Chapter 2

Draxz

Looking down from his massive mount he surveyed another village that had been ravaged and burned. Draxz sat back in his saddle, and growled in frustration. He was bred for battle and his muscled form along with his black armor told the story of a thousand battles.

“Be easy brother. Your time will come.” A regal voice said from his side. Draxz’s yellow eye glanced to his right as Goren rode up beside him followed by Rurak.

“This is the last village along the road to Lasteel.” Goren continued.

Draxz judged his brothers atop their machikero. Their thick gray hides lacking any scars, their many horns protruding from their head un marked and capped with jeweled gold and silver. Looking down to his own, he scratched the notched ear by his hand. His friend was battered and scarred as him, killing as many if not more that his own axe had. Admiring his mount’s battle scars and nicked horns, only one was tipped in sharp steel where it had broken in battle. Like himself, his beast’s armor lacked polish. Instead, grooves and shallow cuts lined the heavy plates. Sounds of hooves to his left caused Draxz’s ear to flick. Turning his head, his left eye, milky white with a scar from above his eye brow to his snout could only make out vague shadows of movement. His generals joined his side, their armor and mounts mirroring his own.

This is not battle or war, this is a slaughter of the people.

The death of lesser beings did not bother him, it was the lack of resistance. His wolf legion held the true enemy to the north at bay from over running Kreet, the mountain city of the minotaur. If they did make it to the humans, then it would be rivers of blood his legion would be forced to wade through, showing the people how he and his legion of outcasts are the true warriors of the realm.

“Draxz!” A deep commanding voice said snapping him from his thoughts.

“Brother.” Draxz growled out in a gravel voice.

“How many of your legion are with us?” King Rurak asked with a sigh, having to repeat himself.

“Fifty.”

“Fifty? You were only to bring ten.” Goren said with a sneer.

“Must have heard you wrong.” Draxz shrugged, his unoiled metal creaking in protest.

“My king, I strongly recommend the wolf legion be held in reserve.” Goren said, looking to Rurak.

Draxz watched his brothers have a non-verbal conversation between them. Rurak, his younger brother held the crown which was denied to him. He forced down his resentment for his family and his people that sat uneasily within his chest.

“When we reach the gates of Lasteel, the wolf legion will be among the first pure bloods to enter the city.” Rurak said at last, glancing from Goren to Draxz.

“This is a mistake.” Goren spat.

“We raid in celebration, and to remind them of the time when our father ruled.” Draxz said with a grin, his underbite showcasing his pointed teeth.

“We shall return with the riches they hide. It will be a warning to the other human cities who have chosen to test our patience.” Rurak said.

Goren sat in silence, his face becoming the emotionless mask Draxz was too familiar with. His lack of emotion often spoke more to Draxz than Goren’s own words.

Ignoring the rest of the conversation, Draxz sat in his saddle as the army continued to march. He admired the land with few large trees. When he was a small bull, these trees grew tall as if to touch the clouds as they floated past. The expansion of the human cities saw their destruction, leaving only the young trees that lined the main road.

As his father had aged, his taste for bloodshed diminished, allowing the humans to expand and grow more confident. Draxz was his axe and the first to spill blood for his armies. It had consumed him and with it the pleasures of taking what he wished. He had given in to his primal ways, with it came the untapped potential of his battle vigor, but the lust of blood and dominance of his prey had been overbearing. His lust for the human woman had become his focus. Raiding villages became more about ravaging than pillaging. His legion followed his lead, giving themselves fully as he had, to their primal desires.

“You’re a disgraceful, dark stain upon the Aesturion blood line.”

His father’s growling angry, cold words shivered through him, cutting deeper than any fang, claw, or blade. He was the first Asterion to join the Wolf Legion, the dark shadow of the minotaur. His people, his brother’s people, no longer acknowledge him. He had become less in their eyes. Once, the prized prince of Kreet, now the general of a legion of the undesired and shamed.

The irony, he laughed to himself diminishing the swelling frustration. He stole a glance to Goren who received updates from his scouts.

“If only they knew Lasteel was where you consorted with a human woman in celebration of Goren’s birth.” Draxz whispered to himself, only his generals with their sharp hearing able to understand his growled-out words. All three chuckled together, for they were the three who guarded his father’s naked form as he made a human woman his plaything until the sun rose.

It was after that night; his father’s wrath fell upon him and his loyal legion. Once back in Kreet with the spoils of their raids, Draxz and his soldiers were stripped of their rank and clan, and thrown into the wastelands to the north to hold the line against the endless hordes of lycanthropes.