Coming to a complete halt, the wolf merely listened. Havoc seemed to have broken loose, the sound of alarms, shrill screams and blood being quick to reach him. The scent alone of blood seemed to have completely perked up the wolf, the scent growing stronger with each footstep the Trickster took towards his prison. Confusion evident within his mere gaze as he was instructed to get up, as he was unable to lift himself further off the ground than he already was. If anything, he had allowed himself to sink closer towards the cold, hard ground to stop the chains from rubbing against freshly opened wounds. A huff came from him, a snarl of what seemed from slight irritation of his visit. For far too long had he gone without a visitor, only able to sense the ghostly steps and scents of the Asgardians when they had strayed far too close to his prison. Mostly to gaze upon the wolf for a moment before fleeing, curiosity being something the youngest carried. Hearing that one of Loki’s son laid chained down, what seemed far too close to their homes – sparked the question in them whether he was truly a large, monstrous wolf. How he wished at times they would come close, so he could at least try to stomp on them, to push his entire body weight on them and crush them.
So alas, Loki’s visit was the least wanted. Weakness, a crushed pride came from these chains. Having been mocked for them for centuries, he did not need for his own blood to see these conditions, to become ashamed of a being so powerful being locked away by the thinnest chains known to the Gods. Confusion and annoyance became the least of his problems, the magic that was now stringing itself along his body, along his insides; this became his main concern.
To others, it may have seemed as if the transition from man to wolf had all occurred within a split second. Yet to Fenrir, it had felt endless, torturous. Far worse than anything he had experienced. Without knowing what was happening, there had been a glimmer of betrayal that flickered in the back of his head. Had his own father traveled all this way, merely to torture him further? Bones seem to crack, snap and contort themselves into its new form, shrinking and tugging, muscles ripping and shredding to fit his new body. His head was a pounding mess, eyes squeezing shut. It was as if the bright light of the sun had been magnified and shone in his face, as even the dimmed prison now seemed to be the brightest location on all the realms to Fenrir. Blood was the only thing he could smell, could taste. He did not know where it was coming from, but he could not ignore it. All it did was get to his head, cloud his judgement, his senses further.
The chains snapped, and it caused for the once-wolf to fall forward from loss of balance, catching himself with one knee to the ground, dirtied, bloodied palm hitting the ground to keep himself upright. He trembled with no control, sharp breaths being taken as power and adrenaline began to settle within the puny form. Even the shirt being placed over his body now seemed to have occurred in slow motion; as did the scene before him. Unresponsive to even his name, he could do nothing but stare at the God before him, as if he was trying to make sense of who he was, to piece together his image. Everything was distorted to Fenrir now. Fingers wrapped around the magic laced key he’d need to escape, head tilting ever so slightly as he stared at it, gaze lifting now that the guards were coming closer. With the Trickster being unconscious, they assumed the wolf would be easy to attain. Fenrir was trembling, barely balanced as he looked out in such bewilderment. Confidence now spewed as the guards neared, thoughts already coming to some of them as to how they will gloat to the others and bring their prize to the All-Father. To catch both Loki and Fenrir in one uneventful night would surely be something worth rewarding greatly.
Having the body of a man did not lock away any of his instincts, and the moment that it finally processed he was in danger as well as his father, his body reacted on its own. Strength had not left him, and neither had speed. Speed seemed to have increased now that his form was smaller, catching the guard by surprise. The guard had picked up what strands remained of his chains, having reached over to try and wrap it around his neck; assuming if his movements were slow enough to keep from startling the new man, he’d get away with tying it around him. Fenrir’s hand had shot out with no warning, gripping the man’s wrist; thumb digging where he felt a pulse. Using his grip, he pulled at him with such strength that the guard completely stumbled and fell into the bite. Not all his teeth had turned blunt, two canines that even mortals and Gods shared had remained sharp, his bite alone having enough strength behind it to get the job done. Blood sprayed as Fenrir pulled the flesh out of place, having gone straight for the jugular just as any predator knew to go for.
