Lýkos Theós

Chapter Ι

The cold wind blew through the small village, sending snow through every crack and window of each home.

It was late into the hours of the night, the moon casting an eerie glow over the ischyróteri pack. The warriors patrolled the village, vanishing from one corner and then reappearing to the next as if they could protect their people from what was to come. Their blue capes flew behind them, lifted by the wind and hung on their toned muscles.

The only thing they wore other then their capes were their Pteruges made of double layer hardened and stiffened leather flaps to protect their groins. They held their spears with firm grips, as if they'd be fast enough to cut the wolves that were already advancing toward the village.

The Athánati, that's what they called themselves. That's what she called them. Her own creation, her own army, her own werewolves that might as well have been immortal.

They crouch low, red capes flowing in the wind as they stalked their prey. She watches from afar, atop a hill that over saw the village. Her grey eyes watched as her lycans took out every wolf on patrol.

They looked towards her atop the hill, waiting for her call. Her black colored dress stood out against the white colored snow. Her own black cape and silver hair flying with the wind, as she nodded and descended off the hill.

The Athánati proceeded to invade the ischyróteri pack. Banging on their doors, creating fire and burning what ever they could to the ground. Screams erupted from every home, woman, men, and children ran out from their homes, and into the muscular bodies of the Athánati.

She made her way into the center of the village where the will was, the people ran toward the water source, desparate to put out the fire spreading all around their homes. There was a deadly glint in her eyes that stopped whoever was coming her way.

The villagers could feel the authority radiating off her, a deadly vibe that seemed to hold them in place. She stood in front of them in an ink black silk cape dress with a golden belt that caught the moon's light every time she swayed with the mild blowing wind. Her eyes seemed to glow an eerie grey, sending shivers up their backs.

"Bow to your queen!" Said a man behind her with white hair matching the snow and holding a bow and arrow. His hair hung loose, reaching to his mid section and flowing with the wind as the red cloak he wore did.

His Caucasian heritage showed on his face, his eyes shaped and colored like almonds and his cheek bones structured with a round face.

A sneer shaped his mouth as the villagers stared at them with stupid scared expressions. He stepped forward growling and barring his sharp canines. "Bow to the Lýkos Theós! You should be honored to be in her presence!" He yelled.

Gasps are heard from the citizens, and slowly, one by one, they bend to one knee. The Lýkos Theós, the Lycan God who rules the werewolf species. Her beauty is deadly, and her skills no match for even the greatest warriors in greece.

Even though fear and hatred courses through the villagers veins, a force bends them to it's well. Their forced to bow, to be still and continue to hear the cries of their pack as the fire grows and rages on with no mercy.

The barks and growls of the Warriors protecting their pack are slowly silenced until nothing can be heard.

"Belen" they hear the queen say. Her voice being as soft as the silk she's wearing and ruff as the stones of the will.

"Find me the Alpha" she says, turning to look at the foreign man. The mysterious force that held the villagers in place lifts and let's them go just as he nods and walks towards the alphas home.