The screams fell suddenly still and quiet from over the hill as the white armoured form surveyed the red spectacle of his quarries, their bodies ripped asunder into a pleasing shape of ruin. Snow began to gently fall on the land in a cascade of white. It blanketed the fields and hills and all, but one hill remained different from the rest as vivid hues of blood sloshed and soaked in its gradual spread.

Enraptured by the malicious destruction, Oerin basked in the prolonged ecstasy of his murderous spree, eyes shut closed with a broad smile upon his bloodstained lips. His armour was littered with several bolts and wounds considered a mortal blow, but the pain only fueled the spice for the madman's desire for more violence. 

Ever was the habit unable to control, Oerin consumed the blood of beasts one too many times, momentarily drifting in a dreamlike state that fuelled him, empowered his very soul in a light that wasn't light. The memories of the dead vomited over his mind, rushing, mixing, fading all at once, each in turn full of the dull, monotonous existence of their pitiful lives. To him, only their deaths mattered. Their screams and despair were like the sweetest fruit, and Oerin drowned happily because of it.

Sadly, like all good things, Oerin felt the memories beginning to fade from his mind. With effort, he could keep them, hoard them like treasure through his mind alive from Cole's first love to Samuel's lamentation of his dead mother. All of them. Every minute detail and gesture alike. But he didn't and let the slow images of the past slip away eternally into oblivion.

Oerin's eyes gradually crept open, his direction inclined upwards at the dark clouds as flakes of snow kissed on his pallid face. Momentarily fixated to feel the biting sting of cold, he turned his attention elsewhere to the ongoing battle and a knot of yellow forms locked in combat with his brother, Decimus.

A single battered figure was flung wildly in the air like a bloody figure, and Oerin chortled an ugly sound from the sight. Ever the admirer for his brother's singular mindfulness of a proper murder, he was almost genuinely inclined to let his brother have his way with them, but then, he would not be what he was to stay his hand against worthier preys.

The gold-cladded soldiers, hounds more particularly based by the shape of their helmets, swarmed and gathered about Decimus with a grim, stoic determination that Oerin rarely saw except his own kin. They prodded their halberds on his brother with masterful discipline, jabbed and poked and stroked from every direction, but the sight didn't unnerve him for a second. It would take more than that to end Decimus like that.

Whether the hounds had an inkling suspicion that their fates were sealed once Decimus came on them unarmed or that they were fervent enough to fight on regardless of the heavy toll, they showed none in their movement, and Oerin dipped his head. Brave prey was the best prey. 

As his mind was set attentively to the spectacular display of his brother's performance, another commotion earned Oerin a glance just the opposite of his brother, where the three surviving wolves resumed their offensive on the golden hounds. Among the three, one was out of position and deep in the thick of it, swinging wild sluggish blows with a broken blade. The warrior's attack was heavy, each impact a lethal strike but unbearably predictable to read. 

The wolf warrior staggered, their strike and movement more and more reduced to a madman at this point. A hound sought the prospect to end the wolf's misery and dived a halberd deep at the sternum while another accurately slashed from the throat. Soon, the wolf fell and was lost under a storm of blades.

Oerin watched this with mild amusement, whether to consider the wolf brave or foolish. Or both, even. He continued his observant gaze a little longer and understood that the wolves' chance of winning was not in their favour. The hounds were too disciplined, too dauntless in number. The wolves would not last long without proper assistance. His brother was the closest, and despite the ferocity on the field, the hounds had a good sense of head to bear their arms to delay him in time to reach to them. 

"Oh, that would not do at all," Oerin said softly, almost eagerly, to no one in particular. His path was clearly set on stone.

With a conclusion reached and a decision made, Oerin motioned down from the red hill, weapons held tight that trembled with sheer excitement. He would find out if the hounds proved better prey than before while also uplifting the wolves at the same token. 

It would be a long night, but the night was still young and fresh for Oerin to claim more beastly lives.

