers of Purgatory, those who had dragged the wicked and evil from the mortal land in chains, those who lingered even now as a living boundary between Purgatory and the rest of the Afterlife, the first and last line that kept the wicked ones eternally trapped in their damnation and torment. They alone had power to help him now, for all that his sons would have gone willingly to the world for this hunt, they were needed here, to help him maintain the channel so that the Fox could not slip away again.
They answer his call, his third eye allows him to see them as they come, felines, sheep, lions, spiders, bears and more, all given their shape and form again for but a fleeting moment as they kneel, bow and curtsey before him and offer the lingering remnants of their powers to aid in this ritual. They will form the chain links and manifest the chains of their trade, but not one of them would wield it.
That honour, they impress with sharp grins and fury in their eyes, belongs to another.
With all their power given and the intent and reasons clear, Death called out to that one soul. “I offer you this time, brief as it will be, to give the justice Fate has long denied. Aid this hunt, O’ Howling Reaper, and in return, the condemned is yours to do with as you wish. This I promise.”
The answer to Death’s call was not given in words, but in a deep, haunting howl that shook all of Purgatory.
~@~
The howl of a wolf shouldn’t scare him. But this how does. This howl is one he knows, because it is a howl that the blood of this wolf is blood he split with another's hand… The first blood Shamura split for him…
“ Run, foul kinslaying monster. I want to enjoy your fear before you come into my hallowed grounds. ” The Howling Reaper bids, as chains coil about themselves and shining red eyes looking down upon him.
Instinct took over for the first time in lifetimes and he runs the moment the shadows betray him to the chilling air.
The bellow of the horns echoes like a rare bird call, unexpected and shocking, but welcome and beautiful. A reminder that good and beautiful things can still be found in places that seem frightening and unknown.
Ah, such a sound they make, a melody of words understood by all who sit atop the food chain. “‘Come here, come here and hunt with us. Come here and chase with us. Come. Come. Come.’ They say.” And they come, oh, they come. In wave upon wave of willing and proud hunters, they come. From the prides of felines, from packs of canines, from the flocks of avians and the schools of fish, they come from land and sea and sky, they come from all kinships and all genders.
They form powerful hunting shadows of their own and together, they chase.
The horns chase him, blown over and over again, and in answer to their call a wolf chases him. A young white she wolf with the silver moonlight at her hands, feet and tail, pale green eyes with burning fire within and she is not alone. An elderly cat follows her steps, a male with sunshine yellow eyes and satin sky fur.
They will not stop chasing him. He has to escape them. The once silent night was now filled with sounds of a chase. Claws once used to intimidate and scare others now seem small and weak compared to how they had been before, scraped and scratched into the ground as he ran, the weight of his robes lesson and fade as they catch and tear and rip away from him when they catch on the rocks and sharp edges driftwood.
The predator turned prey runs, trying to use what little of the friendly shadows he can find to his advantage. A weak and fading promise now lost as the trade of power is broken, as with all things it was never his own power to begin with. It was borrowed in exchange for his aid to gain something and now that he could not give what was asked for, the power was slipping from him. Fading with every second that passed like the sands within an hourglass.
He stumbles but keeps going, hearing them before he sees them. The heavy thunder of more chasers and the groans and churns of rock and stone as the land itself moves to help them follow him. Another haunting howl and the flash of teeth at his heels. He doesn’t dare to glance back. He knows there are more wolves and cats behind him now, and knows they are coming out of Silk Cradle to hunt with their Anchor Deep kin.
He has a space in Silk Cradle, he just has to-
He can not stop the yowl of pain that tears from him as his body lambasters against something unseen and falls back, his head hitting the rocks harshly. He scrambles up and pressed his hands to the unseen thing. A barrier. One between Anchor Deep and Silk Cradle. He couldn’t cross it. Why couldn’t he cross it!?
The time and effort spent in the past to establish the safety of a permanent Den is all but faded now. The allies and friends are dead and gone and the one whom he had tricked so curly? They are free of him now, free and guarded.
Now, there is only him, his fleeting favour and luck.
How long will luck last?
With a snarl, he took off in a different direction as the white wolf and blue cat closed in on him, no doubt drawn in by the boundary’s ripples from his actions to try and slip into Silk Cradle. He heard a howl from within Silk Cradle, another wolf and cat came with fire and fury in their eyes.