Choking and collapsing, the guard tried to grab at his neck, only to be met with a large missing chunk. Death was inevitable, and Hela will soon be taking over the man. Knowing now the wolf was capable of being incredibly dangerous and fatal even in the form of a man, the other guards quickly lifted their weapons once more, charging at him at full power. Fenrir was practically blinded, the taste of blood fueling his primal instincts further, the need to fight and defend. Wolves, after all, were incredibly protective when it came to family. And though he has not seen his father in the longest of time, in enough time that it was possible for a child to possibly forget their own parent, Fenrir has not. He held a bit of anger towards him, yes. What seemed to be an endless infinity seemed to have passed, and just now he decided that he had enough of his son being locked away? Pack mentality was a powerful thing, and one would be considered lucky that it was such a powerful instinct in Fenrir, to protect his father when one of the guards lunged in his direction to at least drag him out, be awarded one prize if need be. Twisting his hand back with ease, it only took half a motion to half his arm out of his socket; and blood once more sprayed and gushed, pooling around them. One had slipped in the blood, giving Fenrir the chance to wrap long fingers around his neck. Bones cracked as the man’s head now turned further than possible, body dropping next to the man who continued to spew blood.
Surely, he wasn’t outmatched, but he wasn’t going to risk it. Not accustomed to this body, he seemed to stumble over himself as he reached for his father, slinging him over his shoulder in one quick and fluid motion. Gaze once more dropped, and he could feel the magic thrumming through the weapon, and it was almost a hidden instinct to know what to do with it. Being the son of a sorcerer, it should come as no surprise that the ability, as hidden away and buried deep down as it was, was still present. The pull between realms seemed to be blinding, feeling as if the transition was pulling and pushing at the same time, drawing the oxygen from his very lungs, making his skin hot before he came crashing down on the dusty hardwood floor. His grip on Loki had disappeared, and he tumbled in a different direction than the unconscious God. Eyes widened and he blinked rapidly, the new scene before him causing him to perk instantly. Listening in, dead silence followed. Remaining unmoving for a couple seconds, he expected for the guards to somehow fall through as well, but it would seem for the moment they would be left alone.
Ironically enough, their destination had been an abandoned mansion, thick layers of dust covering every surface. Years must have passed since the place was last touched, causing his nose to wrinkle at the scent of mildew, dust and everything but fresh air. His prison may have been plenty of things, but fresh air was always available. Grabbing onto the ledge by the large stairs, he used it to pull himself upwards, curious eyes scanning the surrounding area. A bit of moonlight was falling through the crack in the curtains, providing very little light. Something that did not faze him, eyes and senses still accustomed to work in the dark. He dared to move closer towards the window, careful steps taken with each one, hand moving towards the dingy fabric. With a pull, the entire curtain had come tumbling down, the metal of the rod that once held it up echoing when it hit the floor, causing tension to overcome the wolf. Perhaps now that he had made quite the amount of noise, enemies would come pouring in. Nothing followed once more, except the faint hoot of an owl that was perched in one of the large trees outside. This sound had caused for his attention to turn outwards once more, bright blue hues now scanning what was visible. Thick forest surrounded this side of the mansion, yet the place had been built so tall that the moon had no problem shining through brightly now that there was nothing blocking out its light. Simply the moon of the light had eased him some as he wandered through this floor, coming back to the room shortly after.
Fenrir did not know what realm they were on, given he had only ever been on Asgard. Any other realm he had heard of had been rumors, mutters and gossip from some of the other Gods. Usually talking about how it was nothing compared to their own realm, followed by laughs. He had no curiosity to venture out, find out where they were. Instead, he pulled the bloodied piece tighter around his body, the lack of fur allowing the cold to get to him with ease. He had landed on the couch, dust picking up into the air as he sat, pulling his legs and crossing them, feet tucking under him. He seemed to be trying to curl his body into himself as much as possible as a sort of defensive mechanism, and as an instinct. He had become so used to being tightly pulled into himself, even in liberty he went into the same formation, as it was the only position of rest he knew. Sitting perfectly still, he picked up on the fire place, bits and pieces of memories beginning to come to him, memories now being something to come easier that he had a human form. In his wolf form, he only knew to protect his pack; to hunt, to kill. One came to him quite vividly, a memory he did not even know he had; from so long ago it should have been impossible to remember it as well as he had.
Fire burned and crackled, brightly lighting the play room they had been stuck in with no warning. Hela sat with her back turned to them, playing and ignoring their mindless fighting. As the only girl, she had been quick to learn that she could only ignore her brother’s banters. Fights always seemed to break between the two, over the smallest of things. Whether it was food, toys, attention, and even their place of rest. Perhaps their fights were due to them both being predators, instincts to be alphas and dominate the territory. Or maybe – it was just brothers being brothers. The small pup was growling, snapping his teeth at the serpent that was wrapped around the toy that Fenrir wanted, squeezing around it so tight that it would only be released if the serpent decided to. Their strength had been the biggest cause of trouble. They were so small yet so powerful already, that their smallest of fights usually ended up with half the room being destroyed. Teeth snapped one last time, and he had come closer to bite at the serpent’s tail, an act that was cut short when they heard footsteps approaching the door.
