Out of the Pack (N)

[Bearach]

The cold grass bent beneath the arrival's feet - a muted sound so soft, it was a testament to that person's stealth, and a testament to Bearach's senses that he heard it anyway.

"Thank you for coming," Bearach said flatly, as if it was an effort to get that much out of his mouth. He hadn't been waiting long. The forest was shrouded in night's darkness, because Bearach had wanted it that way.

"Tch. You didn't give me a choice," the voice came out just a little muffled. Bearach turned around, arms still crossed over his chest. The arrival's ever-present hood and owl mask marked him as the self-proclaimed "Archimedes."

"No, Trotsky. I didn't," Bearach said pointedly. The mask stopped him from seeing the other were's annoyed expression at mention of his real, supposedly 'secret' name.

"What's this about, Bearach?" He could hear the roll of his eyes in his words.

"Very simple. Give me your mask." The Order rang out loud and clear, its magical force compelling Trotsky to obey. The hood was pulled down, and the wooden covering unstrapped from behind his head before he tossed it toward Bearach. The Wolf of Blades caught it handily.

Trotsky complained the whole time. "Bearach, you jerk, why'd you make me do that?" he demanded to know, even as his 'beautiful' face was revealed - features more feminine than male, androgynous and pouty. Bearach had seen his real face before, in the days spent silently tracking the wayward pack member. For all Trotsky's efforts and protestations, it'd honestly been too easy to catch him without.

That wasn't necessarily a failing. The problem was, Trotsky had insisted upon the mask's constant presence around them. They were supposed to be a pack - a family, made new - but Trotsky hadn't trusted any of them with his human face, let alone his real name. "For his safety," was the excuse, and a load of bull that was. The police already had pictures of him, masked and unmasked, and they knew he was a serial killer, a self-made assassin who didn't even have the decency to target Ruthenian officials only.

He was a walking threat to the pack's safety in public, and hadn't even owned up to it. The man got off on being 'mysterious' in front of his pack members, but to make matters worse, he somehow had the gall to demand they trust the living enigma anyway. For the sake of family, they gave him the benefit of the doubt - over, and over.

How many lies had passed through that mask? How much deception and obfuscation, spat in the faces of people who just wanted him to be their brother?

It took all of Bearach's will not to crush the offensive thing in his hands. It wasn't the mask's fault its owner was a prick.

"Because," Bearach started while shoving the mask into his backpack, "I don't want you turning into an owl and flying away. Like the coward you are."

[Bearach]

Trotsky's eyes narrowed on him. That was an argument they'd had many times, too - Trotsky's proven willingness to run and hide the moment an enemy was detected. With his own eyes, Bearach had watched him stealth invisible while their waking enemy was already bound, helpless and surrounded.

Being cautious was one thing. That wouldn't have been so bad, if only he hadn't repeatedly left other packmates to get hurt in his stead. He'd lost count of how many times Trotsky had fled and let Bishop get hurt. Bishop's continued forgiveness - it was ire-inducing.

"Are we seriously going to get into this again?" Trotsky retorted, a familiar excuse ready on his lips. "I told you, I'm not cut out for the front lines -"

"Shut up and stand there," Bearach's Order interrupted loudly. "Yes, we are going to get into this again, because I can put up with you not trusting us, I can put up with you being a coward, I can put up with your complete and total lack of honor - but today, when we cornered that witch, it came out you did the one thing that I can't put up with."

Trotsky's body shook as he struggled to throw off the Moon Dog's enchantment.

"I am not a coward, and I am not without honor!" Trotsky shot back old lies, arms raised as if ready for violence.

"You ran away while Lori was attacked and murdered," Bearach yelled, words like acid to the tongue, "And you've maintained duplicitous … relationships with the one responsible, for who knows how long!"

"Don't you judge me! I love her!" Trotsky said louder, stomping his foot on the ground. "I love her and I always have, and I've been trying to turn her for -"

"And yet you flirt with every single person you come across. You're deceptive, spiteful, dishonorable, and a coward - a child, incapable of real love, and your actions have endangered the lives of this pack for the last time."

