Book 2: Chapter 3: Maaaax is coming to geeeeeet yooooou!
Later, some argued as they ran for their lives.
Did he say his name was MAX? A panicked voice demanded to know.
Thats a stupid childrens rhyme! shouted someone else.
Then what the hell was that?
Its an illusion!
I can smell it! He smelled like blood!
Its a trick!
He chopped Maris in half, he split her in two, DID YOU SEE WHAT FELL OUT?
Dont fall for these lies!
Its real! Its fucking real! MAX IS COMING TO GET US!
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Earlier
A twisted figure stood before the Night Wolves, where the captives body had once been. A spindly, mismatched nightmarish thing clad from head to toe in ruined blackened armor, with a tattered cloak draped over its shoulders, the tail of which lay carelessly on the sodden earth. That armor at one time might have been beautiful, but now innumerable rends and gashes coated its pitted surface, alongside burns, rust and dirt. It was tarnished, battered, dented, worn, and all the more terrifying for its faults, because unnatural light leaked into the air from where it had been pierced.
Who the fuck are you? Anders growled in what he hoped was a fearsome rasp. To his own ears, it sounded like a startled yelp. It was humiliating. He was a King, a fucking KING, by the gods! No one made him feel small. No made him look weak. No one!
And yet
The hideous figure did not deign to respond. Instead, its rusted armor creaked as he turned his head this way and that, gazing upon the assembled Night Wolves. Did he now realize the extent of his error? Did he now see the enormity of Anders power? Of whose grasp he now stood in? Why wouldnt he say anything?
Hey! Im talking to you! With the eyes of his people upon him, Anders strode towards the thing and planted himself directly in its path. By Fenrir, this creature was tall. He easily towered over Anders, almost twice his height even with his mis-proportioned limbs pointing this way and that. Fucking monster! But Anders wouldnt be cowed. He was a child of Fenrir, the bringer of ruin. He held his Warhammer tightly in his grip, the shaft still slick with the blood of that defiant captive.
The feel of his weapon in his hand emboldened Anders and made him feel the power of his bloodline once more. Whatever this creature was, it would pay for interfering with the business of the tribe.
You have five seconds to tell me your is what Anders began to say, when the armored monster lazily backhanded him. A mere slap, that somehow took the enraged wolf off his feet and sent him crashing into a nearby tree. Anders gasped, stunned. The power behind that single blow could have easily killed him. The bastard was holding back.
It was playing with him!
Strike the fucker down! screamed Lyselle. At the words of his faithful second, the Night Wolves brought their arms to bear and threw themselves at the silent figure. Arrows punched through his armor, sending pieces of it scattering everywhere. The sound of the pack's roars deafened Ander's ears, as their weapons struck true over and over again in the darkened woods.
Yet the armored giant did not back down. He did not step back. He didnt acknowledge a single hit with a scream of pain, or even a grunt of annoyance. A single shot struck his helmet, hitting him right between the eyes. Not a single drop of blood spilled out.
Nothing.
Languidly, the figure raised a hand. What was it doing? What was he doing
Fear struck Anders at his core. Fear so primal and terrible, he could scarcely process it. The beatings he had received as a child, the torment of feeling alone that haunted him his entire life, the stress of surviving the desert war, these were nothing compared to what now assailed him. This was what a mouse felt in the jaws of a cat. The fly in the spiders web. Helpless, hopeless, futile, small, weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak-weak--
Kill it, kill it, kill it! Anders screamed wildly! His Wolves answered his cry, and charged at the figure, going for its legs, its knees, trying to bring it down however they could. In response, a massive axe that blazed with unnatural red fire appeared in the giants hand. The first Night Wolf that lept at him, he casually bisected, letting two even halves fall to the ground in a crimson spatter. Others tried to flank him to no avail, the bastard was just too fast. No motion was wasted. Whenever the axe was swung, someone died.
Why wouldnt anyone kill it? Why wouldnt anyone save Anders? Someone had to save him!
Lyselle, Anders moaned. Lyselle, you have to
Lyselle didnt have to do anything. A huge black wolf with a black pelt even darker than the axe wielders ugly armor, trotted casually out of the shadows, and opened its mouth. Opened it wide; its jaw extended with the ease of a serpents and had Lyselles entire head gripped snugly between its teeth. Her body was paralyzed by terror; she could offer no resistance. The Wolf didnt mind. With a crunching sound not unlike taking a bite out of a fresh apple, the beast bit down and happily swallowed her entire head.
Anders looked up to see the head chopper towering over him. Red flames flickered beneath his helmet, where his eyes should have been. Made observant by sheer terror, Anders noted that the monsters armor was slowly reknitting itself. All the damage his people had done was now being erased. Just as they had been erased by the hands of this demon.