The new wolf was a male, eyes of hazel brown and pale silvery fur, he was older than the white she wolf, but not the oldest, and on his back, one of the wretched horns in hand was a young she cat of tan and rusty fur with blinding blue eyes that shone and shimmered despite the darkness around them.
The horn was blown and for a moment he could not move! Teeth and claws snagged his arm and shoulder. He yelped in pain and tore free with a blast of limited power from his palm and ran again.
One close call, the cost of his arrogance to think he could enter the home of one he forced to suffer so long. They will face their own ends and their own consequences in time enough. But now that he has made his first mistake, the Hounds have the taste of blood.
Now, they will never stop. Like pups at their first kill, the blood invokes the inner hunter anew and with the call of the horns loud and true, the chasers cheer and bait one another onwards.
Joyful and eager they call out.
“Have him!”
“Chase him!”
“Run him down!”
“Get him!”
O’ Prey, I bid you run, run as fast and as far as you can. Run, run, run, run. We will chase you, we will hunt you, and when we catch you? Well, that’s for us to know and you to fear.
~@~
Shamura stood under the archway of the balcony, watching and waiting.
The horns had been edging ever closer since they began. Closer and closer until they were only a few miles out and then, the runes at the boundary had lit up in warning. Then they burn with power, denying the entrance of an unwanted and unwelcome thing into the land, they hold the foulness at bay and refuse to let it in. They hold strong when they are tested again and again, unwavering and unyielding to the wickedness that seeks to trespass into a space it is no longer welcomed within.
A wolf’s howl, then another, and the screaming yelp of a fox.
A fur blanket, warm and soft against their skin was draped around their shoulders with care. They clutch it tightly around themself to allow its warmth to seep into their shaking body.
They hear the horns blow again and the chase moves off, away from Silk Cradle. Away from them.
“Thank you.” They say in relief and joy as the fear that had been the last link to that awful monster was replaced with a weightlessness of freedom. “Thank you.”
“It was not done for you.” Focalor reminded in a gentle tone as she stood beside her Bishop.
“I know.” They say, looking at the heavy clouds above as tears slip from their eyes. “But the words still need to be said.”
~@~
He managed to get ahead of them, mere moments of time but enough that he could start climbing. He’s too exposed on the sandy beaches of the shore line he had to get into the trees and shadows!
“Get him off the cliffside!” He snarled and tried to bite at the swooping wings that came down at him, sharp talons catching the robes he wore and pulling, trying to dislodge him as the wolves and cats were delayed by the surging tide.
He pulled himself into the narrow crevices, clinging to the shadows with what little power he had left to use here. “He’s in the shadows!”
“ Not for long. ” The Howling Reaper assures.
He screamed in pain as hot chains coil tight around him and he is suddenly pulled down the cliffside, claws scratching and searching for purchase only to slip and tear against the stone and rock until he hits the sand and for a moment it submerged by the salty water was the tide crashed into the base of the cliffs.
They’d be on him in seconds unless- yes he could do that! One last time!
Desperate, panicked and with every last ounce of power he had to spare he closed his eyes and focused.
The male wolf snatched the robes from the water and growled. “He’s out of Anchor Deep.”
“He can’t go to Anura and Silk Cradle is no longer open to him.” The white wolf assured and looked at the sky. “It is up to Eclipse to chase him now, and then, it's Crescent’s turn.”
The male nodded and looked at his passenger with a tender smile. “As loud and as long as you can make it, my musical friend. This hunt is not over yet.”
“Aye.” The tan and rusty coloured cat nodded and brought her horn to her lips again.
A daring escape. But a costly one indeed. For now, he is in lesser known territory, his senses will be overwhelmed with new and strange smells and sounds and tastes.
He has made a mistake. But he will not realise it right away.
His landing was off by a few miles, and his momentum sent him into a stream of still chilled and bitterly cold water. He dragged himself out and shook himself violently, realising he was without his robe as he looked down and found his arms on display. The fur was long since gone, leaving only wrinkles and folds of his sagging skin, slowly trying to pull itself back into a desired shape.
He’d have to find another way to cover his body.
