Wolf’s Heart

It was a rather cold day, even for the artic in winter. The Nameless One was still uncertain what his business was here; his powers had just led him here. Odd that even you should be cold, a voice in his mind said, yet, indeed, it has been a while since… then, hasn’t it? The Nameless One shuddered at the memory of the ice ball he had visited thousands of years ago. As a precaution, he checked the Desert Eagle that had endeared itself to him.

It was a fine weapon, relic of the human civilization on this world, although with the time travel he had undergone he was uncertain of the era. A beautiful, finely styled weapon, the pistol had finely etched silver on it, which resembled a demon he had once seen in a book. The small laser sight under the barrel wasn’t actually a necessity; he merely chose it to make others underestimate his abilities. Thousands of years of reflexes were honed into a few sharp senses that prodded him during combat, abilities few, even within his race, had.

He pulled his jacket tighter. What is it about this area? It’s not cold… this is fear. Why do I feel fear? He broke off the train of thought as a flash of silver bolted at the edge of his vision. He drew the Eagle into a firing position, but whatever it was had vanished. That looked like a wolf… but I’ve never seen one that big before. It’s like the dreams…

Being a psion had advantages and disadvantages. One could tap another creature’s thoughts and communicate as though he or she knew the tongue, but by the same token, got extremely powerful dreams that drove younger psions to insanity occasionally. No, you were one of the gifted, powerful ones, the taunting voice murmured. He walked over the snow, which squeaked with each footfall. Whoever it is definitely knows I am here.

He traveled on, the white only occasionally broken up by a kill site. Wolves. I must admit, they are almost as good as we are at hunting. He shivered again at the thought of the Xel’Nagan hunting disciplines -Never back down from an opportunity to hunt- Sadists, they were… He saw the flash again, fleeing before him as before, into the gently rolling landscape. Definitely too big for a wolf… but the only humans here were scientists, they couldn’t bear this weather. He holstered the pistol. Whatever it is, it knows the terrain too well for this to be an advantage in combat.

The cold was starting to become more tolerable, as he metal he carried started to reach his body temperature. Again, the flash appeared, and he wondered what it was doing, revealing itself to him over and over again, but with no clear look. Human intelligence..? Interesting. I thought we had covered the universe before… but the Zerg certainly shortened that trip. He put out the other voice; it was making the travel harder. What are you looking for?

He stopped dead. This was not his own thought. Who are you? He queried, looking about. The silver creature was perched behind a slight raise in the hillside.

I am the mistress of these lands

Mistress? This trip was becoming more interesting by the minute

Mistress. My Pack and I live here. These are our territories.

He took a good look at the creature. Humanoid indeed… but she has the characteristics of a wolf… What is this pack?

What could a pack be but a pack?

He rubbed his forehead. You are an interesting creature indeed. There are more of you?

My pack.

He would have grinned if he had a mouth to do such with. Fascinating. To answer your original question, I know not why I am here.

Spontaneous travel? Such could be dangerous in this world. She moved a tongue that looked exquisitely pink around her jaws.

Not spontaneous. I was led here by my… abilities.

Abilities? Hmmm… You are indeed unlike others.

He tilted his head. Oh? And what does that make you?

She nodded her head downward. Indeed, we are both of a similar vein. Come with me.

She leapt down to where he stood. He could see more clearly her body structure. She was indeed of humanoid structure, similar anatomy. She seemed… of a larger build than humans however. The arms and legs were more muscular… and yet they maintained the sense of beauty that was in wolves themselves, a slight angular pattern to the body. Her fur was a wonderful silver color -for a moment he thought of the Eagle- and her stomach fur was white. She stood upon her rear legs, looking just as at ease as when she was on all four. Her paws oddly lacked claws, until she flexed her fingers a little, and the beginning of one appeared out, then went back in.

Yes, I am as you think. I am not a werewolf however. This is our true form.

Amazing… Built to move as a quadruped and a biped. I do indeed wish to meet these others.

She grinned in such a way that bared her teeth, and yet looked oddly inviting. Come then.

She remained on her hind legs throughout the journey, unfazed by the cold, and strangely enough, as long as she was near, the second voice stayed silent. How long has your pack lived here?

We have lived here longer than the scientists have. We have lived here longer than Humans have. We were here before even your people first arrived.

He was shocked by that comment. There have been others of my species?

Yes, although we have not contacted any of them as we have you. The pack leader then was fearful of the direction things were taking. He was a fool, he narrowly avoided destroyed our pack.

The remainder of the trip seemed to pass by silently, only an occasional comment or two upon the remaining distance to the ‘Den’ as she called it. As they got closer, he could make out a slight darkening in the snow, what looked like dug up earth. And here I was under the impression that this ground was impermeable. What can you do with those claws?

More than you could imagine. She grinned her feral grin again. She stopped for a moment and let out a rather high-pitched howl, which brought another chorus of howls from further down. Come now.

He stopped for a moment. Normally in a situation like this, he would feel at least one of his senses. Even a one that let him now that it was safe, but no feeling came. Cautiously, he looked about.

As long as I am near you, none of them will dare lift a finger to harm you.

He managed to pull himself away from the lack of thought, but did not respond. He continued to follow her, as she slipped through a small crevasse in the rock. He felt his battle sense suddenly hit him, but he continued on. He didn’t know what it was, but he trusted this creature that had been following him for who knows how long now.

The Nameless One was brought to a stop again. What is your name?

Wolfheart. Yours?

I have forsaken a name for tragedies my actions have brought upon the galaxy. I no longer care to use mine.

Hmm. Alright then, we’re almost there.

Once he was through the crevasse, it widened into a small cave, dimly lit by a phosphorus algae, which appeared to have been cut out of the rock and smoothed by talented hands… or worn over time. How long approximately has your pack been here?

As I said, many years. Time means nothing to those with no way to keep it. We merely know a light and a dark, both of which come for much time.

Of course. I understand. Thank you for clearing that up.

She just grinned again. Yes, well, even the best of us do not always have our wits about us. She licked her nose, with that beautiful tongue. Anyhow, we are here.

He looked about. Five other… Anthropomorphic wolves had gathered bout them. The nearest one asked, “Is he safe?”

She responded in a luxurious and thick voice, “I believe that he may be even more scared than you are.”

The wolf withdrew again. A larger wolf, more likely than not her mate, came forwards, “Ah. You always bring us treats, Wolfheart. What is this one?”

“He says that his race is Xel’Naga.”

“Oh? And how does one say such things?”

She started to tap her head, but the Nameless One merely said, one does.

The large wolf seemed somewhat amused, and by the same token shocked. Indeed, I thought that Wolfheart and I were the only mindwalkers. It has indeed been a time since one of your kind last visited us.

Forgive me for my impertinence, he said, but this is not exactly a vacation spot to our race.

The large wolf laughed. Of course, very few ever come here. We, however, find it perfect for our needs.

The Nameless One thought of the weapons he was carrying suddenly. Do you wish for me to do anything about these? He pointed at his various weapons, but didn’t mention the monomolecular nanite knife. He had to use it too much these past few years for him to be willing to part with it.

No, brother, do not worry about it. He grinned the same grin Wolfheart had used, but this one seemed more in fellowship than anything else.

Come, Nameless One, Wolfheart beckoned him, let me show you about.

They went about the cavern structure, and he saw more marvels in one day than he had seen before in his life. The various rooms, a cafeteria, dormitories, even a recreational room, were all done with the same styling as the first room, also using the gentle algae lighting. It gave the place an overall greenish tint, making it hard to make out any coloring on objects. Your society, he marveled to Wolfheart, is incredible. If I can read the average wear on these things, I would say your timeline stretches out beyond 5,000 years.

Indeed, it has probably been that long, she returned, none of us much cares for the concept of time, however. It is dark, it is light, it snows, it does not, we are born, and we die. We have few in our group, usually no more than fifteen at most, but we do love space, that is why we have created such a large den.

You are a talented mindwalker indeed. You can understand my thoughts as they come to me. Very few, even Xel’Nagans, ever attain that peak.

And you have, have you not?

At that comment, the Nameless One went silent. He never cared much for talking about his own abilities. Indeed, he was not an average Xel’Nagan. He had to be taken out of his classes as a child numerous times, simply because his abilities would manifest themselves and harm the other children. The average Xel’Nagan life span was even only about five thousand years, and yet he was over two hundred thousand. Most of his abilities stayed silent unless it was a time of dire need.