Did the weight of itbother you? continued the creature.
Anders was taken aback. Did this thing simply want to talk with him? Could it be reasoned with? A desperate spark of hope flared within him.
What do you mean? he asked, crawling cautiously back to his feet, but otherwise making no other moves. Certainly, no sudden ones.
The ghoul knelt down and gently lifted the Warhammer. In the grip of his massive hand, it seemed so diminished. It was the symbol of Anders power and authority, his scepter of kingship. He had doled out such punishments with it, had claimed a river of lives, had felt such thrilling control as he wielded the ultimate authority over his victims and yet now, seen in its true scope, the weapon seemed as silly as a childs toy. Puny. Pointless.
Max seemed amused.
Good heft, he said, swinging the weapon through the air, experimentally. Yes. A fine tool for delivering judgement! But more an executioners weapon than a symbol of kingship. Didnt it bother you? Delivering the killing blows yourself? A monarch should have more restraint than that. Their word alone is life or death. Why would they sully their precious hands with the gore of their lessers?
Unless?
Anders eyes twitched as he desperately tried to think of an answer to the monsters questions. U-unless what?
The fire in the monsters eyes increased, raging outward in heat and power, flaring in a rollicking motion, as though the monster were attempting to hold back his laughter. Unlessyou arent really a king?
The monster lashed out with the hammer, catching Anders in his ribs. Such was the power behind the blow, that not only were his ribs immediately shattered, the force behind the blow continued outward, and broke his other ribs as well. Anders spun in a drunken circle; he was now in such hideous pain that he could hardly breathe. Couldnt get the oxygen in, no matter how hard he gasped. The monster hardly seemed concerned.
A king should tower over his subjects in scope, little wolf. He is a giant, and his strides alone will crush the extraneous. But you arent a giant, are you? Youre a frail, little thing, so desperate to loom over others in order to seem large. A pup with his hackles up. Frail thing. Little thing.
Next, the Hammer swung upwards, catching Anders under his jaw and smashing his teeth into his tongue, turning it into mulched pulp. Blood oozed in thick strings of saliva down his broken face.
Ahhh ahhhh azhzzaaza he drooled.
You called yourself the child of a god. A son of Fenrir, Max continued. Ive heard of that guy before. Hes famous, even in my old world! Just looking at my boy Jonathan, I can tell your ancestral god must have been quite the beast! War songs loom in my head, majestic and unearthly at the thought of him! The howling! Im dead, but even my heart would start pumping at the sound of that monsters voice! Running into battle and tearing apart anything that opposed him, eating the sun itself! Im a fan! I really am! Fenrir rules.
But you, Anders? You and your so-called Night Wolves?
With his outstretched boot, the Max gently pushed Anders onto his back, before firmly planting his foot on his throat.
You arent a tenth of what he was. Diminished. Weak. Unworthy.
No, thought Anders desperately.
You wouldnt have qualified as a runt in your ancestors litter. All yelp and no tooth! Your mother should have drowned you in her amniotic fluid. Your father should have eaten your face. You arent worthy of the night, Anders. Fenrir deserves a better legacy than you.
I am the child of a god
Youre a stain on his lower pelt. Serve your betters as sport in Hell. They love to hunt small game in the realms below.
The Hammer was tossed aside and now the axe was raised. Anders wanted desperately to turn his head, to close his eyes, to pray for salvation, mercy, justice, vengeance. But he couldnt look away. The axe head loomed above him, reflecting the neutral light of the moon. So slow, so gradual, so eventual. And when it connected with Anders neck, he saw such light
And then, in a reversal of the first miracle, the light gave way to darkness. And the darkness was eternal.
But Anders was not.
Max watched with satisfaction as the body twitched, spasmed, then lay still. He laughed at how silly the pretentious wolf finally looked in death. The gentle padding of paws behind him, told Max that Jonathan had finished snacking on the other crispier corpses strewn about and now hed wanted a piece or two of Anders, having undoubtedly smelled the fools blood. Max gently scratched one of Jons ears, then guided his head to Anders body where he happily gorged himself.
Max nodded to himself, pleased to have provided his friend a meal he so clearly enjoyed.
He glanced at the sky, surprised to see that it was barely ten in the evening. The night had hours left to enjoy. Normally, hed transform his meat suit back to its usual pleasing form and take off on foot. But now, seeing how beautifully the stars shone in the sky at that moment, it seemed a glorious time to go for a ride.
Patting the Night Wolf on his head, Max climbed on his back and guided Jon towards the road. Once there, Jon howled and took off at a lightning-fast pace, his fiery sparking paws sparking a trail of infernal flames that followed in their wake, all the while Max laughed madly and with great joy, as together, they tore through the world of the living.