Using his abilities had cost him much of his energy and power, he had to hide and rest to recover what he had lost. The bellow of the horns was distant, meaning he had time to backtrack the few miles to reach the space he had here in Darkwood. He forced himself to his feet, bracing himself on a tree stump while his legs adjusted to his weight and-
He yelled in shock more than pain as an arrow cut past his head. Running away from where the arrow had come on shaky feet. Angry and growing more afraid as another wretched horn echoes throughout Darkwood as the chase picks up again.
Oh what foolishness the prey shows in the moments of seeming calm. He thinks, because it has worked so many times in the past, that he is safe now he has crossed the land. He thinks that the chasing hunters will struggle to find him and that has given him time to rest and recover.
Once, such foolishness would have been possible, but no longer and never again. The Hunt will not end nor pause, not until his blood is spilt. Not until justice is done.
Let him run. Let him fear. Let him panic. Let him realise as others have that there is no way out and all his plots and tricks have been for nothing.
Let him run.
Run. Run and keep running. We have waited too long for this chase and we will not allow it to end until the debt is paid with whole interest.
The wolf chasing him was male, oldest of them all with ebony fur so dark he blended naturally with the shadows of the trees, the only tell of his location, the rare glance of the yellow eyes that followed his target with ease. And with him the snowy white feline, the younger tom with skilled aim and swift feet, using the trees to stay out of reach as he fired arrow after arrow down at him. He ran and ran, through vacant gardens of herbs and crops, through broken ruined spaces that had once been Leshy’s temple ground. Over broken walls and through fallen logs, dodging the arrows and claws that came at him as his chasers gained on him. The horns were loud and the echoes were louder, a constant reminder that he had to keep going, keep running, keep running!
The shadows were no longer helping, he couldn’t call them to help. He reached, but they refused to heed, instead they shunned him, chilling him even more as he ran and stumbled through them, trying to find a place where he could slip inside and rest- There! He slipped inside a hollow and took a deep, desperate breath, snatching what he could from the space as he feels himself slip further and further away from them.
“ You did not allow others time to rest and recover. You will suffer the same. Run, foul kinslaying monster. Run! ” The Howling Reaper commands.
The anger of the wolf within the shadows was hot against his skin as the shadows forced him out with a sickly snap of chains, the breath of his pursuers like ice against a burn. He heard himself screaming, and when the chain snagged and went slack, he scrambled away on all fours.
He feels it now, the fear and desperation, the panic that those who fall into his wicked and selfish pool of lies and deceit, he feels it now and oh, what a delightful and vindicating feeling it is, the knowledge that he of all people now knows the fear millions have felt because of him.
But it is not enough. Not nearly enough! For all that he has done, all that he has taken and destroyed, it will never be enough.
No matter. Soon, the hunters will have him and when they do, he will know true helplessness.
For like all prey when hunted, he is beginning to tire. His body is slipping with his fading power, age is rapidly seeping into his blood and bones, soon his limbs will ache too much to run anymore, soon his organs will beg he stop and rest. The hunters know this too, they are eager to see it happen.
It means their reward was soon to come.
Blood will flow.
He leaves the trees and crosses a fallen tree bridge, only to skid and lose his footing as the ground shifted and cracked beneath his weight and he and the tree tumbled down into the river.
“We lost him!”
“ Fate is interfering. ” The Howling Reaper snarled.
~@~
The book was harshly snatched away from the reader and snapped shut.
“I wish to speak. All I ask is that you listen.” Father said as he stood tall, taller than even the eldest child and kept the book out of their reach as he stood over them.
All the able children stood and protested loudly the Father’s actions. They curse and slander him, they insult and snarl and bark and hiss with righteous venom and hate at him as the cousins form a blockade between the Father and the sibling and babe. They will not allow him near them. He was not welcomed here! Not in Mother’s space! Not after what he had done and allowed! He had no right to take what was not his! He needed to leave! To get out of this place that was Mother’s and not his.
All fell into a tense hush when the sickly sibling lifted their hand in an unspoken request for quiet as the babe in their arms squirms closer. The baby did not like Father. He sniffles and whines, trying to hide from Father. The sickly sibling soothes him gently, but they do not speak to Father.
“You were not invited or welcomed into this place, Father. You trespass, even when you know the results of such an act against Mother.” Stolas expressed once things were quiet.
“I know.” Father accepted. “But this is-”
“This is the long overdue consequence of your mistakes and blatant favouring.” Stolas snapped his beak sharply at Father. “You have allowed too much, and now that justice is to be done, you dare to come and try to plead for him. Did the murder of our baby brother truly mean nothing to you?”