I am sorry if I have offended, Wolfheart said, visitors are truly a rare commodity here, as you have mentioned, and we have a loose knit society ourselves.

At the mention of society, he had a thought that hit him so hard he almost tripped. You are the leader of your pack!

She merely nodded at that.

The Nameless One stood silent. The… leader… of a pack of wolves… is female?

She stood and stared at him, an odd look creeping onto her face. Are you alright, respected one? I can no longer understand you.

His thoughts raced. Why can she not understand me? I am thinking in her tongue… Another of my abilities? The voice at the back of his head spoke silently, yet it seemed as though it could make mountains topple. I have stopped you.

The Nameless One sputtered in his mind. How can you… Who… What are you?

I am you. I am the very base of your being.

He stood there, contemplating. I am an alternate personality?

His vision went blurry, the last thing he felt was his knees hitting the ground, and he heard a yelp and the sound of hurried footsteps.

I am you. And you are I.

Who is it? Who’s there?

I am. Suddenly his vision cleared, and he saw a field of white, not snow, just endless white. He spun around, and saw a being that looked exactly like him… but as a child.

What are you?

“Come now. We can talk.”

The Nameless One was aware of his shape shifting power, indeed it was available to him at his own will, but he and the child both had no mouth.

“…What is this?”

“This,” the child indicated with a grand sweep, “is my home.”

“Your… home?”

“Yes.” He walked over a ways, to two raised indentations in the glare.

“Come, look at these.”

The Nameless One walked over also, and looked. The indentations were what appeared to be a looking glass, out into the world from a protected bubble. He saw the wolf creatures, moving to and fro about his body, which lay still. Wolfheart was there, sitting by his body, holding his hand. “What have you done to me?”

“Oh, certainly you should know. You have done enough fighting and thinking over these years you could explain to a mathematician why a circle is a square. Your vision is too muddied by temporal things. What is it that you see?”

He glanced back. “I see… a white room, brighter lit that anywhere else in the caverns, and obviously used as a medical facility, myself, and the wolf creatures.”

The child snorted, an odd noise coming from a Xel’Naga. “You are a fool. What do you SEE.”

Suddenly, he could understand what the child was getting at. “Why have you led me here?”

The child made a slight noise, then said, “This you must find for yourself. I know what shall happen, I have seen it. It is time for you to learn these things for yourself. You have not given enough time to your philosophy, and too much to your carnal senses. You must be taught humility again. Look.”

As he did, he saw that the room was dimmed, and that everyone had left. He could see his own form, but slowly it was morphing into that of one of the wolf creatures.

He spun upon the child, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

The child looked at him innocently, “You are going to live with these ‘creatures,’ as you call them, until you learn humility. I have already sealed your powers. You shall make do, or you shall die.”

“But you said you know what shall happen already!”

“True, but,” the child waved his finger, “I have seen two endings to your tale. You shall only remain with your mindwalking powers, but you shall not be allowed to change your form until you are complete.”

“Wait… What do you mean by ‘complete’?”

“This you shall find for yourself.”

It was cold. Even colder than outside. He shivered, and heard a voice nearby. He couldn’t make out the words, it seemed as though everything was miles away, though he knew there were bodies near him. He tried to move his arm, flex his hand, but when he did, a soft, gentle paw took it. He moved his jaw, but found that it was hard. He really did it…

He who?

Don’t worry, Wolfheart…

This time, he woke up in a warm bed. Apparently they realized that he was stable. He sat up, and found that the room he was in was rather large, at least for a guest. He blinked, a reflex he had a hard time of remembering. Have I really taken a human form that few times? He looked down at his hands. A gentle, silver fur, duller than Wolfheart’s, grew all up his arm, and covered his body. He put his hands over his eyes and let out a soft wail, then felt the muzzle he had never experienced before. Damn it… He decided he might as well get used to this form; suicide was never his style. He looked around, more carefully this time.

Against one wall, he saw a small fireplace, with a log that had almost burned out. He marveled at this, wood must be hard to find, and for them to use it for him… he shook his head, and tried to get his thoughts in line again. Against another wall, he saw a small desk, at least by his terms, with a chair that was fashioned out of stone. In the back, there was a closet, and he ruefully thought, Must be a new wardrobe. He stood up and realized he was naked.

Hmm. Wonder who disrobed me. He went over to the closet, and not only found his clothes and another few sets, but his guns. His holster was hung up; his Desert Eagle looked like it had been shined and oiled. The extra clips didn’t look the same as the kind he had commonly bought. He pulled out a single bullet from one of the clips and looked at it. Damn, I never knew they made hollow point bullets in 50 cal. He placed the bullet back in the clip. Clearly they were holding back on him, they knew more than they wished to reveal about the world about them. He picked up his Colt 1911s, also oiled and shined, the gold finish almost blinding even in the dull light. They also felt… lighter. He set them down, and moved on to the Colt SAA. This gun looked untouched, but he was surprised when he found two more boxes of .45 magnum bullets.

He decided to check his rifle and SMG after he got clothed. He looked at what they had given him, a few simple but elegant loose cloths, and a few pairs of what looked like outdoors wear. He grabbed one of the robes, and found that they didn’t restrict his movement at all. He wandered out and looked up and down the hallway. No one was about. He recognized this as one of the areas that Wolfheart had told him of, but couldn’t remember what she called it. He wondered if they would mind if he personalized his door, but shook his head at the thought.

He ducked his head back inside and pulled out the M4 first. Its scope was more accurately aligned then he ever had the chance to do on his roaming trips, and like the other guns, had been freshly oiled and had new ammunition. Placing it reverently down, he looked over his favorite gun, the MP5K. Heckler and Koch knew what they were doing with that gun, he thought to himself at one time. He lifted its action, checking the casing expel, removed the clip and pulled the trigger a few times. Before he came here, it looked extremely worn, but someone had as much as a flair for firearms as he did. The only way he recognized it was by his personal symbol he had psychically etched into the barrel.

Amazing… He proceeded in putting his arms back upon his personage; surprised the holster still fit him. He looked about for his swords a bit, but could not find them. He checked his holdout pocket and found the monomolecular knife where it should be. He held it in his hand and thumbed the ON switch. When the blade shot out, he was surprised that it was in a more sedate color, one that doesn’t flash when waved. They knew I wasn’t telling them all, and yet they didn’t care… He turned the knife off and put it in the pocket of his robe. He had almost forgotten about the bodily changes he had undergone while enjoying his weapons.

He looked down at his hands… now paws. He flexed them a little, and managed to pop out his claws. He flipped them in and out, amused by this new ability of his, then stopped and looked at his feet. He tried to pull in those claws, but couldn’t. He yawned a little, and then felt his new teeth. Almost like being Zerg…

He stepped out into the hallway, and started off to the cafeteria. He was starved. Usually, these transformations took little out of him, he could switch forms millions of times, but something about this one, maybe the way it was forced upon him, made it much harder to shake off. After a few false starts, he saw the same wolf who had asked if he was safe came down the hallway, somewhat preoccupied, as he ran straight into the Nameless One. He started to fall, but the Nameless One grabbed him just in time.

“You ok?”

The wolf looked up at him, started to say something, then clamped his jaw shut on the words. “I am sorry, respected one. The mistress told us of your change. I find myself wandering occasionally, it is my fault.”

“That is ok young one,” he returned. “I am, in fact, wandering myself. Could you kindly point me in the direction of the cafeteria?” As if to emphasize this point, his stomach let out a load roar.

“Yes, respected one. Come, follow me.”

The young wolf led him down the hallways a little while, then brought him to the cafeteria. “I was, in fact, coming here myself,” he said as they set down with what looked like a plate of some sort of meat that was prepared with a careful hand, a bowl of soup, and some bread that was still warm from the oven.

“What is this meat? It smells excellent,” the Nameless One asked the young wolf.

“Ah, that is a specialty of our chef. It is a halibut, cooked with a light lemon sauce. Simple, but it is excellent on the palette,” the wolf grinned at him.

“Yes, it does smell good.” The Nameless One’s stomach urged him to eat it whole, but he took small, slight bites. The young wolf did the same, and after a while started to talk again.

“You know, the weapons you brought with you are amazing. I am glad to have had the honor of working on them,” he said while downing a bite of bread.

