Waves of ocean peel away at the layers of orange sand, with the light of dusk shedding its grief on the beach of eternal sorrow. A pair of silver paws, tread lightly on the gentle sands, leaving behind trails of a lone wolf's journey. The shadow that walks by the sole beast's side resembles the general shape of a human, with fur bristling over his body. The ocean's breeze lifts his thick mane, behind a wolf's head. Claws replace nails, tracing the grains of sand tenderly.

Suddenly, the forlorn beast halts at a scarlet gem beside his paw. The werebeast crouches to pick up the ruby and holds it up against the setting sun. Through the crystal, a wave of sorrowful gale rushes up against the beast, ruffling the tufts on his chest. A soft voice struggles to mutter. "When will you come?"

The beast does not realize the reflection within the ocean's water, advancing and retreating. A similar face of beast-kin appears, with brown fur and gold eyes. The fiendish visage glances at the silver creature with indifference.

A thin, unnoticeable thread laces the edge of every wave, regardless of water's countless forms. As if a divine barrier, the sand stays dry regardless of the constant lunges of the orange ocean.

✲

A solitary soul has one purpose, one mind, and one component. The world hosts numerous souls that rest in solitude, unaware of one another. The rhythm each soul emits perfect the imperfection that troubles these lonesome spirits. Gradually, these prideful essences of existence acknowledge each other, embracing one another. Only then, a soul can see its reflection in another soul's presence.

The mutual recognition blends the various flavors and colors the souls hold. Eventually, the companionship of one another become inevitable and indispensable. However, no matter how much a soul cherishes another, the two can never morph into one complete existence.

From the depth of abyss, the yearning of darkness levitates. Descending from the thin air beyond the pale clouds, light's curiosity dives into the arms of what lies below.

✲

The view of the vast ocean returns, but the scarlet sky filled with burning clouds is replaced with darkness slowly dissipating by the might of the rising sun. Dawn approaches as the ocean reflects the faint light climbing heaven's ladder. Above the ripples, there stands a carmine beast with his back against the new light. His impassive grey eyes petrify all that dares to protest.

With the blink of an eye, the entire ocean becomes a solid block of ice. As a barrier of its own, the sand is denied of water's nurturing touch. Sluggishly, the sun sends shattered shards of ice vaporizing into glowing stardust, rising from a field of sealed memories. Life begins anew.

2: Downfall Part I Chapter I: Weary Strike

Another bright day on the outskirts of Pluvia, a city sleeping in the wilderness. Lives are vivid, ushering spring after a harsh winter. The sun shoves away fragments of clouds, beaming with morning's grace. Shadows of the reborn trees sway in a light breeze, leaves scatter in the sky. The great city in a distance seems prosperous and industrious. Steams rise steadily. A leisure aura surrounds the tall castle made of steel, overseeing the vast land. Little does the world know of the rising storm hidden in the breeze.

A carriage appears from the line of the earth and sky, approaching the city with ease. A great amount of soldiers surround the vehicle, moving by the force of two dark horses. Stones dot the path, creating somewhat of a road leading into Pluvia.

Within the cabin of the carriage sits two, one of noble appearance: a wealthy lady. Her young age does not reflect on her countenance, not even on her mature attire. Her verdant body remains the only indicator of her actual age. A pair of sapphires encrusted on her pale, oval slate. Her stern expression seems indestructible. Long, scarlet hair flows well down her fragile back, professionally layered and trimmed. A strange, but dainty necklace lies between her breasts, a marble black cross with a silver wolf's head emerging from the smooth surface, howling wistfully with its eyes closed.

"Snow," her lips move, light and monotonously. "Where did snow go?"

Her companion, a young man in his early twenties. He does not have any trace of facial hair, or any indicator of his gender. The gentleman wears shoulder-length, silver hair. Quite professionally fixed himself. Though, he does not have nearly as stolid an expression as the younger lady by his side. Matching the lady's scarlet hair, the man's ruby eyes swirl in large ponds of their own. They are windows to his soul, truly; gleaming as they spiral to examine the environment acutely. His complexion, however, seems tanned. Also, darkness engulfs his attire, shrouded by a trench coat. In addition, a rather pretentious fedora rests lazily over his right eye. A smile spreads across his lips. "Lady Cane, season has to change."

Slowly turning her head, the madam in a white robe fixes her gaze on the grinning man. "Why, does it not stay forever?"

"We are closing in on Pluvia, you must be homesick, your highness."

Cane crosses her hands in her laps, clenching her robe. "From being an ambassador to Solem, I am quite fatigued. Dealing with savage beasts on diplomatic terms is rather ludicrous. Wouldn't you agree, Creo?"

Creo's eyebrow twitches, he sets his eyes on a distant object. "I'm afraid I do not have an opinion to offer."

"Werewolves, they're better off dead." Cane sneers impassively, resting her head gently.

The lady's companion dries his smile, leering at the same direction as his mistress does. Creo's eyes narrow slightly, then hurls himself at Cane with incredible speed. The two drop to the floor of the large cabin immediately. Before the outraged lady can complain, numerous arrows soar through the space where she once sat.

Howls, endless roars and cries fill the air. A moment later, humans' shouts join the melody of battle. Panicked shrieks overwhelm words of actual meaning. Creo helps the lady to her feet, dusting off the dirt on her robe. However, he receives a slap to his cheek. Cane squints her eyes. "You could have done something better than tackling me."

"My apologies," the gentleman tilts his hat, neglecting the punishment. His mind clouds elsewhere, eyes slowly rotating from left to right. "Let's not waste anymore time, these creatures are rather hungry."

Swinging open the carriage door, bright light assaults the pair's eyes before the actual enemies do. A human flies across the earth and knocks the massive vehicle over, the horses had already fled.