Father cannot look at the baby.
“Return the book to Stolas and leave Mother’s space at once.” Another brother commanded harshly with a growl in his tone. “That is a gift. They permitted Stolas to read it out loud. You are not welcomed here.”
Father did not leave, nor move to return the book. Instead he looked upon the sickly sibling. A plea in his eyes as he looked upon the child who he knew held the most mercy within themself.
They heaved a sigh and reached into an inner pocket of their dark knit throw. From it they brought out a golden pocket watch and opened it carefully to show its ticking hands. “One minute.” They permit.
The tick-tock of the clock’s hands suddenly seemed the loudest noise ever heard.
60
“Speak quickly.” One of the oldest cousins snarled at Father.
59
Father goes down upon both knees before the children and cousins, attempting to appeal to them as they often had appealed to him in days long since gone.
56
“For all his sins, all his wrongs, is he not a brother? Is he a son? Will no one, old and young, remember his good deeds? His innocent youth? Can he not be given one small mercy?”
55
The children yelled, they shouted and they cursed, they lashed out at Father and condemned the very idea! Outraged by the insult to their sibling they demand Father return the book and stay away! They demand Father stop this blind cruelty and let justice finally be done. The cousins were equally enraged at Father’s words. Mercy?! He dared to ask mercy after all that had been done and all that had been ruined!? Had Father gone mad?!
50
“You are angry with me, I know I have wronged you all. But please! Consider others as well! My seastar son, born with gold in his very touch, the tiny silver born web spinning cousin! The half sister owl of Relics and forgotten artefacts! They are not innocent in this age! They are killers, collectors of sin and blasphemers!” Father remarks trying to reason.
46
“They are these things.” One of the youngest daughters agreed, using her powerful hind legs to jump up and grab the book tightly in hand and force Father to fight to keep it. “But they have never laid harm upon innocent children as he has, they do not seek out the weak and helpless with offers of power and promises of grandeur in exchange for things that can never be given!”
42
“They hunt the able and fit, they make themselves known and they understand that when the Reapers come to call for them, they will be judged accordingly. As we all were in our time, and he should have been long ago.” An elder son said and moved to help pull the book from Father’s grip. “Let go and be gone from here! This is justice for his crimes! Justice you have denied for too long!”
34
“If they are worthy of such forgiveness and kindness why is he not too?!” Father demanded and threw the children aside harshly. They were saved from harm by the fast reflexes of their siblings and the garden erupted into loud shouting and yelling once again.
26
The baby’s cries and wails shatter the tension and all fall silent. Father can not look upon the babe.
20
No one dared to speak as the sickly sibling rocked and soothed the babe, then with tender and reverent care they handed the babe to Stolas, who cradled and rocked the babe without question.
14
Slowly, they stood with difficulty and obvious pain from their chair but did not complain or rush as they used their cane and the offered arm of another to find their balance before they walked forward. The others moved and part of them without hesitation as they approached Father.
9
Father did not stop them as they reached out and took hold of the book, Father knew better than to fight them and let it slip from his hands.
7
“Please…” Father begged as they returned to their chair with the book. “He is your brother.”
6
“Stolas, what page were we on?” They asked.
5
Stolas stepped closer and helped to locate the page that had been snatched away from him and pointed out the line he had not been able to read. “Here.”
4
“Thank you.”
3
“Ancy, please.” Father tried to beg again. “My children-”
2
“Never again.” Ancy declared. “Will we consider him our brother, nor you our Father.”
1
“Time’s up.” they said and closed the pocket watch with a gentle click. Carefully returning it to the pocket of their throw.
“Leave Mother’s space, Father. Before Uncle comes and drags you out.” Stolas commanded him as the children and cousins turned their backs to Father.
Defeated, unwelcome and knowing he would find no aid from any of them, Father slowly stood and silently left the garden.
~@~
He landed harshly, unable to stop the yells and cries of pain as he tumbled and fell gracelessly through branches and rocks, above then below the water until the water itself seemed to delight in spitting him out and he crashed heavily into a nearby tree. He knows he is shaking violently, but if it's from cold, shock, adrenalin or fear he couldn’t tell.
Time allowed but a second. And it was wasted.
