Prologue
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Like a pheonix he rose from the fire, for death is what he'd escaped. Reborn was his strength and strengthened was his desire for blood. And as his humanity depleated, his vengeance was the only thing worth to achieve.
He raised his dagger and brought it down with brutal force. Red stained his hands and victory is what he'd accomplished. Or so he thought.
Looking around the burning village he saw his pack, ruthlessly killing those who had wronged him. Bodies of whom he loathed scatted across the field. He let out a laugh, for finally he was at peace.
He was alive and his enemies dead.
For he frowned when he heard the wailing of a baby. He approached the sound to see a woman clutching a child. He sneered at them, watching his soldiers as they took the child away.
As he left the battle field he heard the screams of terror and the crying, but the begging of the weak was like music to his ears.
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