01 NIGHTMARE MOTIVATION.

Monday July 3rd, 2240 ATE. SkyHaven Outskirts of The Angelos District….

"You're WEAK— and so is that sniveling little brat!"

Claude was startled awake by the message that wracked his brain. By a voice coated in hate so tangible it blended with the sweat on his skin like a physical slime. It poked and prodded him in the form of pins and needles all over his tense frame. It filled his mouth with the coppery taste of blood as he bit down on his tongue and fought off a shudder. For a moment he was held in the stillness. The throes of an old enigmatic rage that coiled around him and squeezed. But the metaphorical vipers lunge never followed. No poisonous end to coagulate his innards and leave him for slaughter.

He remained.

Seated in a puddle of his own sweat, left with the same response as always to his audial nightmare.

Anger…. Hurt …. Fear. Pure and untainted.

A conflicting concoction of negativity to say the least.

But Claude wasn't new to such an experience. The feminine voice of hell had been his internal alarm clock for as long as he could remember. Some day he'd read up on curses beyond how HexBlades hurled them in battle.

But not this day.

He had a process designed to help him make progress. He had a method to temper the rage that the voice filled him with. A simple and profound doctrine many followed.

"Quiet the mind by working the body."

He pushed aside his giant-beaver fur blankets and hopped out of bed. If he was low on iron the sudden movement would've sent him crashing into his polished dark-wood floor for a follow up nap. Thankfully he wasn't low on anything but emotional stability.

Nothing too drastic.

The dark of his room highlighted the shape of everything he found familiar in deeper shadow. To the right of his bed, his dresser drawer stood with its back to the wall. His clothes and armor hung messily out of the pulled out slots. Beside it a weapons rack stood. Bladed ends casually reflecting the light of the outside world peering in through his window.

"I should probably clean that…." He whispered into the dark. Only to be interrupted by a breeze sweeping in from the window beside him— directly at the foot of his bed.

It brought in smells of pine and clean river water…. rich pollen from a myriad of flowers brimming with life and even more things he couldn't describe. Only feel.

Before he knew it, the untidy manner of his room was a distant memory and the outside world was a magnetic force he couldn't overcome.

"Right. Fitness first—" He said and dove out of the window, landing in a field of lush grass with a silent roll.

Morning dew droplets pressed upon his skin like natures kisses, washing away the pins and needles. Cooling the sweats. Renewing him. He took a deep breath, inhaling the world.

The early morning sun hung out of sight high in the sky, still rising somewhere behind his cabin home. Still winning its eternal battle with the moon. In the midst of their skyward war, brushstrokes of tangerine yellow and beet red cut across the ending night sky. Pockets of stars still visible in the fading dark hung in clusters to the west.

The moment he exhaled he was on the move, bare feet stomping down the beat path leading away from his cabin and into the forest circle. His steps were animated— full of energy and excitement, evolving quickly from a trot to a jog.

By the time he reached the forest circle he was sprinting. His eyes adjusted to the fading dark. Lightning bugs and luminous-butterflies lit the way like festival lights, highlighting the rainbow brilliance of flower beds and lush greenery of the trees.

His feet sunk into the earth as he leapt over fallen trees and slid down mossy hills in shadow. Dirt clung to his skin— weeds crept into his toe nails. Leaves blew against his face as he traveled the ten mile circuit. Deer joined him. Lapped by bullet-hares and fleeing blue-jay's.

The forest was alive and rising with the sun. The air was almost magical in how fresh— how intoxicatingly wild, it was. It got his adrenaline pumping in the best way. The truest way. His fear was gone. His hurt was an unrelatable memory. In the forest he felt stronger… faster. Unable to be affected by something as silly as dreams and nightmares.

After a few miles into his sprint, his adrenaline faded and he was left only with his discipline and physical stamina. The sun was higher in the sky, lighting up the forest in a verdant yellow haze.

Claude ran beside the river, it sparkled as the waves twisted and tumbled— frothy elements crashing against the dirt border. Salmon the size of men with fins like pink blades slithered upstream.