O’ Prey of predator’s blood, you will never again be saved by a favour. Your power is spent. Your deals are done. Your lies uncovered. Your truths are seen and known by all. You have lost everything, everything you have ever stolen is now back where it belongs and you are rendered to your truest and most simple form.
“You have no right to judge me! NONE OF YOU!!” He snarled suddenly and turned his gaze up to the sky, using the last of his strength and power to speak to all of them. “None of you are worthy of the praise and love Mother gave you! You wish to blame me for this?! Blame yourselves! You stole Mother from me! Everything was perfect before you all stole her attention and love from me! Everything I am now is because of all of you!”
There is no answer. Not one that he can hear, but it does not stop him.
“You think you can stop me by reading this little chopped up story aloud amongst yourselves? You honestly think it will be enough to stop me?! That you will never see me again?! HA!! You’re all fools! I am the heir of Fate itself! I am the God above all gods! I AM ETERNAL!”
Such a bold and assured claim, the predator turned prey makes to the heavens.
As if to answer him, the clouds part and the night air fills with a howl, long, drawn out and haunting, echoed between and all about the trees and grass of the seemingly slumbering forest as the crescent moon shone its light in response to its howler’s call and with its gentle, silvery light.
Oh, what a beautiful night to behold. Unbefitting of the event that is to befall this night.
And so now, the light darkens and shifts, becoming a deep, bloody scarlet red as the shadows darken and stretch. The howl is echoed by the bellowing of a great hunting horn that rolls across the air as the crescent moon turns red with Death’s power. The shadows deepen and chill to icy voids where even the tainted light can not penetrate and from within them two pairs of unfamiliar eyes appear. Both are feline in nature, though one pair is mismatched, and then, between them, a third pair of red eyes appears, canine eyes that shine and burn as they look out at him with hunger and a promise of pain.
“Sephone.” He spat only to stagger backwards as the one who stepped out of the shadows was not a male wolf but a female.
Now, O’ Prey, you face the judgement of those who survived your slaughter of their kin.
The Lamb’s wolf! Her coat was missing, leaving her dark grey fur and red dress in full display as she attacked him with teeth and claws. He felt movement behind him and barely ducked in time to avoid the axe that cut the air inches above where his head had been, the deer who had helped the wolf before, his antlers decorated with silver spider silk. He snarled and gnashed his teeth at them, trying to claw and bite back only to be sent stumbling over his own feet as the wolf relentlessly charged at him, matching his retreating steps with claws and teeth snapping and cutting the air millimetres from his fur as he keeps stepping back to avoid her and the axe swings, back and back and ba-
He stumbles backwards as something hits the back of his knees and he falls harshly, sliding and tumbling down the steep hill. Daring to look up and see what had tripped him, and found Ratau, his cane replaced with a carved spear and adorned in the veil and fleece he had once worn in service of the Chained One.
The mark that had been upon the rat is gone!? How!?
He tried to charge the old Rat with teeth glinting and large, but the sudden bout of music, a masterful harmony of violin strings and flute cut through the air and with them the sharp and clear tap and snap of boots heels. In response his body suddenly refused to obey his will and before he could try to fight to music’s hold the wolf's claws cut deep into his shoulder and back as she heaved him up and threw him with all her might into the closest icy shadow.
It swallowed him whole.
In the Mortal lands you will face the Saviour, the Wolf and the Woodcutter. Imbued and invigorated by the music and dance of the Velveteen Violinist, the Rodent Piper and Booted Dancer.
He crashes through thorny brambles and prickly nettles, through stagnant water and to a painful stop in a heap of sharp and jagged stones. He wretched and coughed up dark blood and oozing ichor, his throat burned and his teeth screamed in protest almost enough to send him heaving again, but he held himself back. Looking around for any sign of threats as he tried to get up onto his own feet again.
A solid kick, unforgiving and without mercy, breaks a rib and sends him rolling through mud and dirt, then a clawed hand at his neck and he is lifted, fully lifted off the ground and held high. Two felines, both black as ebony with burgundy paws and hands, wearing matching veils over their faces and contrasting robes, one in white and red the other in black and red. One holding a staff that depicted the sun, the other depicting a crescent moon.
