On a tract of scarlet snow, three white wolves lay dead. They were butchered by Corvus Ashford, who stood at the site of their carcasses with a sullen expression. His already battered body had sustained yet more injuries during this fight, leaving his body numb to pain.

  The numbness was welcome news, if not for the bleeding sensation that it concealed, making Corvus oblivious to his injuries.

  ?However, despite the benumbing thrashing, he could feel his back and arms throbbing rhythmically. Clenching his arm, he forcefully quelled the vibration.

  He pried open the jaws of one of the dead white wolves and retrieved a blade slick with vomit and blood. The beast had coughed the weapon out, yet it drowned in its own blood.

  The blade that had once been part of a deadly double-sided glaive, now resembled a crude saber.

  Corvus then focused on the two remaining wolves—whimpering and groaning in agony. One had a sharp splinter of Kharos lodged in its nape, while the other had its snout sliced open.

  Corvus rolled the roulette of fate and picked the one with cleaved snout.

  Congrats, mutt; you win.

  ?A knife whisked through the air and struck the wolf's heart, killing it immediately. Corvus approached the wolf and sliced a few portions of its meat before pacing ahead.

  ?He spared a short glance at the last remaining wolf—bathed in its own blood and more still gushing out. Any other day, Corvus would have liberated the poor creature from its misery, but not today.

  I'm not in a merciful mood today—your bad luck, mutt.

  Leaving the grisly ground, he followed the wall of the plateau he’d leapt from, hoping to find a settlement ahead. Blood dripped from him as he walked, leaving a crimson trail in his wake. Yet he was unbothered; he’d left enough meat behind to buy himself time to disappear.

  His mind, however, was weighed by other pressing concerns. His inner turmoil was one of note, but apart from it, the gash on his abdomen showed no signs of improving. His march thus became a race against time.

  ?The recently acquired wounds from the wolves were also concerning, but they posed no immediate threat, other than occasional stings whenever his numbness momentarily faded.

  ?Traversing the snowy expanse, Corvus—mindful of his wounds—moved slowly. Somewhere along the way, his pain had returned. Soft cold winds would sometimes brush against his injuries, making the pain ripple across his body.

  Focus on the face of the Oathkeepers when I'll torture them—don't focus on the pain. Think of their flesh shredding... like mine—no! The Oathkeepers screaming by... the Kharos which is no more... it's not working at all—damn.

  Pain was a nuisance more than a true hindrance to Corvus, though he felt its sting all the same. Before long, the night gave way to dawn, the sun hidden rising somewhere behind the peaks of Silent Heights.

  ?Behind him, he heard dozens of footsteps—growing heavier with each passing moment. His hair rose on end as he turned back.

  A hundred or so meters away, a pack of over a dozen wolves charged toward him. It seemed as if the snow itself had sprouted legs and was sprinting across its own kin—their white pelts betrayed only by the scarlet smeared across their muzzles.

  'Were the five wolves not enough to sate them?

  ?He quickly jumped over the plateau's rim, planting his blade and knife into its icy wall. The wolves noticed their prey trying to escape and picked up their pace. Straining his battered body and mangled hand, Corvus managed to climb several meters high; he felt safe for the moment.

  Though how long this safety would last was anybody's guess.

  ?Lined up below him, fourteen wolves growled. They took turns leaping at him; some came close but none reached him.

  Good, they should leave soon.

  However, even after realizing the futility of their efforts, the pack did not leave. Instead, they settled beneath him—waiting patiently for their quarry.

  After the wolves continued to linger beyond a few hours, Corvus realized, They are not here for food—they are here for revenge.

  A chill ran through him. He understood that he would eventually have to face the pack.

  He decided to wait for a while longer and postponed any hasty action. An hour passed, then another, but the wolves were yet to show any signs of retreating, and Corvus knew that time was against him.

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  ?The sun, now shone directly above Silent Heights, showering its brilliant light upon all of creation. Bathed in the sunlight, the wolves' menacing visages became clear to Corvus—their bared teeth, tensed claws, and above all, their seething, malice-filled eyes.

  They won't retreat, will they.

  ?Letting out a short sigh, he spoke, "Here I come, you blank canvases; to paint you in red." And plunged down, landing with a soft thud on the snow.

  ?Instantly a wolf lunged at him. He swiftly reacted with a wide slash, injuring the wolf's muzzle while also making the other wolves wary of approaching Corvus thoughtlessly.

  Although one of his arms was injured, it was still armed with a knife, which occasionally levelled at the wolves. It was meant to keep the wolves away from his blindside.

  ?His main weapon, the blade, kept the wolves at bay and every now and then injured them with minor cuts. Corvus fared much better this time against the larger number of wolves, primarily because he had carefully guarded the space that the previous pack had breached during his sleep.