“Oh? So you are the one who works upon the weapons here. How do you know so much about the various varieties of weapons, and where are my swords?”

The young wolf grinned, somewhat sheepishly. “I am the descendant of the arms man, so it was destiny. Jobs here run in the family, we are taught ever since we open our eyes in our professions. Normally, there is also a blacksmith, but she died not too long ago,” a note of sadness, “so I had to do both jobs. The guns were simple to do, although that submachine gun you have was hard to do. Indeed, that enchantment on it was hard to work around. Also, speaking of enchantments, that is where your swords are. I’ve been working on them since the mistress gave me your arms, but I can’t manage my way around the enchantments to actually touch the blades.”

“As well you shouldn’t be. Did you think a visitor such as ours would have blades anyone could heft?” Wolfheart walked into the cafeteria, and sat down next to them.

“Indeed, mistress, but the guns were easy to work on, this matter baffled me.”

“Ah. Well, that isn’t hard to believe, young one,” the Nameless One stated. “Those blades I have had longer than the guns. I have woven multiple layers of enchantments over them, including protection runes. However, it did take thousands of years, which I have not had with these firearms. So far all I have done is place enchantments that make the weapons aim bad in anyone’s hands but mine, but not much else.”

The young wolf looked up at him with respect. “I am honored to be in the presence of one so powerful. I am Yngia, the arms man.” He bowed his head deeply, then took his food and moved away. Yngia’s spot was then occupied again by Wolfheart.

“You know, you gave us quite a scare there. We’ve only rarely had heart attacks in our own society, but we know they can be devastating. When we realized you were fine, we wondered what had happened.”

He tried to explain the events that occurred in his mind while he was out, but all that he said was, “How long was I out?”

She waggled her finger at him, “I told you, we do not sense time here. However, the moon rose and fell twice.”

He tried to translate that in his mind. Two nights… And it felt like a few minutes.

She nodded at him. “At least we can understand each other again. As long as I am here, I may as well eat with you.”

She stood and grabbed a platter of food for herself, and brought back a few extra pieces of bread. “We were unable feed you while you were out, so maybe this will help.” She handed him one of the extra rolls.

He then realized why he was so hungry, and laughed a short, barking laugh. “What is the matter?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just realizing why he’s so upset,” he said while patting his stomach.

Wolfheart snickered at that comment, and went about eating her fish, delicately, like one with much practice at social situations. The rest of the meal went by quietly, the Nameless One waited for Wolfheart to finish her meal, then they both took their plates back to the kitchen and helped wash them off.

As they walked out of the cafeteria, the Nameless One remembered the conversation with Yngia. Where is the black smithy?

Wolfheart responded, Come, follow me.

The Nameless One laughed. Just like when I met you.

They went down the hallway some, past his room, then turned down a sideways corridor. They walked a bit more, and stopped at a large, wooden door. She pushed on the door gently and it swung open with ease. More expert engineering, he thought to himself. She just looked at him, winked, and ushered him in.

Yngia was standing over a forge, stoking it higher, and by it were the Nameless One’s Katana, Shotel, and shield. He walked over to his weapons, and unsheathed the Katana. The sight of the Oriental blade comforted his inner soul. He held it in his hands, in a combat position, and channeled some energy through the blade. He was surprised to see he could still make the electricity arc through its blade. Yngia stopped and marveled at the sight of the blade.

“Goodness…” was all that was said, uttered from Wolfheart’s mouth.

As he channeled more energy through it, he found it did not exhaust him. The energy started arcing up the blade and making cracking noises as is reached the tip, sending off sparks. Why did he leave me the abilities to power these weapons? He sheathed the Katana and drew the Shotel, and the eyes of Wolfheart and Yngia were focused on him, as he made the flames he loved so bleed up the curved blade. He channeled energy into it until the turquoise flame became a blinding white. He let the blade return to its original form, then sheathed it too.

Yngia stood there, mouth agape, and stammered, “H-how d-did y-you do that?”

He just waved a finger at Yngia. “A good magician never reveals his tricks. So does a good warrior.”

Wolfheart laughed at this comment, and the Nameless One started to put his weapons back on, and inspected the small shield carefully. He only used it when he dueled with the Shotel, but as it was, it was nicked in several places and some of the paint was flaking off. He walked over to the furnace, and started to pump the bellows until the coals were glowing white like his sword had not too long ago. He got a pair of tongs, placed the shield in them, and put it into the fire. The paint flaked off, but the shield he had put much care into throughout its service to him remained solid. As the last chip fell, he pulled the shield out and doused it in the nearby bucket. The leather arm wraps were still intact, as well they should be. The Nameless One smiled. At least my magics hold.

He strapped the shield to his forearm, its weight comforting to his troubled state. “You know, Yngia, you should close that mouth before you put out the forge.”

The wolf promptly closed his mouth, looking fixedly on the Nameless One. He just grinned and walked out, Wolfheart a half step behind him. You really shouldn’t taunt him.

Ah. I probably shouldn’t, but he was making quite the mess.

Wolfheart laughed at this. Indeed. Shall we head down to the gym? I’ve been wanting to see just how much of you is muscle.

The Nameless One raised one eyebrow. More than you would expect.

He was sweating, something he did not normally do. He was back in his room, the rigorous fight only ended because of a low right hook that caught Wolfheart of guard and knocked the wind out of her. He took the towel that one of the younger wolves had given him and mopped his face off. Ah. Much more interesting than being human. His fur was matted down in multiple places, especially on his back, from the pin that Wolfheart had held him in for two seconds. He managed to get her off of him and right himself, but she sprung back and almost toppled him again. He walked out of the room, conviction set upon getting a shower.

The little bathroom was only a short ways down the hall. He went inside and locked the door behind him. There was a shower, which looked more like a geyser mounted on a wall than anything else. It was constantly running, hot water being pushed through, taken down, filtered, and recycled. He took off the shirt he had been wearing for the battle in the gym, and flexed his weary muscles. As he looked in the mirror, he caught a slight glimpse of a wound Wolfheart had given him with her claws. He fingered the cut, which stung a little under his touch.

He took off the light pants he was wearing and stepped into the shower. He almost jumped back out, and let out an exclamation of “Gah!” They certainly like their water hot here. He looked around for soap, but found only small bottles that contained fluids of about the same consistency of shampoo. He almost hit himself in the forehead. Of course. Fur means no need for soap, only conditioners. He grabbed a small bottle and sniffed it. It had the same fragrance he smelled only when Wolfheart was around, but not quite as sweet. He placed the bottle back down and grabbed a slightly larger one, this one smelling a bit more acidic. He squeezed a small amount into his palm, and proceeded to clean himself. He could feel the tension wearing out of his body. His muscles slowly relaxed, and he truly felt at peace, for once in his life. He washed the soap out of his fur, toweled off, then donned a clean robe, a similar cut to the one he wore before, but a little larger in the chest.

The Nameless One wandered back to his room, stopping only briefly at the cafeteria to exchange recipes with the cook. When he returned, he found a small book on the desk, with no title, just a simple illustration that looked like a dagger impressed in gold on the cover. He flipped through it a bit, and found that it was a book full of tactics for swordplay. Most of them he knew, but a few, more simple ones that he felt no need for were put into a new light as the book explained how to lead them into stronger moves. He thought of the Shotel, still strapped to his back, and pulled it free from its sheath. The blade was beautifully curved, product of a long dead smith from the Middle East, who made it just for him when he saved his daughter. He wondered at the small runes that covered the surface when he had first gotten it, and the small, portly smithy explained they weren’t runes so much as wishes of good luck.

He lowered the sword a little, and strapped his small shield onto his left forearm. It was made by the same blacksmith, and had the good luck charms on it also. He took the Shotel and held it in front of his face. He slowly rotated it, watching the light reflect off it in various patterns. He enjoyed the gentle curve of the single sided blade, the curve designed for getting behind an opponent’s shield and skewing him upon its tip. He drew the Shotel into a ready stance, for the combat style of it was not to cleave a foe in two, but to dodge his blows and return with one, precise, fatal blow. He swung the sword in a circular pattern, loosening the muscles in his wrist that had the most work to do. He stepped into the center of his room, the emptiest area, closed his eyes, and started to swing his Shotel about at foes only he could see.

