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If you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones 'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs

0 · 498 views · located in Earth

a character in “Glamour: From Ashes to Wine”, as played by kokiri_kat


"I do not think fighting is a choice. I do not do it out of hate, nor do I fight for want of glory. If you had the ability to protect those who could not protect themselves, would you really say no?"


He has been known by many names; though most are simply by proxy. Humans do so love giving a name to what they fear: Fenrisúlfr, Hróðvitnir, Vánagandr, Demon wolf. Hehe. He quite likes that one. But the name he is most commonly called by humans is Fenrir.

Mother Nature’s Child

Pushing 900


His story had its origins in Norse Mythology. Fenrir: son of the demoniac god Loki, killer of Odin. Of course, none of that is true, but humans often sensationalize the inexplicable; and a monstrous wolf sighted in the ice capped mountains of the Nordic region was pretty inexplicable.

Romantic Interest(s):
Hundreds of years of existence and not a single broken-hearted story to tell. Is that sad? Don’t try to tell him that. He’s above that sort of thing.

He is a… difficult creature to label on this point. Having lived a life largely away from society of any kind, he has had no cause to feel that kind of love or attraction for anyone, really. It could perhaps be said that he just does not know; nor does he have any particular wish to find out.

"These old things? All the better to eat you with, my dear..."

He is by no means the size of your average wolf. Kodak is much larger, perhaps closer to the size of a large bear. He is roughly 5 feet tall at the shoulder.

400 lbs.

Fur, fur, he’s covered in it. From the top of his paws to the tip of his tail he is covered in pure white fur, and oh does he take pride in it. It is thick, ample and luxurious; as soft as a bunny rabbit’s tummy, with the lustrous sheen of health. As is true with many animals that sport fur coats, it only grows thicker as winter approaches. But, he is always sure to keep it well groomed and free of tangles. Honestly, it’s a bit of an obsession of his. And yes, he has been known to strut about like a proud peacock from time to time. Don’t judge him.

Two eyes of the palest blue you have ever seen; icy, ghostly, and slightly off-putting. You will never be able to tell if Kodak is looking at you or through you, but the otherworldly look in those eyes will make you think it’s the latter. He is looking beyond, at something only he can see. His eyes are a mystery, a riddle whose answer holds all the wisdom in the world if you could only solve it. Just don’t think he’ll make it easy on you, ducky.

Kodak may be a large wolf, but his body is svelte. All four of his legs are long and spindly, folding out from his torso effortlessly and capping off with paws the size of a man’s head. The majority of his height is made up in these long legs. His upper body is bulky and muscular, with a thick neck and hard chest curving upwards into a particularly slim lower abdominal area. Cascades of weighty fur only add to the bulk, especially around his neck and head, giving him the appearance of a lion’s mane. His tail is also predominantly made up of fur. It is quite long and almost feline in nature, whirling and curling as if it had a mind of its own.

There are several strange tribal markings on Kodak’s body that have been there since birth. It is as though they are etched or burned into his fur, and they run along his upper muzzle, above his eyes, across his left cheek, and down his two front paws. Most of the time, they are a dark, inky color. But, when he wishes to appear more intimidating, he can use glamour to make these markings, and his eyes, glow a deep crimson. His teeth appear larger and more menacing, and a hazy substance emanates from his body like a harsh snowdrift.

If, however, he wishes to appear in a more benevolent form, he will use the guise of a human. In this human form, he is tall and thin, with pale skin and the same ice blue eyes. His hair is thick, untamable and white as his fur in wolf form. His nose is long, and a bit curved in the bridge, and his lips are pouted and downturned at the corners. He has the look of a human male in his early thirties. His glamour is not strong enough, however, to make him completely human. It cannot disguise his wolf ears or his tail, but overall, it is a less intimidating form than his true one if he ever had to appear to a human.

Preferred Clothing:
The only time he can be seen wearing clothing of any kind is when he uses glamour to appear to humans. But because of his limited interactions with humans, he hasn’t the foggiest idea—or the inclination to know what the kids are wearing these days. In fact, he is so out of touch with modern day fashion that the best he can manage is an ensemble which could date back to the darks ages: lightweight leather armor and boots, covered with a hooded cape seemingly made of a wolf’s pelt.

"Don't test me. Just don't. I'd hate to have to show you what my ugly side looks like."

All creatures have a multi-faceted personality, and Kodak is no exception. His has been crafted and shaped, molded like clay in the hands of a potter for hundreds of years. It was not something he was born with; he’s done his fair share of changing, but overall he is a steady soul, planted firmly in the ground like a redwood tree. He is the calm, intellectual type, unwilling to give an opinion unless he has deduced every angle of a situation. That said, once he has, he generally thinks he knows best, and he does have a certain amount of wisdom, he likes to think; far from the hot-headed, eager to please youth who seem to dominate the population these days. No, he’s been around too long for that. Not that he was ever what one might call a “wild youth.” Circumstances and expectations made him grow up quickly. And if he ever did anything particularly wild… well, no one remembers it.

