Snippet #2776160

Seventy-four times. That was how many times they had been forced to endure the same trivial and mundane pageantry. There had been seventy-four Guardians, and Lyssa/Lycaon would, if they had not already, outlive them all. And once the next cycle had ended, it would repeat… a chain of events that seemed to have no end in sight. The seventy-fifth would be no different. Just as insignificant and fickle as the last, or the next for the matter.

Lycaon drug his feet as he walked, lacking any enthusiasm for what would surely be a dull political affair. His arms hanging by his sides, he was flanked by two beasts, one to each side of him. The one to his right was named Roxa. She was rather small, a creature with the horned head of a wolf, and the strong legs of a dragon. With dark-purple hair and blue scaly-legs, she was an odd sight, walking quietly behind her master, her wings wrapped around her and tail bobbing behind her as she remained ever close to Lycaon. To his left was Falkor, a creature that had a looming presence. A hellhound, he had midnight-black fur and paws that were large enough to crush a man's skull. With snarling canines and a vicious demeanor, his frigid blue eyes scanned the area, wary of any potential threats to Lycaon. While Falkor and Roxa could not have been more different, the one thing they did have in common was an undying devotion towards Lyssa and Lycaon. Being that their form was that of Cerberus, who once stood guard at the Gates of Hell, it was not unusual to see that most of the Beasts who surrounded them were of a canine variety.

“Cheer up, Lycaon!” A sprightful voice could be heard - but only in the recesses of Lycaon’s own mind. “Why would I do a dreadful thing like that?” Lycaon could be heard mumbling under his breath to himself, his eyes glancing at his siblings suspiciously as if he were afraid of drawing attention to himself. “Well, aren’t you a little chippy? Would love to be there, but you have always had a ‘thing’ for humans. Personally, they disgust me. Frail bodies and weak minds… the only pleasant thing about their lives is how meaningless and short they are.” Lycaon scoffed, “Yes. Because you are so high and mighty. Maybe if you had any balls…” His words were cut short as Lyssa interrupted him. “Now, now. No need to get testy. You know how I adore making a proper entrance. Someone must keep these pathetic Guardians on their toes because if I do not, who will? Not like we can expect anything out of you. Sometimes I wonder if I should have been the one born with balls.”

Lycaon tensed up, his fists clenching into a ball. “They are not all bad!” His outburst would no doubt catch the attention of others, but he seemed to shrug such concerns away as he continued walking – as if nothing had happened. “Besides, with seventy-four Guardians, there were bound to be a few bad apples.” Lyssa’s laughing seemed to almost echo in every corner of his mind. “Hah! A few? That is the understatement of the year. I should know. I have been counting a miserable 759 of them. I swear, sometimes I think you take for granted everything I have had to do to keep US safe.” Lyssa had done many things over the last seven centuries to protect them; ungodly things done out of necessity. It was a cruel world, and Lyssa of all people made no mistake in accepting that they were anything but prisoners. Their purpose, their very existence, was one of eternal servitude to the powers who ruled over Eden. She had no other recourse but to play along… at least for now…