  ?Yet, it was not enough to secure a victory; gradually he was getting tired, losing blood, and making more mistakes. The wolves, on the other hand, even if not able to wound him, kept on harassing him.

  Corvus had to be acutely observant at all times that which among the fourteen was about to strike—often more than three did so at once.

  ?The dreary back and forth continued for a while, with neither side gaining or losing much. But soon the impasse shattered.

  When he was fending off two wolves on his right, a wolf slipped past his guarded space and clawed at his stomach—Corvus was a split second too late to react. Though he quickly re-established his space, the first blood was drawn. And it was his.

  ?The wolves instinctively learnt the lesson. They soon began to breach through more of Corvus's defenses. For every wolf that he missed, a mark was left on his flesh.

  ?Breathing heavily, his heart began to pump adrenaline. It coursed through his veins and kept him warm and ignited despite the cold. Simultaneously, the loss of blood filled a chilling sensation throughout his body.

  ?Caught between chills and a rush of energy, he began to sweat profusely. The sweat drops rolled over the scores of scars and bite marks on his marred, evoking an unsettling and eerie mood.

  I won't last long like this. I've to go all in—consequences be damned. It's do or die now.

  ?Abandoning all caution, Corvus took to an all-out offensive. He stepped on a lunging wolf and jumped over the pack.

  The wolves behind, unable to react or dodge in time amid the congestion, were left exposed. Seizing the opening, Corvus spun and severed the hind legs of two wolves—effectively retiring them from the fight.

  ?The others, in a fit of rage, lunged at him simultaneously. Some he dodged, while others hit their mark—hurting him further. Undeterred, Corvus maintained his counterstrike.

  ?Moving like an elusive shadow, he inflicted several dire blows on the wolves, even killing one in the process and maiming two others. But many more still remained standing, who relentlessly attacked him. Letting go of pain, rage, and even his accursed fate, Corvus focused on what he did best. Murder.

  Gradually, he became familiar with their attack patterns. His response no longer required deliberation; it became a matter of course—dodge, lean, attack, jump, and repeat. He moved with the cadence of death, becoming its harbinger. Two more wolves fell beneath his blade, but he paid their deaths no regard. He was simply lost in a rhythm of his own.

  Soon he forgot everything—the wolves, the world, and even himself—and felt only a melody that dwarfed everything yet it echoed no sound at all.

  Suddenly, his entire being made sense. Corvus could trace every inch of his body vividly within his mind; every graze, every drop of blood and sweat rolling down his body, and the blade itself, as if an extension of himself.

  ?He felt the blade deftly move in the wind, cleaving flesh and bone. The blood smeared across of its slightly rough edges, tasted as clearly as if placed on his tongue.

  In the smooth, tranquil flow of his being, only the blade's roughness felt out of place, slightly disrupting his rhythm. So, Corvus willed it to sharpen; and it did, but only in his mind. In reality, the blade remained battered and uneven.

  ?Yet, the blade's sharpness increased manifold. The wolves' claws or bone structure no longer offered any resistance; slicing them became as easy as slicing the air itself.

  ?His macabre dance continued for a while when finally everything clicked into place. Corvus had achieved Unity. He had awakened.

  Opening his eyes, he inhaled a long breath. It felt like his first breath, or precisely, the first one he savored as much. Each subsequent breath filled his body with an amazing potency.

  Looks like I've joined the ranks of the Mundukar. It really feels great, no wonder the geezer is always laughing... On second thought it might just be him, no it definitely is just him; no doubt.

  ?He looked down and observed the bloody tattered cloak wrapped around him, and clawed and wounded flesh underneath them.

  Not my best look by far.

  ?Then he glanced around him: the snow drank in the blood and became deep scarlet, while the stench of gore and blood suffused in the air gave out an all too familiar scent of death.

  Sprawled on it was the mutilated corpses of several white wolves. None of their deaths had been clean; they all had equally suffered at the hands of a vicious demon.

  Not their best look either.

  ?Now, only three wolves remained. Though none dared to approach Corvus anymore, however they also did not retreat yet. Perhaps they were yet making their decision, or maybe just confused in fear.

  Corvus should have left the remaining wolves alone and moved ahead to find help for his critical body.

  ?However, with the newly awakened power surging within him and bitterness and spite fuelling his actions, Corvus was yet to have his fill. He dropped the blade—it felt like loss of a limb, but without any pain—and focused the surging power into his hands, empowering them beyond human limits.

  ?His eyes kindled with malice and wrath. He gazed at two of the three wolves near him, and moved at a frightening pace. Before the wolves could even realize, he grabbed them by their muzzles and flung them at the plateau wall—shattering some of their bones instantly.

  The wolves screeched, their bodies convulsing in agony. Standing above them, his figure eclipsed the sun itself. They shuddered beneath his gaze. Indifferent to their suffering, Corvus offered a faint smirk. In that instant, they understood their place in the new hierarchy of beasts.