“ You were Eternal once upon a time. ” Sephone corrected his earlier statement coldly as he stepped from the tree line of Purgatory, his body was translucent and rippled with each step he took, but The Howling Reaper was exactly as he had been all those years ago. Tall and muscular with thick muddy brown and ivory fur, eyes that burned with unnatural redness and teeth as sharp as blade. The chain of Reapers wrapped around his chest and down his arms, the weighted end already being swung around, ready to be used. “ But now, you have lost everything. Fate can no longer aid you. Ancy no longer holds any mercy for you. You lost your mother’s love after you murdered your littlest brother. ”
And in the prison of eternal torment where you will be henceforth and evermore, you will face the twin Disciple Sons of Death and the Howling Reaper.
~@~
Shamura blinked at the sudden shift in the air, a moment when time seemed to distort and for all of a minute slowed. Then the sky cleared to show the crescent moon shining overhead as the deeper call of a great hunting horn rolls through the air, its call echoed by the other horns, as if in communication as the other Moon Howlers and-
“Sephone. But how is that? What is happening?” they ask, looking at Focalor.
“Fate attempted to interfere with the plot of the story book.” The old spideress explained. “The attempt failed, and now, all that remains is for the Cousins and current Reapers to finish what the rest have started.”
“And when they have done that?” Shamura asked.
“Then, Master Shamura, the Fox will become the prey of The Keepers of Purgatory.” Focalor said with a smile, “Fate can not save him now. Not when so many eyes are watching and so many will fight to see this justice finally done. By sunrise, the Fox will be no more.” She assured Shamura and offered the Bishop a cup of steaming tea. “Drink, Master, Lord Kallamar’s instructions insist that you not be chilled during your recovery.”
“Thank you.” Shamura nodded, taking the tea and drinking deeply.
The air shifted again, and Shamura watched as a section of the horizon darkened to a bloody red.
~@~
Ratoo and Theodor played their duet masterfully, pulling on tunes and melodies they knew by heart that had the whole flock up and dancing around the shrine of the lamb. Twitch danced with his mother, Midnight and others in the crowd while Barbatos helped Amdusias with cooking the food, while the Flock enjoyed what they were told was a celebration of winter's end and the coming spring time, Baalzebub, Furneos, Flinky and Shrumy were inside the Temple, the old Faithfuls were sat within a glowing red Pentagram, mouthing scripture with ease while Baalzebub prepared for what he knew was to come when the ritual ended.
Lambert hovered in the middle of the pentagram, inhaling slowly and deeply, pulling the devotion and faith from the flock into himself with ease as it came willingly, each time he exhaled he pushed the collected devotion and faith through himself and into the Red Crown as it pulsed atop his head. The Red Crown fed the offered power into He Who Waits, allowing the Incarnation of Death to use what had been gathered to further fuel the Ritual as he continued to speak the scripture he’d learnt by heart, his third eye wide and weeping ichor tears as he repeated the lines over and over and over again. Each repeated verse of the scripture allowed more time for the Fox’s chasers to finish what had been started, allowed Sephone time and opportunity to oversee and partake in the judgement and serving of justice on behalf of those who could not obtain it themselves.
To many it would seem unlikely so many of different and opposing beliefs and standing could come together in such a way as they have. And yet, we read what history has allowed to happen many times without witness for ourselves in this hunt of hunts. For here, in the forest of slumber from the house of Death itself no less, a brave few have stepped into the light with devotion and trust, assured and determined with confidence in the unseen that their actions this night will bring about good and needed change.
A union of such beauty truly has not been seen in the lands for many lifetimes. Hope that in this moment, they might just have a chance to change what Fate so cruelly tried to design in its blind ignorance and arrogant want.
Back and forth he is punched, kicked, tripped, thrown and slammed back and forth between the stiflingly heavy and putrid air of purgatory and the chilled air of the mortal forest. The wolf is savage and unrelenting in her attacks, driven by an anger and los he can not begin to try and twist for the moment he dares, he is struck by one of the twin felines with such force and brutality his attention shifts to trying to heal the multitude of injuries he knows they have inflicted upon him, only to yowl in pain as the axe’s cutting edge drags deep into his skin, or the spear of the rat stable into him and bleeds him yet again, before he can focus upon that cut, he is in the grip of rancid water and sickly mud that promises infection and worse if not cleaned-
A punch to his jaw, a kick to his chest, a strike to his back with the blunt head of the axe and strike to the front of his knees sends him rolling and he crashes with a feral scream into a tree, bloody, shaking, whimpering and thoroughly beaten.