Tail wagging, he circled around a few times before patiently sitting in front of the door to greet his father as he had done a few times in the past. Perhaps it was the woman in charge of caring after them, but these steps were heavier, definitely not feminine. Picking up on the same thing, the serpent had uncoiled himself from the toy that was now completely flattened on the ground, pulling himself next to his brother. Hela was the only one that remained in her little corner with her own special toys, only scooting around to face the door, raggedy doll held tightly against her small frame. Each of them had been presented with a special toy when born, supposedly it had been from their mother before they had been forcefully and unknowingly ripped away from her. Due to the hopes of one day being able to physically see her, they were protective of these items.
Now standing, his tail wagged a bit faster, which came to a sudden halt as the door was pushed open, a couple guards standing behind the blonde God they had known as their uncle. If he had come alone, Fenrir would not have been all too worried, but the way they looked over his siblings had caused for him to instantly growl, fur sticking upwards. A silent signal had been sent and the guards lunged forward, a large cloth rag being thrown over his brother and scooped, tied around. He could see his brother trying to force his way out of it, wiggling around inside, looking for an exit, but they were continuing to tighten it and decrease his movements. Hela was snatched by her arms, as if she was a grown prisoner who needed to be detained. Anger fueled the small wolf, lunging and biting at the guards so they’d let go of the siblings that he would see for the last time.
Regardless of their constant bickering and biting and blood drawing, they were his brother and sister – they were triplets, holding their bond even deeper than normal.
Teeth sunk deep into the arm of the man, causing him to drop the writhing bag that held his brother, only to be scooped up by the blonde, quickly moving out of the room to prevent the serpent from being released. Arm was being waved around in an attempt to make the wolf release him, but the wolf snarled and dug in deeper, knowing he had to protect his sister. A final swing of the arm, and the wolf fell off. As strong as he was, he was still a pup and could be overpowered if need be. Having turned to the men that had his sister in a tight grip, bloodied canines showed as he went in to bite at their ankle due to his poor height. Only to be kicked with enough force that he was sent flying into the wall, denting it. A loud whimper came from Fenrir, leg twitching at the pain that ran down his side.
Pain didn’t deter him from getting up, making a final attempt to have her released, feeling a knee slam down against his back. Claws scratched at the surface, a calloused, hard hand coming down and pushing hard against his snout to force his mouth shut. Fenrir struggled under the force, mostly because they were holding his snout against the floor so hard that they were making it difficult to breathe. Ignoring his writhing and clear attempts at a breath, he had been able to get one last glance as Hela was forcefully dragged from the room before everything went black. When he awoke once more, he was locked in a small cell as his fate waited to be picked out. Endless nights were spent howling in pain; not the pain that continued to throb in his side, but the pain of his siblings being so far away. He could no longer even pick up their presence, but that didn’t stop him from constantly howling enough to agitate the guard that was placed to watch over him, eventually tying a rope tightly around his snout to keep him from doing so. Whimpers came from the wolf, head lowering as he brought himself into a laying position, head resting on his paws.
He could do nothing but sleep and stare ahead, at one point his whimpers coming to an end. His sister and brother were gone, they would not respond to the whimpers. And for some reason, his father and mother weren’t answering to it. Could they not hear him, or was he being ignored? Ears flattened, the guards coming to take him out of the small cage since Odin had finally decided his fate. Their capture had been cruel, and now so would their punishment. Punished for existing, a feat they could not understand. They may appear as monsters, but they were children, full of love and hope as every other child born, both immortal and mortal. So early in life had they been poisoned by hate and revenge.
As quickly as the memory had come, it disappeared. And Fenrir was left in a dark room, staring at the fireplace that had spent the last few years to fall apart. Anger now surged through him once more, and his jaws clenched. Why had such a memory come at this very moment? Now he found himself wondering, if they had been killed, strangled and buried. Or if they had been banished, casted away so young that they would have only instincts that were still emerging to survive on. Forcing his gaze to break away from the fireplace, it landed upon the God that was laying sprawled across the floor, given Fenrir hadn’t bothered to do much except walk around him. His gaze was hard, and it was easy to read that he was not all too happy with him. He could only wait for his wake, to pester him with questions, to question his true motives behind the rescue. Of all the questions he could ask, only one continued to play in his mind. Why had he waited so long?
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