He had fought in tournaments in his time, many under the guise of a ‘Late Comer’ who only took the name Unknown Challenger. Every fight he had ended the way every other one did, him striking a blow so graceful many species had written poems about his fighting. He had lost count of how many times he had won, they seemed to blur together into one large melee in his mind. As he continued his footwork, he struck a foe foolish enough to combat him with a long spear. The creature, which vaguely resembled a centaur, fell to the ground, gouts of blood coming out of the deep gash in his neck. The Nameless One smiled to himself and flipped his sword down behind him; a large bug like creature that rushed him with a pincher high over its head impaled itself upon his blade. He drew it back and slipped out of the combat for a moment, watching another centaur stomp a creature that he could not describe into the ground.

The centaur caught his glance, and returned it, with what looked like a form of admiration. Another creature attempted to take advantage of this brief lull, but the Nameless One cut its throat out before it could reach the centaur. Gurgling, the creature fell on its face, twitched, and went limp. The centaur still stared at him, wondering what he did for the service. The Nameless One merely blinked at him, then whipped around as a tiger like being tried to pounce upon him. He brought his left palm straight into its nose, then kicked it in the groin. The tiger, uncertain which to hold, fell on his face and gasped.

The centaur had practically dropped its sword, barely clinging to it with his fingertips. What are you doing? The centaur of his thoughts asked. I have seen something in you, and now is not your time to die. The Nameless One opened his eyes, staring at a blank wall no more than one foot away from his face. Now is not your time to die? Why am I remembering this now? Behind him, a soft clapping noise came. He turned around, wondering who had stumbled onto his training, and found Wolfheart. She had a look of great admiration, mixed with an inquisitive one.

Oh? What are we doing now?

Sword training. One must keep the mind and body sharp, no?

Yes, but we hunt without weapons.

Let me guess, he responded, you came to invite me on the hunt tomorrow?

No, I merely came to see you. She grinned again, then turned and left. Although, you are welcome to come.

He looked down at the blade in his hand, now seeming somewhat lifeless, and sheathed it. Very well then…

They started out early that day, or late, however one looked upon it. The moon was deep on the horizon, and looked larger than Wolfheart as they chased a small, flightless bird across the tundra. It flapped its wings, more in fear than anything else. Wolfheart reached it first, and knocked it down flat by pouncing on its back. The bird let out a slight warbling noise as she crushed its neck with her jaws, then went limp.

She stood, and licked the blood off her muzzle, then her paws, while he walked over and picked up the bird. They don’t come very large, do they?

No. We rarely ever eat those, actually. We mostly subsist on the chicken we can farm in the Den, and the fish, but we must hunt to keep strong.

That makes perfect sense, he nodded, unlike those humans who subsist on their technology, eh?

Again, all she did was smile. She took the black bird from him and they made a quick pace back to the Den, picking up a few of the other kills along the way. They’re rather delicious little things, what little of them there is.

Oh? I must try some then. It was his turn to smile, and she laughed.

Yes, the cook is excellent with them. She refuses to share her recipes with us, but she claims to keep them in a safe place for her children.

If that is the case, she must be taken with me.

Oh? Why do you say this?

Because, he stopped for a moment and stretched, she gave me some of her favorite ones the other day.

Wolfheart snorted. And you know you gave her some of your favorites.

Yes, but most of the ingredients are quite rare on this planet, he grinned.

You are cruel!

Ah, yes, a few hundred thousand years of travel does that to one…

The rest of their trip occurred without any problems. When they returned, the Nameless One took the ‘penguins’, as Wolfheart called them, to the cook and helped her prepare them for dinner. “Ach. Five penguins? That’s ‘ardly enough to last the mistress and her mate!”

“You of all people should know how rare they are,” he returned.

“Yus, and it is noice to prepare them again. They make the most wonderful scent in mah kitchen.”

“I am sorry, I have been meaning to ask you. What is your name?”

She grinned at him, “Just call me what everyone else does, ‘Cheffie’.”

He returned the grin, “Alright then, Cheffie. What do we have to do first?”

The rest of the experience was a quick blur, Cheffie asking for various ingredients and him glad he was tall. The little cook bustled about, taking pots and pans with her, putting one on to sauté it for a while, while flipping an egg in another pan. He indeed had to admire her ability to multitask; she almost didn’t need his help at all.

“Hey, if yah’re gonna lollygag, you could at least do it outside mah kitchen!” This sudden statement snapped him out of his reverie.

“Err… Sorry, Cheffie. Do you need me anymore or should I leave?”

“Nah, laddie, tha’s ok. I’m almost done actually. Why don’tcha go out and fetch the others?” She went back to her cooking, as though she knew he would comply.

He popped out the doorway, and headed down the hall to everyone’s rooms, with the same comment each time he saw someone, “Hey, dinner’s done.” He actually turned out to be the last one to the table, but no one had even lifted their utensils. He sheepishly sat in his seat, and the food was served.

The penguin tasted much like squab, and was in a very light, almost butter flavored sauce. Cheffie really had very simple cooking, but she had mastered cooking things to just a right time that she didn’t need many spices; she could bring out the true flavor of anything she cooked. As he glanced about the table, he saw that he, Wolfheart, and her mate were indeed the only ones eating the penguin. Everyone else had one form of chicken or another on their plate, and the Nameless One mused that it was according to his or her preferences.

Dinner went by in relative silence; just a few remarks on how excellently Cheffie, who was sitting to the left of Wolfheart, had done on dinner. Wolfheart was at the head of the table, her mate at her right side. The Nameless One was about halfway down the table, sitting across from the nurse and Yngia. Yngia was apparently trying to impress her, constantly saying small things about the intricacies of firearms and bladed weapons. She occasionally nodded, and ate rather slowly, focusing on what Yngia was saying.

The Nameless One finished his meal rather quickly, and when Cheffie offered him seconds, he politely refused. He waited a bit at the table until the others had finished, then went and helped Cheffie clean the dishes. He wandered off into the hallway, not much to do, and decided to check out the gymnasium. When he got there, he found Wolfheart working an extremely used looking punching bag. He snickered as he got in. Now THAT could not be five thousand years old.

Wolfheart stopped her exercise, grabbed the punching bag and head butted it. It flew backwards, its chain catching it just before it flew into the wall. No, but most of our techniques are.

The only techniques that last are the good ones, he thought.

Yes, none who attack us ever get a chance to rethink their tactics, she smiled at him. Care for a rematch?

No thank you. I fear you might defeat me this time, and they both laughed.

Oh… That is too bad. Care to duel with me then?

The Nameless One raised an eyebrow at this. She went around to a container that stood waist-high, and pulled out a few fencing foils, and some padded chest armor. She tossed him one of the foils, then went over and helped him into his protective gear, and when she was finished he did the same for her. They went over to a mat that looked extremely well used, and stood forty feet apart. He dropped his sword low, the position he preferred for any form of melee combat. She raised hers above her shoulder and held it parallel to the ground, which gave her the appearance of a Japanese samurai.

They stood off for a while; waiting for the other to make a move, then the Nameless One took a few steps to her. She responded by placing her sword in front of her, a sort of touch-me-if-you-can gesture. He loved it when people did this, normally it made them over confident, but Wolfheart was perfectly aware of her vulnerabilities, as when he lunged to hit her sword arm she parried his attack perfectly. The ringing of metal he normally cherished seemed almost profane in this place. She leapt back a few feet, and he walked up to her again, this time swinging low to hit her leg. Again she blocked his blow, a loud ring all that was heard.

Most of the combat continued like this, until Wolfheart decided to make an attack of her own. She brought her blade up as though she would strike him in the torso, but at the last moment changed her attack and brought her sword straight to his throat. He managed to parry, and in fact almost knocked her blade out of her hand. He whipped back with an attack to her torso, but she managed enough grip on her sword to block. How much practice have you had with these?

I have been taught since I was young.

Amazing. He jumped over her next blow, one low to the legs, and parried with an attack to her head that she ducked. Your swordsmanship is very refined.

Thank you. She brought another blow at his torso, and he took a half step backwards to dodge it. She was about to hit him again, but then glanced down quickly. Ah! You’re fast!

His foil was straight over her heart, a fatal blow averted only by the heavy cloth. That is the single longest sword fight I have ever been in, you must know.

Yes, me too. Not even my mate can satiate my hunger sometimes, the same grin again.