Impulse and inspiration from the wild led to him deviating from the path and executing a side flip that left him splashing into the stream.

He tumbled under the water as the salmon rushed away.

In a rush he gained his bearings, grabbing hold of the riverbed of rocks and algae as the blue waves pushed him downstream with a million wet hands.

Inspired by the salmon, he pushed against the current and got to his feet.

The waves up to his thighs were strong in their constant pressure.

The salmon pushed on ahead.

Birds watched them in the branches overhead. Birds watched him.

He restarted his sprint, now pushing himself up a river current. The waters forced him to raise his knees and push until his feet slipped on the rocks and his calves felt laced with fire. But he was getting faster— he was getting closer to his goal.

Minutes running in the stream felt like hours running on land. Despite the absolute wetness of everything, his mouth grew dry. His legs went numb.

But the pink shapes— the symbols of brute strength and stamina. They weren't too far.

He pressed on— cheating by digging his hands into the dirt ground beside him. Pulling himself ahead until he was close enough.

A bird overhead screeched in support. Or maybe to tell him when to attack.

Many birds knew the art of hunting better than most.

Claude listened and descended on the salmon below, backed by the cries of a falcon.

The blue river waves splashed, rising up like elemental arms to embrace him in a crushing, river rushing, hug.

The second he was under, the pull of the waters grew in strength. So did he as he reached out, spawning colonies of bubbles that did nothing to hide the slithering salmon.

He caught the fin of one. It shook. The bladed appendage lacerated his palm. He held on, twisting the fish to disorient it and slowly climb up its hulking body.

His brain screamed for oxygen as he got his footing and heaved.

"EUAAAGH!" Claude exploded from underneath the river, holding the oldest and weakest salmon in a bear hug. The veins in his back and arms bulged. His blood leaked down the beasts pink and green glimmering scales.

The falcon overhead descended from the trees and began circling them, squawking loud enough to stun. Razor sharp talons flexed in wait.

"I got it!…. I got it!" Claude tightened his grip and began walking his way to land in an awkward backwards gait.

Despite his impressive grip strength and wrestling ability honed over years of wrangling hounds, the beast was slipping. The moss and dirt of the river gave it a slimy coating that seemed impervious.

Claude stopped and moved to adjust his grip.

The salmon's patience had paid off. The fish gods heard its silent prayer.

In one blinding movement— one defining moment of strength born below, the salmon flailed.

Its backend pushed apart his legs like they were two brittle sticks and sent him on his back. At the same time, it rocked its head, effectively choke slamming him. But since he was so close to the border of the river, his head smacked against wet earth with a nasty crunch.

He sunk beneath the blue in a daze.

It was almost beautiful. The waves refracted the suns rays and sent yellow diamonds of light sprinkling. He couldn't hear out of his left ear. The silence added to the beauty—

Wait.

He's almost forgotten to breathe. To survive beyond a bare handed fish hunt.

If his father came home to him dead, he'd kill him.

Actually, he'd probably laugh at him as a spirit of the river.

Before he could continue on with concussed morbid thoughts of death, a shape blotted out the sun and falcon above. It was fast and heavy as it dove beneath the waves.

A muffled growl shook the waters and pushed him deeper as a massive weight piled on. The waters turned red as the salmon was ripped into.

Claude feared he was next as jaws closed around his wrist and yanked him out of the river.

He was dragged onto land like he was weightless, once again.

In the silence he coughed like he had a disease. River water exploded from his mouth as he rolled over and tried to stop himself from throwing up from overexertion, nausea and suffocation.

Not to mention, he was covered in fish blood. And near a predator….

Suddenly, something plopped down next to him.

Claude looked over and found the salmon dead. Neck snapped and covered in deep bloody bite marks. Its eyes were also clawed out…. like someone took a knife to them.

He relaxed and sat up, finding a young canine seated in front of him. Blood dripped from his sabered fangs.

