The Tormented Travels.

Asher shakingly took to a stand while all his injuries were scalding and his muscles were threatening to give out. Pushing through the pain he started at a turtle's pace, waddling through the forest. The dirt road nearby would be a straight ticket to Wilderdredge with only two town stops, yet the road is infested with bandits making their living on the run. Bandits are a brutal truth, whether they were forced into the jobs from debts or purely enjoying life while committing numerous sins. What bandits do will never change and it's safe to commit them to a single stereotype, 'a selfish mass of murderous thieves who use strength in their numbers to steal money and women only to please themselves'. At Asher's current state of health, not only will his walking pace be slow but he will take too long to heal before he can put up a fight to over 70 bandits. This is why he decides to go through the forest where the chance of finding an animal that won't be scared of a human is extremely low especially since it's a forest both close to a city and next to a road. Asher deems the forest logically safe and decides to trot through.

Despite Asher's worried mood, the forest seems quite lively, green leaves and colourful fruit Asher knows are safe and edible are seen in mass amounts. These fruits had strange shapes, they look soft yet are invisibly pointy yet not sharp enough to cut, and they had a cylindrical shape with a sphere at the bottom. Such fruits were deserving of having a strange name like bulby based on it's looks yet was named Frienz based on it's namer. Asher quite likes the Frienz fruits, they boast a sweet juicy taste to go along with its abundance of natural juice and soft texture, a favourite for citizens, adventurers, bandits and the like, even prideful annoying nobles enjoy this wide-found delicacy. As Asher moved along slowly he made sure to grab many of Frienz fruits for the road ahead.

Asher continues munching on the Frienz fruit as he stumbles on and seems to be healing and losing fatigue as he eats more. 'What a fantastic effect' he thinks to himself, praising the tasty fruits in his palm. A stumble over a root brings him back to reality, destroying his train of thought and revealing the wondrous landscape displayed towards him. A glistening stream of clear liquid plummeting into a shining body of water. Jagged rocks surrounded the area and bright green herbs and plants swayed in the soft calm wind. This was truly a safe haven, is what Asher thought, yet that is the same thought wolves approaching from the nearby darkness had after a few days of setting up camp on the vast green bed of flora. Their red eyes gleamed a coloured glow and their black fur was still hardened and red from the blood of their most recent of hunts. These wolves were irregularly large, the largest of the bunch exceeded Asher's height and width by a few inches, while the others were varied yet averaged at Asher's chest. The wolves had yet another reason the thank this area, it had brought the pack numbering around fifteen (Not including the cub) free prey at the promise of a good environment and safety. The wolves had lowered their bodies, stepped quietly and stalked their unsuspecting prey from the north-west, with the slight wind approaching them.

Yet what the wolves miscalculated was that the prey was actually the hunter. Asher had noticed the wolves the moment they stepped into the light, even before then as a matter of fact. As Asher was born with an unnatural sixth sense. He can know the location and intent of anyone within a 100 metre radius if not blocked by walls. This sense is impossible to seal and Asher as a child thought it was normal for everyone, until he came to be hailed as a genius by his family. Facing east, Asher gripped his right hand's dagger, void to the eyes of the bloodthirsty wolves, and cleared his head of any unnecessary thoughts. Waiting until the hunting wolves, a group of 5 wolves, were within a ten metre range, Asher muttered a word under his breath and instantaneously, faster than the eyes could track, he both slit three wolves necks, the entire left flank, and killed the other two of the hunting group by simultaneously tearing out their spines with pure brute strength.

The other wolves shrunk in fear, white fur quivering, yet were too far into the fight to back out. A group sense it may be, all the smaller wolves slithered to the back, knowing they are no match for this monster, and called their ace. The pack leader and the strongest wolf within the forest. He had reddened fur, hardened by dry blood. The wolf now trotted unwaveringly towards their fearsome foe, yet the wolf has fought harder battles. The wolf made a sign, a howl containing pride and honor challenging Asher to a one on one duel. Asher accepts as he thinks it will be an easy way to rid the wolves of their battle spirit and retreat. The wolf lunged at Asher, sinking its teeth into his left arm. His dagger threatened to drop to the floor, but his arm gripped firmly. Asher was surprised by the sheer speed the wolf had, but he had reacted quickly enough to avoid an instantly fatal blow. A slight sweat dripped of Asher's head and he murmured the word "Exousia."