He lowered his blade, and held it out again. She tapped her blade to his, and the duel resumed.

He had to admit, she was excellent. He had only lost to her twice in a string of ten fights, but that was more than he had lost before. He had thanked her before he headed off to the showers again. He really did love sword combat, but he had to resort to his guns more often than not because many others in the world did not. Oh the feudal days, when everyone had a sword but the archers.

Back in his room, he put on another of the clean robes, this one seemed more tailored to his body. He sat at the desk, carefully going over his Desert Eagle once again, just for the feel of the gun. He carefully disassembled it, setting the individual parts on the table, pulling out the firing pin, the hammer, the cocking mechanism, the grip itself. He pored over the barrel, rarely clean but perfect currently. He pulled out a small sack of cleaning tools, one that was given him as a gift from Yngia. He flicked off some small amounts of dust that had gathered in the demon pattern, but had little else to do, so he reassembled the weapon. He ejected the clip, then cocked it and pulled the trigger once. The snap noise it made shattered the silence, even if only momentarily.

He sighed and placed the clip back into the weapon and holstered it. He decided it was probably time to sleep; his body had grown weary over the past few minutes. Taking off the gun belt, he set it next to his bed. He reached into the pockets and drew out the two Colt 1911s and put them on the desk, then the SAA. The MP5K he also set on his nightstand, the M4 went in the closet. The Katana he placed in a small gap between the bed and nightstand, and the Shotel on the desk. He let out a small yawn and took the robe off. I guess there was no point in putting it on… He went to the closet and hung it up again, then put on the pants he had brought with him the first day. They were a little tight, but it wasn’t anything big.

He slipped under the covers of his bed, and knocked off into a peaceful sleep in a few minutes. The last thing he heard was the door open a crack and someone say “Goodnight.”

The dream he had was a troubling one. He was on the tundra, but it was covered in crimson…blood. All around him, he could see the dead forms of the other wolves, and Wolfheart trying to save at least one of them. She ran back and forth, but couldn’t find any of them alive. She fell to her knees and let out a deep, forlorn howl…

He awoke with a start, coming immediately into a sitting position. He almost turned and grabbed his Desert Eagle, but then he realized it was a dream. He was in a cold sweat, and he put his hands over his eyes. Please, god, if there is one, don’t let that dream be real…

He stood, took off the pants, and put on the robe he wore the other night. He quickly grabbed his weapons and put them all on, and strapped the shield back onto his arm, then went into the hallway. No one else was up; if anything it was the middle of the night here. He walked out to the front of the cave, and what he saw was disturbing. Humans had apparently been here lately, there were footsteps all over the snow, and oil from a probably less than well-kept engine. He got a very, very fearful feeling.

He went back into the dormitories and went to Wolfheart’s room. Her mate was not with her, but he awoke her and showed her what he found. This… is not good…

I’ve seen worse, but indeed, it could be the end of your society. I had a horrible dream, one where everyone but you and I had died.

She looked straight at him, and it looked as though tears were welling in her eyes. We cannot let that happen!

I know… but what can we do? They more likely than not have better weapons than we do, excluding me, and definitely have vehicles.

She started looked at the ground and started to cry, something he had never seen a wolf do before. All he could do was try to comfort her, but he didn’t think he managed it too well. W-why would they d-do this?

The Nameless One shrugged. I have seen humans kill over money. It would not be hard to believe they would harm your pack, simply because they don’t know of you.

He looked about a bit. No one else had heard them, thankfully, and they were still alone.

Where is your mate Wolfheart?

I don’t know… he was there when I fell asleep…

The tears started to fall a little faster, Wolfheart letting out a small whimpering noise. Could… could he have told them?

I don’t know… I’ve barely been here and conscious for a day. It’s possible that he was out doing something and tranquilized or killed…

At the mention of killed she ran straight outside and howled, a deep, forlorn, long howl. The others will certainly be awake now.

Let them be awake! My mate has either forsaken me or has been taken hostage! Or no longer exists!

The Nameless One watched her as she continued to howl, and couldn’t help but feel sadness well up inside him.

She kept howling, until her throat was raw, then just fell face first onto the snow and wept. Yngia was the first out, and when he saw his mistress weeping and the obvious signs of human interference, he came out and kneeled in the snow next to her. The Nameless One could feel a slight tingle on the back of his neck, as though he was being watched. Slowly, he pulled the Desert Eagle free from its holster, then whipped around. A human with an air rifle was aiming directly at him. He leveled his aim, and saw a small projectile leave the rifle. He crouched and pulled off one clean shot, which hit the human straight in the head, and watched him fall backwards, probably rolling down the hill. The dart had struck Yngia, and he howled in pain. The Nameless One picked Yngia up after holstering his Eagle and took him quickly to the infirmary. Wolfheart was behind him, comforting the younger wolf.

By the time they had gotten there, Yngia was already unconscious. Wolfheart helped the Nameless One lay him out on the nearest bed, then took him down to a room that she hadn’t shown him before. It was a small room, and mostly bare except for a few older model guns, mostly Winchesters and simple shotguns. In the back was a box filled with ammunition, mostly .300 Winchester bullets, but a few 12 gauge shotgun shells. How well trained is your Pack with these weapons?

Not very. We almost never have to use them, and don’t bother training with them as much as we do with our claws. I fear, she turned and faced him, that most of these will do us little good.

He looked over them. The rifles were all old, but in near pristine condition, a slight claw mark here or there over the hammer, a worn grip, but not much else. If they have true aim they can do much damage.

She grabbed a Winchester and plenty of ammo for it, then moved over to a small box and grabbed a pistol out of it. It was a Fabrique National Five-seveN, a small gun that pierced armor well. She took out five extra clips, 120 shots including the ammo in the pistol. Come, we must get the others armed.

The process went about quickly, but rather than go off and find their enemies, they holed up the cave, with at least three wolves posted at the entrance in rotating shifts. The humans didn’t come for another three moon falls, but as would keep with his current luck, they came just as his shift began. The thumping of a helicopter’s motor was distinct in the distance, growing louder over the longs seconds, eventually a slight whine could be heard over the copter, probably a snowmobile.

He slipped his head out the crevasse, and quickly pulled it back in. A 9mm bullet lodged itself into the rock his head had just occupied. God damn it!

Wolfheart, they are here.

Quickly, try and get the others. I’ll get over there as soon as I can.

The Nameless One quickly told the other two to keep their heads low and ran off down the hall. Wolfheart had already told Cheffie apparently, she was headed down the hall with a very large gun, probably the younger cousin of a SAW. She winked at him, and then continued trundling down toward the entrance. He ran to the little store closet, and found another wolf grabbing a weapon of his own. The Nameless One gave him the news, and the wolf almost dropped the handful of ammo he was in the process of stuffing into his pocket.

A sudden, loud bang came from down the hall. Ho shit ho shit ho shit. Wolfheart, are you there?

Yes… and we could use some help. Die you mother fucker!

Such language from such a dainty woman.

Get your ass down here now!

Certainly.

The Nameless One grabbed the other wolf’s arm and ran back to the entrance. As he did, a bullet went whizzing over his head. Damn it! What the hell have they got?

Something big, black, and long.

Shit! That’s gotta be an AWP!

Out of all the guns he had ever used, the Arctic Warfare Magnum, Police Edition was the worst one to be on the receiving end of. Its muzzle velocity was well over five thousand feet a second. He got down on his stomach and crawled over to Wolfheart. Any sign of your mate?

No. He could very well be dead…

The Nameless One began to swear in tongues he had rarely spoken before. Here, take this.

He handed her the Colt 1911s. They’re very useful at close range, god forbid we should come to that.

Indeed. A wolf off to the Nameless One’s right howled as a bullet dug itself deep into his shoulder. He was almost up to a swear a second, as he pulled out the M4, turned off the safety, and cocked the weapon. Alright, assholes, time to meet the one with the good guns…

He looked down the sight, zoomed in a little, and saw a slim human, using his snowmobile for cover, sniping into the entrance of the cave with a… AWP. Shit, it IS an AWP. He set the rifle into single fire, hoping his aim would strike true. He pulled the trigger, and time seemed to slow. He could see the event clearly. The great gout of flame from the front of his weapon launched out a small chunk of lead, whizzing and spinning in the air, covering the thousand-foot distance to smash itself straight into the fuel tank of the snowmobile. It erupted in a black and red fireball, the man who formerly stood over it blown backwards into the air and probably killed by the shrapnel.