Trotsky froze in place.

"… What are you saying?"

[Bearach]

Bearach slowly reached inside his backpack, hand wrapping around the blue grip of a great silvered daikatana before drawing it fully out. The blade pointed menacingly in Trotsky's direction.

"I'm saying that if you claim to have any honor left, you will duel me now. Win, and you can go back to your harlot. Lose, and you're out of the pack forever."

"I'm not going to kill you, Bearach," the 'pretty' boy claimed with irritating self-righteousness. Bearach noticed he took a step back anyway, and was surreptitiously reaching for one of those daggers Trotsky kept hidden behind his back.

"No," Bearach agreed. "You won't."

The Wolf of Blades was on him in a second, slashing away with the sword, starlight through the trees reflected off the silvered weapon. Trotsky practically fell back the first time he tried to dodge, then rolled away on purpose. He sprung back up onto his feet, both Fang Daggers in his hands. He held them backwards, while arms themselves locked in a boxer's stance.

The traitor was more capable at that point, showing off all that agility gained from running away. They both knew Bearach was much stronger, and it surprised neither of them that Trotsky had to focus on continued dodging. A sudden, skillful twist of the daikatana proved why.

Trotsky was forced to block with both daggers. The overwhelming power behind the sword threw the traitor clear off his feet and against a nearby tree. Trotsky breathed heavier after having the wind knocked out of him like that. Bearach stood still, the swung blade still held out to the side.

Bearach's piercing blue eyes showed such stark calmness, it was all the coward could do not to shake in place. Hands gripped his daggers to snow-like whiteness.

"Fine!" Trotsky yelled, stabbing a finger in Bearach's direction. "You want a fight, I'll give you one."

The coward vanished in the dark. The Wolf of Blades was only surprised it had taken him this long to rely on his oft-used stealth magic to go invisible - but concerned, he was not.

He breathed deep through his nose.

[Bearach]

There was a clang of weapons as Bearach parried the daggers aimed at his back, turning around so fast it only made sense to let his left hand hook across the coward's jaw. He was visible for only a moment after the impact, reeling back into the dark.

"'Archimedes the Unseen'," Bearach said aloud, clearly mocking the traitor's self-given title. "Heh. The only one you're fooling is yourself. I don't even need to see you to see through you."

"Shut up!" the voice cried out of the darkness. Bearach's blade swung in great arcs around him, his twisting body batting away further attempts at his flesh.

"You think you're so mysterious," Bearach mocked, slashing downwards on purpose. Dirt flew upwards off the end of his blade, and slapped the coward in the face. "You're predictable. I knew you were trouble the moment we met you. I knew you were going to betray us. You only left your father's clan to spite him!!"

"You think you've got me all figured out?! Then why the hell did you let me join, dumbass?!" Several knives flung themselves from the woods. Silver metal flashed and knocked them all out of the air.

"I wanted to give you a chance!" Bearach caught one by the parried blades in mid air and threw it right back where it came from. "I was trying to be fair. But my mercy is fresh out - and your witch is next!!"

"You will not hurt her!!"

Grass was crushed beneath the feet of an invisible monster, stomping his way straight towards him. Bearach held his sword aloft and caught the two daggers aimed for his shoulders together. He stared down the suddenly giant werejackal in the face.

"She. Killed. Lori. You remember her? Our friend," Bearach gnashed on the word as it left his mouth, knowing full well how little that distinction meant to the traitor. Bearach's strength - monstrous even without being in his were form - shoved the daggers aside over head. The werejackal lashed straight out with a kick, titanic muscles flinging the human form through a nearby tree.

[Bearach]

Bark practically exploded for his passage, carving a hole out of its side in one go. What little remained of the trunk was unable to hold the tree's staggering weight, and with a second loud snap, the tree plummeted downwards. But it didn't hit the ground - its angle was suddenly shifted mid-fall. The jackal had to leap over the flying battering ram, and landed again in the boxer's stance.

