There Can Be Only One [Pt.1]

As much as Metas wanted to let out a cry of pain, he didn't. Oddly enough, Silas didn't either - but his eyes were watering around the cusp of his lower lids.

"You really thought you would get the up on me?" Metas asked with teeth bared so widely his gums were showing.

"You're smarter than you look...." Silas replied with a gruff from his jaw.

Metas let out a snarl, as he allowed his opponent to fuel the rage he was about to unleash upon him.

Now the two faced off entirely against one another, and circled around as their eyes locked. It was dead silent in the room as everyone had collectively held their breath. After what the puny little pup had done to their Alpha, they were wondering what scheme he'd pull next.

Silas didn't want to make the first move, because he knew Metas would have a counter attack waiting for him. Instead, he'd just run his mouth in hopes it would trip up the giant wolf. "You may beat me, but you'll still be a worthless King. No one in the upper caves wants you as their Alpha - and more than that, no one wants your ugly wife. You're lucky Lunas don't have to fight for the right to be at your side, because she wouldn't be able to fight the smallest wolf."

That did the trick, and Metas took a great leap at the blondie who skid out of the way backwards and used the opportunity to scoop up dirt and slam it into Metas' eyes.

Silas had a twinge of happiness as he realized that Myranda may have been Metas' strength - but she was also his greatest weakness. If he could just agitate him more, perhaps he could throw the male off his game even more than he currently had. Not only that, but now he had an opening with the towering wolf to swipe his claws across his face in hopes he could damage an eye.

He did.

Metas reared back with a growl mixed with a howl and shook his head rapidly. He could hear the crowd bark in disapproval at Silas' move, and without waiting too long, he spun back around and charged at the unsuspecting yellow wolf (who had thought he would take more time to retake his footing) and rammed his open jaw towards Silas' neck.

The King's teeth scraped through his foe's tender skin and soft hair much like his leg had been through earlier. Wanting to clamp down too soon, Metas let his jaw lock down, but all he managed to do was tear off a large piece of flesh as Silas reared himself back.

To Metas, a little bit of blood wasn't satisfying, and now he yearned for more.

Silas on the other hand was trying to formulate a plan on how he could get the upper hand again. However, the pain pulsing below his chin was making it hard to focus instead of getting angry at the fact he had taken the first serious blow, and the crowd around him was chuffing and howling with laughter at his expense.

He expected jeers.

He expected boos.

He expected insults.

...but laughter? Never in a million centuries did he expect to be laughed at, and it was far more harmful now than the missing flesh that stung in the air and burned like fire.

That fire was nothing compared to the crushing weight in his chest from the mockery of his demise.

'Very well,' he thought bitterly. "I'll give you something to be surprised about,too'.

Harbinger hadn't been a good father, but he had been a fantastic master when it came to fighting - and best of all, the old wolf had taught him how to stand on two elongated legs.

All he needed was rage, and concentration - both of which he had plenty of. He let the laughter penetrate his ears and soak into his brain, and he imagined all those who had picked on him, talked behind his back, or thought he was only where he was because of his 'father'.

It made his hair stand on end like an angry cat, and as he pushed himself up onto his back paws, he began to transform into a hideous-looking creature that looked nothing like Harbinger's wolf form. Instead of being bright and awe-inspiring, Silas brought on screams of terror.

Hell, even Metas stared at the scene unfolding with disgust and a bit of fear.

All Silas knew was that his vantage point was growing with his size, and his limbs had stretched into long branch-like arms that held gigantic paws with sharp nails sticking out at their ends. His snout had grown, and twisted into a bigger mass of teeth, some of which stuck out from the sides as though he had more than one row that just couldn't fit inside his jaw.

His fur was even slick and wet from where it had torn, and patches of a brassy gold fur healed where it had just ripped, which made him look a repaired stuffed animal that had been through a lawnmower.

He could smell better. He could see better - and any care he had to preserve his life was gone. Now he wanted to tear Metas apart and paint the mountain in his blood. Instead of just keeping the half-way point that the General had always managed to do, he went into a full crazed mode that killed whatever self was left inside the husk of his soul.

Silas was gone now - his eyes were glowing a bright green as they once had in the halls, and the haunting laughter the lycan let out was warbled with a dark undertone that mixed with gravel.

"What have you done, you fool?" Metas asked in awe, and then folded his ears back in agitation.

The creature didn't answer with words, but with a shrill cry that was piercingly loud and filled with unbridled rage as he charged at Metas' now smaller figure.

The King took him head-on. This was it. This was not a practice run. There would be no other round, and so he would give the deformed wolf all he had to end its existence.

The large, black Alpha pushed himself up from the ground and into the chest of the grotesque monster before him. It did fuck all as he literally bounced off of the hardened muscles that felt like fuzzy steel.

The blow hurt, but Metas was able to recover sloppily, but quickly. For the first time, he actually feared Silas. No one had seen a fully seized lycan before. No one had ever tried, save for Harbinger. If one went too far, they'd lose themselves forever. In lieu of fighting the King himself, Silas decided to faded away into chaotic rage.

His last cowardly act happened to just be his final one, and somehow this whole thing felt familiar and 'right'.

"EAt You! EaT!" 'Silas' cried out in anguish and rage as he took no time in turning around in his massive, botched form.

"Not tonight, you son of bitch" Metas grunted and tried a new tactic in trying to take the thing down as he started to do his favorite thing ever - run in a circle (although it was less fun because he couldn't chase his tail right now).

It made his heart soar to feel the rush of air through his hair as he watched the creature spin around with him for a short period of time until it gave up - and as soon as it did, he stopped his trajectory and made a sharp turn towards Silas' back.

He made contact - and just as his paws were trying to cut into the tough skin, the long arms of the beast easily reached over his shoulder and picked Metas off like a flea, and as he was held by the back of his neck, the monster slammed him into the ground.

Metas tasted blood in his mouth, and everything went black as though his eyes had been knocked out of their sockets, but soon his face picked up from the dirt and his sight returned just in time for him to see a large paw-like hand coming down for him.

The King was hurt, there was no doubt - but with all of his adrenaline flowing, he was able to bring himself back up onto his four legs. Metas barely got away as he was swept at by the mound of flesh that was once a wolf.

He could see why someone would want this advantage. Silas was like a wolf of steel, and even the back of his neck where he had once lost a patch of flesh had healed over. He was massive, and looked like something a child would draw out of their nightmares.

Silas finally had the power he had always wanted. All it had cost him was himself.