Silent victories. He slipped his way closer to the entrance, and beckoned for the others to do the same. He caught glance of a man with a G3SG-1 rifle, who was distracted by the explosion of his ally. The Nameless One brought his sight up and put a bullet into the man’s throat, watched the blood gurgle out of the man’s neck, him clutching it and falling dead. He crouched and leaned into the wall that made up the outer portion of the fold. Another man, armed with what looked like a Beretta M92FS snapped off a quick shot at him, taking him in the left leg. “Die asshole!” The Nameless One yelled out, flipping the assault rifle into full auto and keeping the fatal hail on the man’s body until the clip ran out.

With the speed of a hundred years practice, he whipped out the clip and replaced it with a fresh one, then ducked out the entrance. No other humans were present currently, so he waved to the others to come with him. The nurse came by him and placed a bandage tight on his calf, him thanking her briefly for the service. He placed the M4 back into its holster, then drew out the Desert Eagle, doing a sweep of the area quickly. The still snowmobile was still burning, the man on the hill had made quite a stain in the snow, and the one who met his wrath was hardly recognizable. Twenty-eight bullets do that to you…

The other wolves began to filter out, and the Nameless One saw two other humans he had not downed. One had a large chunk of flesh blown out his back, and he glanced at a corresponding hole in the wall the blast had probably come from. Another looked normal, except he was missing half his skull. Wolfheart held her shotgun tightly in one hand, grasping the pump action hard. Cheffie had come out too, and was on one knee, ready to provide suppressing fire should the need arise. The nurse went back into the cave and helped the wolf that had been hit in the shoulder earlier back to the infirmary.

The Nameless One bent down by one of the human corpses, then decided what he would do. He pulled the monomolecular knife out of his pocket, and cut the head off at the neck. Still warm blood oozed over his claws, and he looked down at it. It pooled in his hands, the small amount of warmth bleeding off into him. He licked the small red puddle. The iron taste, rich with salt, invigorated him. He looked around and found one of the runners that were on the snowmobile, relatively undamaged. He tore it out of the wreckage and pushed it deep into the ground. The head he picked up off the ground, the blood still on it now frozen. He jammed it down hard on top of the pole, the brains of his victim splattered about on the ground.

A slight moaning noise came from behind the wreckage. The Nameless One went over and found that the man who had the AWP wasn’t dead yet, but soon would be. Rather than give him mercy, he decided to make things worse. He went down on all fours and walked to where the man was. The man looked at him with pure and unbridled fear, and made some moaning noises. The Nameless One started to sniff him, and the man seemed to calm a little, until the Nameless One got to his throat. He licked his muzzle, a deliberate and slow motion, and the man tried to push him away, but he lowered his head and bit the man’s throat straight out. He made a wheezing noise that probably would have been a scream. The Nameless One pulled out the small knife and moved to the man’s stomach. He cut a large cross-shaped incision in his stomach, gingerly peeling back the skin. He moved the muscular layer back gently, to keep the man from going into shock from what he was going to do next. He reached under the man’s ribs, poking and prodding, until he found the slowly beating heart. He pulled it gently out, and held it in front of the man’s face. He let out a wheezing gasp as the Nameless One tore the heart out of his chest.

He had decided to go out on his own, but Wolfheart accompanied him. He was still covered in blood, but they had managed to patch his leg a little better. The AWP had been relatively undamaged in the blast, and with a little work in Yngia’s shop, was good as new. Wolfheart had abandoned the Winchester in place of the ‘cannon’, as he called it. They made good time over the snow, but couldn’t find anyone else within the limits of the Pack’s ground.

As they reached the eastern limit, they could see very faint smoke, rising loftily into the air. An installation, probably a research station.

Now we can take this to their home, show them what it’s like to be stuck in a hellhole with death raining in, she responded.

He had placed the small shield back onto his forearm, knowing that eventually combat would deteriorate to melee. He pulled out the M4, cocked it, and set it to three round burst. They flattened themselves against the snow, the Nameless One stayed in the lead, occasionally flicking his fingers behind him to indicate Wolfheart to follow.

At the edge of the hill, the held out his palm flat behind him. Wolfheart moved up next to him and looked down at what he saw. Two guards, Styer Scouts. Where the hell do they get their guns?

Wolfheart shrugged, and they both prepared to fire. He set the M4 back to single fire, and lined up the closest guard’s head. She set the butt of the rifle against her shoulder, squeezed her eye to the sight, and got her guard. On three.

…

…

Three.

The reports were very clear in the still arctic day. A giant boom followed closely by a mellower crack. The guard he had sighted slumped to the ground, the bullet went clean through his brain. Her guard had a harder time slumping; her bullet was a little off and took him in the groin, shattering his pelvic bone into a thousand white splinters. He looked up, a surprised look, and then fell over, dead.

Goddamn. This gun is more damaged than we thought.

He marveled at the damage. I don’t care. I want one.

She laughed silently and pulled the bolt back. The still hot casing popped out and buried itself in the snow, letting up a little cloud of steam that froze again almost instantly. They looked over the slope. No one had reacted to the gunshots. This has got to be a trap.

I agree… but what can we do? We must exact our revenge for their defilement of our den. They have caused damage that cannot be repaired, and none is physical.

Simple. We ruin their trap.

She grinned at him. If we get out of this alive, I will swear by the moon you are a god.

He looked back at her. I sincerely doubt I am a god, although those who look at my life would disagree.

He pulled out a 1911 and handed it to her, along with two extra clips. Better safe than sorry.

He went into a crouch, and did a quick sweep of the windows in the installation. Nothing stirred in them, and no human shaped objects could be seen through them. He stood, looked about, and then started to move to the front door. He took the guard’s weapons and buried them a little in the snow, enough that a person not looking for them could not find them. The doors were locked, however, and didn’t have anything excepting a card slot to the left of them. The Nameless One went through the guard’s pockets, and came up with a little nondescript laminated card, with a black bar down the back, in the pocket of the guard Wolfheart had shot. Maybe aim is a good thing. One inch off and we wouldn’t have had anything to find.

He slipped it into the slot, pulled it out quickly, and was satisfied with a -clank- noise the door made. He drew out the Desert Eagle and cocked it, and slowly pushed the door open. It wasn’t as well made as the ones back in the Den, and took most of his strength to push. The hinges made a loud noise that sounded like an arm breaking, the crack resonating down the darkened corridor that it opened to. It had nothing like the soothing quality of the Den, it smelled like antiseptics, and the hallway, while long, had only about six doors in total. He stuck out his left hand, careful to make the shield the only available target, but no one shot at him… or was there. Cautiously, he stuck his gun arm through, then peeked around the corner. The hallway was bare excepting a small puddle, which had formed under a leaking pipe.

He pushed the door all the way open, and was surprised to see that still no one had come out to attack them. Then he saw it. The barrel of something, very, very high caliber, was pointed out of one of the doors at him. Wolfheart hadn’t seen it yet, and it seemed to twist toward her at that thought. He could no longer feel any control over his body, but his nerves still responded to him. He felt his left leg plant hard into the ground, heard a slight crunch, a blast. He could see a silvery blur flying at him, feel his shoulder hit Wolfheart hard, feel and hear her gasp, feel the little insect nip at his shoulder, feel it imbed itself into the flesh, hear his howl of pain, watch both him and Wolfheart collapse, then saw her get back up, take the pistol out of his hand, and his eyes shut. He could feel her heat move, pull him out of the line of fire, then heard the familiar eruption of the Desert Eagle, hear a splattering noise that only accompanied gray matter, then totally blacked out.

Oh god… I hope I am where I think I am… I hope that was who I thought it was who’s head made that mess… Oh… If I’m not where I think I am… then let me die quickly.

He felt like he had been hit by a truck… a gigantic Zerg two bladed truck. He tested his jaw, and found he couldn’t move it. He moved his arms, found them slightly sore, but not shackled into place. I REALLY hope that my captors aren’t just toying with me, if they are my captors… he reached up to his arm placed his finger where he had been hit by the bullet, and found the wound did not exist. He also found that he was missing fur. He sat up, and looked around. He was in the middle of the tundra, the light waning on the horizon.