Heed of this lesson, all who seek to design a path for others, lest you face similar ends to the Fox.
To force a path upon us is to condemn us to suffering and pain as we try to live up to someone else’s design and plans. But to allow a path to be chosen freely, though it may be hard to walk, even with help and friends for company, this path, chosen and ever changing as we go, will allow us to grow and become the best versions of ourselves with every step we take. For this path was our choice and no matter our struggles, when asked if we would go back and choose again, we will choose to walk this same path again and again.
“Get up.” One of the cats snarled at him.
He tried to get up, truly he tried, but his body was numb with pain and refused to listen any longer.
“I said. Get. Up.” The cat snarled again.
“He can’t.'” The woodcutter states coldly and his body is suddenly jerked and forced to roll as the deer kicked his hip. “His back is broken. He’s done in this place.”
“Then it is time to end this.” The second cat says.
He watches through blurred and revolving vision as Ratau reaches into his fleece and offers something to the lamb’s wolf. A bottle of some kind. She takes it and tears the cork stopped from its neck.
“Hold him.” She requested and he is roughly heaved up by the back of his neck and held in place by the woodcutter. Her grip is harsh, claws dig into his cheeks and force his head back. His whines and barks do nothing to stop her, digging her claws in deeper and forcing his aching mouth open enough to push the neck of the bottle past his broken and chipped teeth as she pours the contents into his throat. He’s forced to swallow, too weak to fight his basic instinct in such a beaten state.
His eyes widen suddenly as something unspeakable burns through his chest. A thundering that echoed inside his head and amplified the pain a thousandfold with each frantic beat. “What-?!” he choked out, clawing at his own throat, the taste was sweet and rich with flavours he had long forgotten. “What have you done!?”
“Tranquility Liquor. To mortal bodies and those of magic blood, it's a powerful sedative and when given and brewed for such rituals, a potent Possession Tonic. Bitter and bland to the tongues.” The wolf explained. “But when given to those with a Divine body, even one who has been forsaken and damned as you, it is a sweet wine with flavours from fruit and flowers long since forgotten. You’re suffering the side effects of a hot brew, rather than a cooled and aged one. But it doesn’t matter. The intended purpose is the same.”
Her words did not make sense until he felt claws pulling open his chest heedless of his howling, screams and barking. He tasted blood and ichor on his lips, watching her grey fur turn a filth red and black with his spilled life and then, she pulled two beating organs from his chest, one with great care and handed to Ratau while the other she squeezed harshly in her claws hand, his own shrivelled and irregularly fluttering heart.
The liquor had allowed her to see where his true heart, not the heart of the rat he had stolen- No. It was not his heart she could see. He watched with growing fear and horror as she cut into the organ with her other hand and in a show of practised skill in removing tiny things with her claws, pulled a droplet shaped tear of gold from within his heart. A God Tear. Shed by Fate years ago into his heart as a way to mark him heir and God above all others, the one thing Fate had never taken away from him as an eternal show of Favour. That was when he realised, as he looked at the lamb’s wolf, he could see her devotion, and her magic. But he could not see the Faith Pearl that sat unused within all wolves since they cut themselves off from Fate.
Ratau no longer had his mark. The wolf no longer had her Faith Pearl. The liquor was hot and unaged.
Under the crimson light of the crescent moon, a monster has been rendered down to its truest self, and punished for its crimes. Never again shall Fate’s Favour be upon such a wicked and vile being.
All thoughts shattered from his mind as she crushed the tear like it were hollow glass between her fingers. Then there are chains around him, pulling tight and unbreakable against his skin and the last thing he saw before the shadows rise up and envelop him was the blood red crescent moon.
As the redness of the horizon faded away, a victorious howl echoed across the lands and was joined by three more howls and then, a chorus of others, calls, yowls, barks, squeals, whinnies and roars, and those who could not make loud enough calls with their voices joined in with instruments and chants.
And from this day onwards, evermore and into the days yet to come, the once beloved brother is chained and dragged into the grounds of Purgatory’s Keepers. Their prey to hunt, slay and kill over and over again, until the Keepers no longer desire it. Then, he will simply be absorbed into the wretched place, never to be reborn nor remembered.
Thus concludes the Hunt of the Fox of many names, the story of the Teeth in the Darkness has come at last, to the end.