The wolf kept increasing the amount of jaw power and grip on Asher's arm, but now Asher had barely flinched. The daggers had reached the floor, and they let off a loud heavy clang. Asher reached around the back of the wolf's head and tore him of the arm. Asher's arm, when the wolf was removed, was a deluge of blood, but showed no signs of inability. The wolf was suspended in the air by Asher's arm, held above the grass which is stained red with Asher's blood. Infuriated, Asher said in a cold tone, "Ekrixi." and clenched his right hand. The wolf let out a whimper of regret and was burst into a cloud of blood and bone fragments. All the other wolves had lowered themselves upon this sight. Shivering in fear, they bowed to the one that none they know of could hope of defeating.

The wolves, witnessing the spectacle, dug their heads into the ground and quivered. Asher had hoped to scare them off, but had scared them into submission only because he was infuriated with the damage caused. Asher, after retrieving his daggers, walked through them and they all felt the aura of a king, mighty and great, exuding off of him. Each wolf squirmed backwards when he approached, yet remaining facing his direction. One wolf had noticed after looking up slightly, but Asher had an emotionally pained expression. Asher now walked off in a straight line, but the wolf who had noticed his expression and denied the threat of his power, even when his packmates tried to persuade, decided to follow Asher.

Asher had reached a large tree that had built its own canopy, shading the comfortable grass near its roots, which seem to be growing in excess. He placed his daggers on the trunk of the tree and relaxed upon the grass. It was as soft as silk garments and a calming lullaby. Asher was not tired whatsoever but upon lying down fatigue hit him like a truck. His eyes heavied and closed down falling into a deeper sleep than normal, even his sixth sense shut down. He noticed just before he slept and was in a panic, but he could not stop the process. The wolf was a bit reluctant at first, but approached when he felt it should. The wolf was small and white, well kept arctic fur and a dark nose. It had dark blue eyes, similar to that of Asher's, but was lacking the darkness of the world Asher had seen. It lay its small body next to his, scared and nervous, but brave. He felt he had to be, he wanted to be a strong wolf, the strongest of the pack. Which is why he follows the strong, to gain strength. He slept, too, on the grass. But, to no avail, the grass failed to send the wolf into a deep enough sleep.

The growling coming from the shadows, seeped into the White wolf's keen ears. He stood up on all fours, prepared, protecting Asher in his sleep. Ruby eyes containing darkness in the soul pierced the shadows of the thick forest. A chestnut coloured coat of fur collected the attention of the white wolf. It stood double the size of the white wolf, and looked as strong as their pack's previous leader. The brown wolf had scars and bloodstains on it's fur, but the most noticeable feature was the gold coloured horn protruding it's forehead. To the white wolf, it was scary. As scary as the pack leader, as scary as starvation, as scary as death. But the white wolf did not back away, it held its shaking legs strong. If the white wolf wanted to follow Asher, it had to prove itself, prove itself to Asher, prove itself to the world, prove itself to itself. It had to prove it can be brave, prove it can follow Asher and prove it can repay a favour to the human who showed mercy.

The brown wolf was… confused. It and it's pack was the scariest thing they knew in this forest, so why would the puny little white wolf even bother putting up a fight. In this forest the strong prey on the weak, and the weak put up no fight. So, why would this happen? The wolf disregarded the question, driven by animalistic instinct, it was provoked by a prey, it will enjoy killing the prey. The wolf, feeling dominant, strutted forwards. Standing above the puny wolf, able to kill at any time it wanted, but it didn't. It's attacks consisted of swiping it's paw, hardened by the trips it travels every day, into the white wolf's face. It clawed the white wolf's back and bit his fluffy tail. After continuing a changing series of this, it'd finally got bored and had decided to finish the job. It had bit into the back of the white wolf's neck and thrown it with a swift neck twist into a tree.

The white wolf still got back up, shaking and unable to see straight. The brown wolf sneered and gave a grim grin, annoyed yet eager to finish the insect off. The white wolf gave a pained bark in retaliation back towards the bully. He got mad and charged in rage. A quiet voice silenced the forest, deafened the loud and eliminated the clouds. "Exousia".

Blink or not you would have missed it. A beam of red light pierced into the brown wolf and Asher who was laying in deep sleep a second ago was violently thrusting blue gleaming daggers into a brown wolf's gut. Over and over again. Red organs slopped out of containment, misplaced or not, it didn't matter. The fact is, the horned brown wolf is dead.