[==]

Somewhere far and safe from mortal harm, dark shadows loomed to watch over the bank, keenly interested in the spectacular display of the carnage. Keener more, for the thing, peered close at the white forms, who broke through the guards' rank and slaughtered the hounds with pitiless ease. 

At first, this creature, a slithering confluence of corrupted energy, was genuinely enchanted by the strength these white monsters wielded, downright marvelled at the way they moved that even excelled the finest of the King's puppets. Sure, other things caught its all-seeing attention. A few individual souls that were unique and different, all on their own. But nothing amazed the creature more than these sorts of monsters. If it could have at least a dozen, no, a hundred, of these perfect killing machines into its fold, then it would make this kingdom a lively place.

That was the creature's initial impression. A moment later, it hissed and spat at the two with immense abhorrence, for even from a distance, it could feel the sudden constriction of wrongness in the air that it didn't like. There was a terrible confluence from the bank, thick and heavy and dead with the stuff of the anathema, repelling its own influence as if drowning from the deepest of oceans and could not escape from it. This was what the creature was sensing right now and felt like its very being, its sole existence, signified its permanent death from the world should it get too close to them.

Undisguised to hide its contempt, the creature thundered within the void, growing ever more violent towards the white monsters. It wanted to kill them, to destroy them until none remained from the face of the earth. It could do that, here and now, and be rid of the world of its sickly influence.

But it did no such thing, for an idea was struck. Clever and insidious was the notion that it rumbled a deep booming laugh, almost giving away its position.

There were other, easier ways to kill a monster, and who better to challenge one than with another. 

Purpose set, it moved with a remarkable speed through the ethereal plane in a serpentine fashion. It traversed effortlessly, gracefully, from one place to another, as it had done so on many occasions. Only, things became much more complex and treacherous than usual.

There were dead spaces in parts of the world that the serpent stumbled upon, certain areas too dangerous to cross the threshold lest it would harm itself as a result. Small things. Big things. Things from between off and on, twinkling bright like stars. 

It was the stuff of the wrongness comparable to the white monsters from before, and the serpent noticed something new and strange, even by its own standard. 

There was a hole within a hole in space, rented, defiled, as if something or someone had barged into the domain of existence uninvited. If it peered hard enough, close enough, it had thought it saw something moving from there like a window to another place. Such intrigue alone would have caused the serpent a momentary pause to investigate this new disorderly wonder, but it went on away. 

There would be another time and opportunity to dig such a mystery at a later date.

The serpent manifested itself into the material plane. Its form was a shapeless amalgamation of a shadow too unstable and fleeting, despite its claim in most part of the hold. It hovered leisurely in the air like a ghostly phantom and passed through cold stone walls and empty hallways until the serpent reached, at last, to a grand chamber, long and wide and spacious.

There was a regal air about in the chamber, decorated and refitted to suit the rich stature of prestigious importance. Banners of many hues flung gently above, and portraits of famous individuals hung about the walls of this place. One painting was larger than the rest in portraying a lion, haughty and proud in his stoic posture, dressed in kingly state robes with a golden crown on top. 

The serpent took a momentary glance at the large portrait before it went its pace straight towards the person in question. 

A single figure sat hunched on a lonely throne from the far corner end of the chamber, one paw gripped at the blade's hilt. The lion from the seat no longer resembled anything virtue from the portrait. Instead, the lion looked rather haggard and miserable, the soft mousey brown of his once pristine mane dishevelled into disorder, and his eyes fell downcast as if deeply lost in thought. 

The serpent stared at its sterile puppet before proceeding impishly forward, moving close enough just to float behind his ears. It whispered something to the lion in an ancient tongue not meant for mortal ears, uttering a single sentence.

As the serpent spoke, the lion stirred,  given a new life of strength as if awoken from a slumber. Doleful eyes turned fierce as bale purple light glowed from the sockets. The lion leaned, then stood gradually from his throne, his stature imperious and intimidating.

With a bellow, the lion roared as loud in a volume that shook the stone. The clarion call had been summoned, and the darkness smiled.