He stood, uncertain what to make of this situation, until he saw a small trail of red. He followed it one way, and it appeared to go off a long distance to the horizon. He looked back down it and found the source of the blood. He fell to his knees, and took Wolfheart up in his arms… that were devoid of fur and back to their scaled normality. He ignored this, instead focusing on Wolfheart. Her proud form was crumpled, she had suffered several bullet wounds, none fatal but all together… Her mouth was slightly open, and she was breathing unsteadily and rapidly, her tongue out the side of her mouth. Her chest moved in quick, small motions, her beautiful silver fur matted down by her blood. He placed his hand over her heart, and tried to say some words of comfort, but his jaw still refused to move. He reached up and found that the muzzle he had come to love over the past days was gone, replaced with the flat face of a Protoss.

Wolfheart coughed a little, spittle mixed with blood. She looked up at him; her eyes reflecting the slowly darkening sky, wide open in astonishment. You’re… back. To normal I mean…

Yes, although I am beginning to resent this form.

She leaned forward and licked his cheek. That’s all right. She coughed again, and managed to stand with his help. He wished that he could heal her, but his powers felt weak, even though they had returned to him.

Do you think we can make it back to the Den?

I… don’t know… it was hard just to get this far… and there’s no landmarks we can use here…

She stumbled a little and almost fell. He righted her and helped her onto his back so he could carry her. They went on a long ways, Wolfheart burying herself into his back, holding tight to him, as if for comfort. Occasionally she would stop breathing for a minute or so, and then start again, in the same uneven breathy pattern.

What are you doing?

Trying to focus… So I can heal…

He set her down on the ground; they both sat in the snow. She held out her right palm, flat. He instinctively placed his left hand against hers. Their hand sizes varied greatly, his hand practically swallowed hers. She pushed her fingers through the small gaps between his, and held his hand clenched in her fist. He slowly closed his own fingers, and could feel a slight, tingling sensation run up his spine. She shivered, he did also, and both could see her wounds slowly close. He closed his eyes, feeling the power of the moment, wondering in astonishment at this ability.

They both stayed there for what felt like an eternity, in communal psionics, sharing power, feeling each other’s thoughts and emotions over what had occurred recently. When they broke contact, he could see she was close to tears. That… that was the… most wonderful thing…

He sat and looked at her. Yes… I’ve never experienced one quite so strong… Psionic linking only occurs between beings that share a common latent ability… I’ve known mine was strong… but meeting another being with the same abilities is amazing.

She wiped the water from her eyes and flexed her muscles. The sun was only slightly lower on the horizon, not much more than an hour at most. She stood and gave him a hug. Thank you… Thank you for helping us.

He looked at her, deep into her golden eyes, and hugged back. It was my duty. You had accepted me and helped me through one of my most troubling times also. How could I leave you alone to deal with them?

I don’t know… when you first came, all that I could feel in you was a strange anger… but now that seems to be gone entirely.

He looked at her. Can you walk or should I carry you?

She held her arms around his shoulders. I am really tired… healing like that really drains me…

She didn’t have to say any more. He picked her up in his arms, cradling her to his chest like a newborn child. He had memories of his own childhood, being carried to his mother in a small blanket, memories of his first love, caring for their child… She buried her head into his chest, he could feel her warm breath on his skin, feel her chest rise and lower with every breath. The entire moment was sensual; everything around him seemed to haze until it was just him and Wolfheart. The tundra seemed alive, even though not a single thing stirred upon it. Wolfheart nuzzled his chest a little. As he walked, he could feel time shift, but he couldn’t determine what was happening. The flat tundra sloped downward, and formed into one dark point. A small light pulsed at the very end of it all. Wolfheart shivered a little in his arms, he hugged her tighter, and headed for the point.

The little dark point was apparently another ability. They had both been teleported to the entrance of the Den. Wolfheart had fallen into a light sleep, and he didn’t want to awaken her, so he silently crept to the entrance. The cave was oddly dark; the algae weren’t putting out much light apparently. He carefully stepped inside and set Wolfheart down, not wishing to awaken her if what was to happen next did. He drew the Eagle, and held it out in front of him. He did a slow sweep of the corridors; nothing could be seen down either. He picked Wolfheart back up and placed her on his back, her light breath now on his face. He carefully went down the left hallway, stopping every few feet to hear if anyone was following him. He managed to make his way to the infirmary, and slid Wolfheart off his back again. He braced the Desert Eagle in his hand, tightened his grip on the textured handle. He brought his right foot up and kicked the door in, its stone hinges grinding together. A human who was apparently standing on the other side fell backwards, clasping his nose in his hand, yelling in pain.

The Nameless One looked a little surprised, but raised the Eagle and put a bullet through the man’s chest, a splatting noise as it pierced his lung. He tried to stand, but fell back again as the Nameless One shot him again. The hallways here reflected the noise to the extreme; anyone else probably could have heard it. Wolfheart stirred behind him. He went into the room and another man, this one with a knife, attacked him from behind the wall. He knocked the Nameless One to his knees. The man was poised above him, about to stab with the knife, end his long life, when he caught a streak of silver out of the corner of his eye, followed by a flash of red.

Wolfheart had just grabbed the man’s throat in her jaws, clamped down hard. He dropped the knife and tried to pry her off, but to no avail. He stopped squirming and Wolfheart let his body fall to the ground. Blood gushed out of the wound, spreading over the floor. She kicked his body into the corner of the room. The nurse came out from the back of the room. “Mistress! You’re ok! And… The respected one is back to normal.” She hugged Wolfheart, and bowed to the Nameless One.

The Nameless One went into the back of the room and looked in a mirror. His eyes glowed faintly purple, like small recessed pools of creep. He looked at the smooth, scaled skin that covered his body; at the loose fitting garments he wore, the holster around his waist, which seemed a little loose now. He concentrated his energy and closed his eyes. He held still for a few minutes, Wolfheart and the nurse talking about the occupation of the Den. When he opened his eyes, the fur was back. The angular muzzle, the eyes no longer glowed, but reflected light with a faint green sheen. The fur was brown this time, smooth and clean. He had hair, down to his shoulders, which accented his eyes. The hair was curly; a few loose locks strayed down over his face. He moved them out of his eyes and stepped away from the mirror. He walked over to where Wolfheart and the nurse were.

The nurse looked at him and stared. Wolfheart tilted her head to one side then nodded. “What shall we do, then,” was all he said.

The nurse looked at him again, back at her mistress, at him, then walked away. “She says that there are at least one in every major room, excluding the cafeteria. She also says that Yngia regained consciousness and went back to his shop before they came, and she hasn’t seen him since. Cheffie was killed trying to fend them off,” at that note, she looked at the ground. “She says they came with my mate.”

He put a hand on Wolfheart’s shoulder. “It’s alright.”

She shook her head. “No it isn’t… but the pain shall pass, I imagine. Come, we must get them out of our Den for good.”

They slipped out the door, careful not to track any of the blood with them. The Nameless One gripped his pistol firmly, Wolfheart reached out her hand and he took it in his. They crept down the corridor, stopping at every corner to check what might be around it. They managed to make it down to Yngia’s shop, one guard right outside the door with an M16 rifle. The Nameless One stopped, held a palm out to Wolfheart, and then snuck to the edge of the turn. He slowly put the Desert Eagle in front of him, and pulled the trigger gently. He squeezed it until the small red dot of the laser sight popped out. He turned it up the wall, placing the dot square on the man’s chest, over his heart. The guard was paying little attention, but attempted to flick the little insect off his shirt. He glanced up and saw the small, silver object controlling the ‘insect’, and watched in horror as a second insect flew out of it.

The bullet blew his chest inward, the heart exploding almost instantly as the large bullet took one of the chambers. The man clutched at his chest and fell on his side. Blood was slowly dripping down the door, a corresponding hole in it. He came around the corner, doing a slow sweep with the Desert Eagle. Nothing crept, apparently scared of disturbing the scene. He pushed the door in gently, looking for another arrangement like they had at the infirmary. Instead, he found Yngia, bound and unconscious on the floor. Poor bastard. Twice in one day.

The Nameless One undid the knot and tried to wake Yngia, but to no avail. Wolfheart went over to the worktable and found a small bottle filled with sedatives. I don’t think he shall be waking up very soon, was her only comment.