Creo glances at the vile monsters with a regretful frown. Mostly muscular, covered in fur coats of a variety of color, yet all tainting the scarlet paint: blood. These humanoids pounce viciously at the remaining humans with wolfish heads, extended muzzles, and heavy manes. Of course, one cannot overlook the blade-sharp claws and powerful teeth. In a light,they can be beautiful creatures with great prowess. However, not so in the occurring massacre.

"Fresh air, just what I need." Creo stretches with manner, then carries Cane down the carriage.

The lady demands to be let down to the ground. She holds her guardian back with a hand, shaking her head from left to right. "Do not help them, the loyal guards are more than enough, to the extent of my belief."

Creo obediently tugs his hands into his pockets, he happens to be a rather lean fellow. The werewolves are about two heads taller than him, werewolf heads. He rubs his chin studiously, eyes focused on the battle before him. Occasionally, the strange man nods in agreement to some invisible objects.

"What are you doing?"

The silver-haired man presses down on his black fedora, smirking. "My lady, don't you see that one is wearing an earring? There, that one wears a bracelet. Heh, is that a necklace? Now now, is that a tail armo—"

The praises of Creo is cut short by another strike to his cheek. Cane's blue eyes convey a sense of irritated anger, quite frightening for a small being such as herself. "What are you suggesting, that these animals actually have intelligence?"

"They do have tastes in fashion, my la—"

Cane draws her sword, pressing the tip of the blade against Creo's heart. Her countenance seems solemn. "Recreo Cautes, you are my servant, now act like one before I erase you."

Another soldier lands near the conversing two. A beast catches the fleeing troop by his leg, then falls on the victim. Beneath the armor, soft and tender flesh await. To accompany that, delicious, salty blood saturates the meat; what divine fusion. The pleasure of ending a struggling life, the ability to feast on one's prey.

A death cry, brief and arousing. A victorious howl quickly engulfs the suffering cries, for that the beast locks his teeth around the dying soldier. Blood sprays like fountain, showering its surroundings.

Corpses are tossed around, this can no longer be called a battlefield. A cafeteria, or a restaurant would be better descriptions for the scene. Creo grins at the closing werewolves. "My lady, should I interrogate one of them to find the culprit?"

"No need, there are more people that want me dead than I wish know." Cane takes a careful step back, motioning her servant onward tediously.

Surprisingly, one of the larger beasts open its mouth and speaks legitimate language. It's impossible to understand, but definitely viable for its fellow monsters.

"Your highness, they are discussing how delicious your flesh will be, and how they will distribute your body parts." Creo turns his head, somehow translating perfectly with warm smile that never leaves his face. "And uh, they are discussing other uses of you other than food. I fear it is rather inappropri—"

"Kill them."

"Understood."

A pair of pistols leap from their sheaths, attaching themselves to the servant's hands. The beasts hurl at the only barrier between themselves and their food, or toy. The first approaches quite bluntly, bringing its massive claws down on the thin gentleman.

Creo deflects the strike aside with his pistol's silver barrels swiftly, then whirls around and brings his foot into the air and lands a kick to the beast's mouth. Out of blind rage, the monster retaliates by tackling. Exploiting the opening, the servant hugs one leg of the werewolf. Caught by surprise, the creature flips in the air and falls heavily on his back.

Whining in pain, the beast covers its face in fear of being shot. Creo grins slightly, then fires a solitary bullet into the monster's stomach.

Turning, the other members of the pack quickly attack in formation. Their attempt of overwhelming their enemy with numbers is within Creo's prediction. An assault from two directions, the man closes his eyes to usher the correct moment of counterattack.

In a flash, Creo's coat tumbles off his body and lands on the head of an attacking beast, it stumbles into the rest of the packs. While one direction is occupied, the pistol wielder avoids an incoming strike by leaping into the air from a beast's shoulder.

A perfect aerial somersault, followed with a bullet barrage from above. The creatures beneath drop to their knees, slumping to the ground consecutively. However, none of them bleed much.

Abruptly, a stealthy beast cunningly tackles from behind. A success, Creo rolls for a good distance in the embrace of a werewolf. The two halt, with the beast dominating over the gentleman. Before any claws can thrust through any flesh, Creo wraps his legs around the massive werewolf's waist, then somehow rotates himself to the back of the monster.

The servant's hands are busy digging through thick fur in search of his opponent's throat. Once located, his fingers tightens around it. Suffocated, the werewolf sinks to the earth, unconscious.

Rising once more, the gentleman pats himself to dust off fur. His white vest seems undamaged, along with his coat resting on the ground. Collected himself, Creo reports to his mistress with manner. "My lady, it is done."

"Did you not hear me?"

A warm smile returns the harsh question. "What do you mean, your highness?"

"My command was to kill them, they are not dead." Cane glances across the field, every fallen foe breathes perfectly. They are only unconscious, without suffering much either.

"Ah, I apologize, I have mistaken tranquilizers with silver bullets." Creo chuckles, placing his weapons back into their sheaths.

"Do you have any idea what disobeying my order would do to you?" The lady sneers condescendingly, jabbing her sword into the ground before Creo.

The servant merely lifts the blade and helps it back into its sheath. His facial expression seems rather antic, no different than a child attending an amusement park. "My lady, we have a dance lesson at ten in the morning. At noon, we are to report to the king. At four in the afternoon, we are to receive an ambassador from Pestis."

"Another one of those barbarians? I'm sick of them."

Creo lowers himself, inquiring. "Do you wish to be carried? Pluvia is still quite far."

"You can keep your stinking back to yourself." Cane whips her hair, strolling ahead of her servant.

"Yes, my lady."