Creatures of God

Monstrosity of a Grey Wolf

Another group of canines, elsewhere, played a game of cards and rolling dice. Howls of winning and losing went back and forth as bettors demanded their returns. One player in particular, for whatever reason, was having extraordinary luck with his tosses on this fine day. Everyone else was having a fit. The gambler, who wore an absurd, black-rimmed hat with matching vest, laughed and took his time in between turns to talk and taunt. He smoked a thick, homemade cigar while chuckling, snorting and grabbing at his oversized belly.

At another location, a different kind of activity was occurring; a dark and cruel interest in the shadows. Human prisoners, locked behind a chained link barrier, were being used for sordid entertainment. Canines laughed as they used wooden sticks to poke and prod the humans, provoking them, and at the same time tormenting them. Growling and barking, the canines rattled the cages, slapping and dragging their sticks across the metal fencing. All the while, the dirty and unclothed humans pushed and shoved one another to avoid their captors' reach.

Despite the abject scenery, the returning patrol members plodded along, as if they were mindless equines wearing blinders and ignoring all that was apparent. All they could feel was a numbing sense of dreadfulness. They drudged their way to a cave entrance at the base of the stoney ridge. There, they were met by several guard dogs who led them inside.

Beneath wood beams and flittering lights, the canines traveled through a series of crude and twisting corridors. Crumbles of rock dusted their fur as they squeezed through dug-out pathways. Eventually they came upon a wider, more open area adjoined to a large metal door. The inauspicious entryway was thick in dimension, dark slate in color and ominous in display. Two of the guard dogs disappeared behind the heavy gate only to reappear and bring the group inside.

"We don't have the numbers to expand!" a booming voice said.

"We gain the numbers after we expand!" a different voice countered.

In a darkened room, five mongrel leaders sat around a coarse arbor table. Projected into the open air before them was a bright green hologram displaying a map of the known territories. One of the Canines was standing and pointing a finger as he spoke in rising volumes. Another sat opposite to him with his legs propped up and his arms crossed over. The first mongrel pounded his chest in rapid succession while the second one shook his head at the one-sided discourse. This was a never-ending debate for the dogs; their business of protective care. A service every species needed, they insisted.

The patrol group entered, and a series of sideway glances and hushes ensued. The hologram suddenly disappeared. There was a shuffling and reordering from where the leaders sat, and very quickly, unknown items were cleared off the table and put out of sight.

"Your Majesty," the patrol leader addressed, cowering his head.

Each of the leaders stood and backed away from the table, except for one in particular. Gevaudan the King. A monstrosity of a grey wolf. He sat at the head of the table with his back turned, the width of his shoulders stretched beneath a dark-colored cloak that ran to the floor. At first, the King hardly moved, a shock of grey fur from the back of his head the only evidence of his existence. Eventually he looked over his shoulder, aware of the spectators behind him. The joints in his spine cracked and popped as he pulled himself around in his chair.

"You do not bring good news."

The King's voice was low and deep. Articulate.

"N-no, Master."

The patrol leader held his head to the ground, until he sensed a subtle movement nearby and opened his eyes. He gasped. A gigantic pair of paws stood in leather sandals before him. He followed the muscular limbs upward to a powerful chest and solid face — he quickly returned to his view of dirt on the floor. He scrunched his eyes shut. It was not a good idea to stare at the King.

Gevaudan was a humongous beast with charcoal grey fur and crystal, light green eyes. Larger than any of the other Canines, the Grey Wolf King had exaggerated features; huge paws that supported his thick frame and upright stance, as well as an enormous head. Over his torso, he wore a long, shimmering purple gown with a black cloak draped over his left shoulder. In his right hand, he handled a heavy, golden scepter that was topped with a brilliant, chiseled gemstone.

"Your colleagues are dead," the King said.

"Yes, Master."

Gevaudan looked at the groveling dog as he breathed the air, sniffing about him.

"I can smell their blood, their deaths, on you."

The brown dog began to snivel. "Y-yes, M-m-master. "

"Better if you hadn't come back, too!"

The King of Canines raised his scepter high above.

"No! No! N-n-n-ooooo, Mas-taaahhh-Ccckk!"

The King struck down hard, smashing the smaller dog's head, killing him instantly.