"Frosty….. hey." Claude managed.

The young canine barked, causing his massive chest to flex along with the rest of his hulking body.

Suddenly the weightlessness made sense. To Frosty, he was weightless.

As he would be to any pitwolf. Even a puppy. As he looked over his furbound friend he was reminded of how much they were unlike the wolves of the OldWorld. Even if those very wolves were ancestors to them….

Where wolves were wild hunters bred for stamina and speed, pitwolves were made for intimidation and combat on behalf of their handlers within the Tangents. A place where they were more often called something other than pitwolf.

Usually— and unfortunately, most people referred to them as their Tangent-Born name. Orc-wolves.

Even now at barely a year old, Frosty was huge. Claude forgot most days, but now, as they sat facing eachother, that fact was unavoidable.

Frosty was a pile of muscle. His triple coat of brown fur sat on him like a thin rug over steel. The streak of white frosted tips running down his back still stood on end from the hunt. Claude watched him breathe— tongue hanging in the wind, his muscles shrank and expanded. His claws cut the earth.

He was pure and unbridled killing power.

And he wasn't even through puberty…

But he wasn't always so scary. Claude still remembered the day his Father came home with him in his backpack. No larger than a pup. Underfed and dirty as all hell. His only defining factor being the ring of scaring around his back leg.

He was left in a snare by heroes on a Tangent run.

Illegally, Claude's Father saved the hidden pup after the team of heroes slaughtered the rest of his family.

The only reason Claude's father was there was because he was a Tangent teretologists on a research run. They often paired them with heroes. Some less heroic than others….

"I still think they should be shoved in the Halls of the Basilisk for what they did to you….. Also, thanks for the save." Claude explained.

Frosty tilted his massive head to the left in confusion. His blue eyes never left Claude. Even as the falcon from the trees descended, silently landing on Frosty's back.

"Morning, Ray." Claude said.

The falcon chirped in reply.

"Anyway, great work guys. I totally don't feel emasculated…. Wanna eat?"

Frosty's ears stuck straight up and his head tilted right.

Right always meant he was agreeing. Left meant you weren't speaking any language he understood.

Perfect time to drill in some more training.

Claude grabbed the fish. Their eyes zeroed in on him as he began ripping into it with his bare hands, spraying blood and foul smells with every movement.

When he was done he had a few handfuls of meat to himself. He stood. So did Frosty, causing Ray to bounce around on his back in protest a few times.

"Sit." The simplest of commands.

Frosty's lips curled back, revealing his black gums and pearly white fangs. He snapped at the fish in Claude's hand.

Claude smacked him on the nose, "Stop the bs."

Frosty whined and let out a sneeze.

Claude stepped closer to the pitwolf until he was standing over him. Still dripping blood and river water.

Quickly, Frosty leaned forward and licked his stomach.

"Sit down, goofball."

Frosty huffed and took a seat.

Claude held out the fish meat for him.

Frosty leaned in and inhaled the portion with wide eyes.

"Sorry, man. You know the rules. We work discipline everyday. If you don't respect me or my father as pack leader you could kill us once you reach adulthood. Which is probably why you guys are illegal to own in most Districts without a license…. Good thing I have one."

Ray walked up onto Frosty's snout and aimed his eyes at him. They were as yellow as early morning beams of sunlight.

Frosty couldn't care less as he stared blankly at the rest of the meat.

Ray opened his wings as if to say "Look at me!"

"I didn't forget about you, chill out." Claude threw the next handful of meat.

Ray took flight.

For seemingly the first time ever, Frosty remained.

"Nice…" Claude smirked and handed Frosty his last handful.

Ray returned to mount his Wolf.

"You guys dig in. I need to finish my workout or I'll keep being saved by you guys in embarrassing positions. Leave some for me!…. I'm tired of eating the processed dried out shit dad left me." Claude said as he left the riverside and headed back to the cabin.

Frosty and Ray looked at eachother once before descending on the fish like lightning..