The Nameless One ejected the clip of the Eagle and found he only had a single shot left. He pulled out one of the hollow point clips and stuck it into the gun; a nice click confirming it wouldn’t come out until he made it. They shut the door again after dragging the guard’s body into the room and cleaning it as best they could. Again they made the arduous trip down the hallway, this time to the arms closet. There were two guards this time, one with a SAW machinegun and the other with a P90. He handed the Eagle back to Wolfheart, with a slight wink, and pulled out the Colt 1911s. He flipped them around his fingers, catching the gold finish in the light. He dived sideways down the corridor, tucking into a roll as he hit the ground. The guard with the P90 acted first, leveling his gun and firing a short burst. The Nameless One opened fire with both guns, firing in a slight stutter pattern. The machine gun guard never got a chance to turn off his safety, the first bullet taking him in the stomach, then others in the chest, and finally one in the head. The P90 guard was a bit luckier, the bullets he got hitting him in the head first. The Nameless One placed the guns together and ejected the clips, placing fresh ones in. As he holstered them, Wolfheart came around the corner and glanced about. There’s another guard here, I can smell him.

The Nameless One pulled out the MP5K, getting very tired of having to aim. He held the grip tightly in his right hand, leaving his left hand free. Slowly, they moved up the corridor, Wolfheart still sniffing. He’s right up there, on the left side.

The Nameless One reached the edge of the corridor, then whipped around. Another guard, with a Berretta M9 pistol, stared at him in amazement as his clawed hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. “Doesn’t work twice. Sorry.” The Nameless One grinned menacingly, placed the barrel of the sub-machinegun against the man’s head, and fired a three round burst into it. His head exploded, little chunks of skull and gray matter splattering into the floor. The Nameless One dropped his limp body onto the ground and did another quick sweep of the hallway. Wolfheart slipped into a room nearby and found another wolf. This one had beige fur, and looked no more than seventeen. She looked at Wolfheart with wide eyes as she explained the situation. The Nameless One picked up the SAW and handed it to the young wolf. “It’s not a hard gun to use, but it has a lot of kick. Here’s the safety… here’s the trigger, this is the fire setting control… Ok.”

The young wolf looked very interested at the sight of the big gun, and pointed it at the Nameless One. He quickly aimed it at the ceiling. “Don’t point it at anyone you don’t intend to kill.”

The young wolf nodded her head. The three of them headed off for the main chamber. When Wolfheart had shown it to him, he thought of it as something of an amphitheatre with no seats. They made their way down to one of the five doors. They quickly split up, Wolfheart with the Desert Eagle taking the first door, the Nameless One with his M4 taking a door two down, and the young wolf taking the door opposite Wolfheart. The Nameless One began a psychic count down, managing to nudge the young wolf with his thoughts.

All right. On the count of three, Wolfheart, open your door and duck. Young wolf, open yours and provide suppressing fire, and I will choose individual targets. Ready?

He got two affirmatives, almost immediately.

One… Two… Three!

He looked in the room as he kicked the door in, catching sight of five guards and one other wolf. Three of the guards were already facing his direction, one facing Wolfheart, and the last facing the young wolf. The Nameless One smiled at this, quickly instructing the others to hold their fire.

Keeping his aim level with his three guards, he looked up toward the ‘stage’ area and saw Wolfheart’s mate, looking back at him, an expression mixed of amusement and intrigue. We can intercept thoughts also.

Most mindwalkers can.

The wolf looked at him, the intrigue fading off into annoyance. Not like it will matter soon.

What’s that supposed to mean?

The wolf snapped his fingers and five safeties clicked off. That you shall no longer exist to contemplate it.

You know, you are very pompous. What makes you think I didn’t depend on you intercepting my communication with the others?

The large wolf looked at him, amazed. The Nameless One grinned. Fire!

Wolfheart got the first shot, taking her guard in the arm. She quickly corrected and placed a second and third shot into his chest and head, respectively. He leveled his M4 and put half the clip in the air, catching one guard completely unawares and full in the torso. The other two managed to dive out of the way, but one got a bullet in the leg an apparently fainted. He heard the very loud report of the Para, glanced in that direction, and saw the young wolf’s guard disappear in a hail of bullets and sprays of blood.

The large wolf had disappeared to the back of the stage, the Nameless One gestured to Wolfheart that she should follow him. She shook her head and pointed at him, then tilted her head toward the stage. He nodded, but pointed at the two guards that were still alive. She and the young wolf came over, the conscious guard raising his hands over his head. Wolfheart took the pistol off his belt and the small combat knife out of its sheath and threw them into the corner. The young wolf got a good distance away and went into a kneel, propping the Para into a position she could easily fire it from.

The Nameless One made his way toward the stage, carefully avoiding the gore that was all around the floor. He climbed onto it and went toward the back. A very large, silvered barrel… six very large silvered barrels stuck out of the ‘backstage,’ aimed directly at him. They quickly began to rotate. Shit!

The Nameless One dived hard to his left, as the flood of bullets came screaming out of the minigun. He could hear the bullets dig into the rock, shattering it into many pieces. The fire stopped, and the large wolf came back onto the front of the stage, aiming not at the Nameless One, but at Wolfheart. The Nameless One glanced back there, and saw that the ‘unconscious’ guard was very much the opposite. He had a knife at Wolfheart’s throat, and the other guard had reclaimed his pistol and was aiming it at the young wolf’s head.

As he turned back to the large wolf, he found the six barrels straight in his face. Everyone has a backup plan.

Yes, the Nameless One responded, everyone.

The wolf laughed. Not you apparently.

Never, ever, underestimate the power of a psionic being.

The large wolf suddenly stopped laughing, then dropped the M134 minigun and clutched his head at the temples. The other two guards did similar things with their weapons and fell to the ground. The Nameless One watched the large wolf try to keep balance, but he fell too. When he did, the Nameless One took the barrel of the M4 and stuck it in his mouth. Why did you betray your pack?

…It…burns…make it…stop…

ANSWER ME!

The thought was so powerful the wolf shuddered; the Nameless One’s gun almost got knocked out of his hand.

Never…

The Nameless One flipped the fire set out of full auto to three round burst. Wrong answer.

no… never…

The Nameless One tightened his finger on the trigger. I don’t have to know. You may even save yourself by telling me.

nev…er…

The Nameless One pulled the trigger. The wolf’s head disappeared completely, what little of his brainstem was remaining was all that could be seen out of the stump his head had mounted once. Blood gushed out of the arteries, covering his weapon and his hand-paws. He took out the monomolecular knife and sliced off the large wolf’s hands and feet. He took them over to Wolfheart and she accepted them, placing them in a small sac she had with her.

We should probably kill these two so they don’t bring others…

No need. As long as no one remembers, the Nameless One responded.

He kneeled next to the still cringing humans, placed his hands over their eyes, and cleared their minds of any memories of the Den and pack. He slowly summoned up another of his psionic abilities, and their bodies suddenly disappeared. There.

What did you do to them?

They shall return to their homelands.

I never knew you to be a being of mercy.

He shook his head. I didn’t either.

The Nameless One left the amphitheatre and went down to the place he still called his room. No one had apparently been there; everything was as he had left it. He fell into the bed after removing the covers, too tired to clean the blood off his body. Once again, the door opened a second time, but this time he wasn’t awake to hear a goodnight.

When he awoke, he slowly became aware of another person in the bed with him. Gently, he turned over, and opened his eyes. Wolfheart was there, looking small and innocent while asleep. He grinned at the false impression this imposed, knowing full well just how ‘innocent’ she could be. Her arm was under her head, pillowing it; she gently licked her muzzle while he looked at her. Her left eye opened, and looked up at him. “…Hi.”

He looked back at her. “Hello.”

She grinned at him and hugged him. “Thanks for helping us.”

He returned her hug. “Not a problem.”

She raised her head and brought her muzzle to his. “I mean, really, thank you.” She took his lower jaw with her finger, tilted her head to one side, and kissed him. And I thought her breath was sweet. Her saliva was like a form of ambrosia. Their tongues mingled together in their mouths, any form of contact simply wasn’t enough. He moved his left hand over her thigh, feeling the velvety fur under his fingers. She placed a hand on his stomach, her warmth moving through him. Rather suddenly, he realized they were both lacking clothing. He grinned at her. Was this your doing?

She merely said “Mmmmph,” and pulled the covers up over their heads.

=> The Nameless One