A white werewolf, even larger than the jackal, waded out of the trees in Bearach's clothes. He held the daikatana in one hand, and slowly drew a greatsword out of his backpack - both massive swords held so easily in his paws.

"She's not the one who killed Lori!" the jackal protested, both weres rushing back into bladed combat. "It was those monsters!"

"The monsters she sent! The monsters she controlled!" Bearach threw back at him as his blades left more and more slices in the jackal's skin - temporary wounds that healed quick. "She bragged about Lori's death to her superiors! She profited off of it, and still you defend your whore!!"

Trotsky was driven back on the defensive, anger unrestrained as the wereblood ran rampant and violent through his veins. His daggers, even enchanted as they were, failed to cut the werewolf's arms again and again, and only piled the rage on further. It made the previously agile beast sloppy and unfocused - facts which Bearach had no qualms about using against him with his greater skill and reach.

Openings, plentiful, would have let him end it all fast - but Bearach didn't want to end it fast. He refused to land a killing blow, and chose to wound the werejackal every time. Trotsky deserved that, for every time he allowed his allies to be hurt in his stead. The were blood healed cuts fast, but not fast enough for the jackal to regain the upper hand.

"Knock it off!" the jackal yelled as he shoved swords aside and tried to kick at Bearach again. The white werewolf jumped back this time.

"Oh, I'm sorry, are you not having fun?" He mocked, swords slashing in great arcs and cutting off Trotsky's escape left and right. "That's right - you only get off stabbing people in the back! Or did you think none of us noticed that either?!"

His stance twisted left, before alternately attacking high and low. The jackal's bared maw looked ready to froth with so much rage. Trotsky didn't respond - he lashed out wildly, trying to stab at him over and over again while swords parried it all.

"Yeah, we know, murderer. And we tried to be your friend, anyway. We thought it was just your beast, but it's not, is it? It's just. Cold. Cowardly. You."

[Bearach]

Bearach thrust the greatsword forward, but the werejackal didn't dodge. He sidestepped just enough for the sword to shove through his right side, below the ribcage. Daggers were thrust, one to his right pec and the other against his left shoulder.

Armor made of silvery light glowed bright over his body right before the blades could make contact, and only dug in an inch.

"BITE." Trotsky shouted the magic word, and enchanted daggers let off an explosion of energy at each point. The white werewolf was blasted backwards off his feet, smokestacks billowing from the two places. The grass was crushed beneath the weight of the luminous beast, who only managed to keep his grip on the daikatana.

The jackal laughed - and he sounded almost hysterical as he pulled the greatsword from his torso. "Who the hell do you think you are, to get in the way of true love?!"

The white werewolf was getting up so very slowly, barely leaning up and not moving his left arm at all as he turned more onto his right elbow. Legs barely moved to get under him at all.

The werejackal's face spread in murderous glee, and both hands clutched his dagger as he rushed towards the downed warrior.

Trotsky's eyes locked with Bearach's for only a second.

Such stark calmness.

There was a flash of silver light, and before Trotsky could even tell what had happened, Bearach's left arm was around the front of his neck, and the daikatana had cut through just enough of the back of it to break skin. The jackal's arms kept holding the dagger in front of him. Both bodies were motionless.

Bearach took a deep breath through his nose.

"Your executioner," the white wolf growled.

Bearach let that terror sink in, before carefully removing the blade, and shoving Trotsky forward onto his back. The werejackal gasped in fear and horror, clutching at the back of his neck - skin which had already healed, but the damage of which had so nearly been made permanent. He looked up at the warrior above and the daikatana's tip, still hovering close to his chest. He gulped, and it was the loudest thing in the clearing.

"You … win," the traitor said, choking on the words. "I'm. I'm out of the pack. Forever, right? That's … Fair, and -"

Wolf of Blades drew his second greatsword from the pack, and shoved it straight through the jackal's neck, shattering the spine and pinning him down flat on the ground.

"Yes. Forever," Bearach said with ultimate satisfaction.

"Lori gives her regards."