Once he’s seen a problem from every angle, he is very much a determined, take action sort of chap, and he’s very comfortable giving orders, like a barking general; and while he might try his best to spare your feelings if he really likes you, he usually doesn’t bark very gently. When something needs doing, Kodak can be relied upon to get it done. While he does have a strong moral compass, he has never been the type to squirm at getting his paws dirty, as long as it is in the name of justice. Kodak has taken lives, but don’t worry, they had it coming, and what’s done is done. Don’t expect him to feel guilty for doing what he believes to be the right thing.

If he does take a shine to somebody, he will often show it by guiding the person as best he can in a grumbly grandfatherly sort of way. He has a wry sense of humor, and a devilish streak a mile wide, and if he likes you, you may find yourself the butt of his jokes. You might as well be flattered. It means he respects you. If he didn’t, he simply wouldn’t give you the time of day, period.

Growing up under the watchful eyes of Mother Nature was a bit more challenging than one might expect. Of course she was kind and loving, and she never treated Kodak as anything less than her only son, but with that loving care came a certain amount of pressure and expectation to be better than those who preceded him. It also came with a cautious observance, ya know, just to make sure he didn’t inherit his father’s malevolent tendencies. She tried not to make it obvious, but he could see. He knew when he was being tested, knew when he was being inspected, and he developed a certain guard; a shield against such scrutiny. It goes up the moment he meets someone new, and needless to say, he has a small amount of trust issues.

The crimes of Kodak’s father hit him hard. For a long time, he didn’t know. His mother shielded him from it for as long as she could, but the wretched truth always has a nasty habit of coming out; turning up like a bad penny. He found out. He found out and all at once, a million unuttered questions were answered, and he understood. He knew why he had always felt like an alien in his own land, always felt just a tiny bit… off somehow. And it hit him. It shook him to his very core in a way that forever changed him; made him strive to be better, made him strive to be good. Because, that’s what his father was, wasn’t it? Evil? And now it’s the thing he has fought his whole life against becoming.

Because of what Fenrir did to the humans, Kodak has tried to become their unofficial protector, tried to make up for the wrongs committed against them, and prove to himself and others that he is not his father. When a Fae strays too close to human territory, or threatens humans in any malicious way, Kodak will be there to warn them against it if he can. It is also why he answered his Queen’s call without hesitation. But, no matter how hard he tries to undo Fenrir’s wrongs, he will always carry his father’s sins around his neck like the poetic albatross; forever threatening to choke him, to drown him in a sea of implications. He remembers—when he was just a pup—before he knew the truth, he remembers that everyone would tell him, with an uncertain smile, just how much he reminded them of his father.

Kodak is… annoyingly obsessive compulsive when it comes to grooming habits. His vanity knows no bounds, and the moment he is presented with a spot, splotch, stain, mark, smear, blot, smudge, or blemish of any kind, he immediately has to get rid of it. His fur must be pristine and absolutely tangle free at all times. No really, his excessive grooming behavior is up there with even the cleanliest kitty cat.

  • The feeling of dirt beneath his paws
  • The smells of the woods
  • First snow of Winter
  • Absolutely freezing climates
  • Impressionable young minds to mold

  • Dirt on his fur
  • Feeling confined or tied-down
  • Hot weather
  • Large cities
  • Any mention of Fenrir

Fears are intimate things, and Kodak does not like to admit to the ones he has, even to himself. But they are there, squirming about inside of him like microscopic entities, causing a frisson of anticipation as they rear their ugly heads. His ears perk up, his pupils dilate, and the fur along his narrow spine shifts almost imperceptibly. He fears large crowds and small spaces. Being a child of the forest, of wide open spaces, he is accustomed to a certain amount of freedom. He is also accustomed to a certain amount of seclusion. When either of these freedoms is threatened, he feels trapped, imprisoned, and worst of all, out of control. Control is security, control allows him to thrive. Without it, he has nothing.

He fears that others will hold him accountable for his father’s crimes; that those who remember—those who can never forget—will only ever think of him as a monster’s son.

But, the fear that he keeps buried the deepest is the fear of his father; or rather, becoming his father. Fenrir’s sins may have been committed a lifetime ago, but his son is still struggling beneath their weight. He feels corrupted by them, forever tainted, as if they clung to him like a splattering of crimson red paint that everyone could see. And as much as he may run from the fact, there is a darkness inside him that threatens to bubble to the surface from time to time; a mark, a stain left by the man who sired him.

"Well, I could tell you that my bark is worse than my bite, but I’m afraid I’d be lying."

  • The Alpha
  • Kodak is something of a natural born leader. Whether it’s an instinct passed on through his wolf DNA, or just an indelible part of his personality, he seems to have that special quality of charisma that makes people follow him. He is more than willing to take charge of any situation, and he does so with a commanding air which leaves little room for questioning. He absolutely oozes authority, and he hates being challenged in any way.

  • The Hunter
  • With enhanced visual, auditory and olfactory senses, Kodak makes an excellent hunter. He can see clearly in the dark, and he can track animals, fae, humans, etc. by their smell for several miles. But Kodak’s hearing is by far his most acute sense and he is able to hear up to a frequency of 26 kHz which is enough to register the sound of a leaf falling to the ground. Along with his enhanced senses, he is also quite adept at stalking or sneaking up on prey despite his large size.

  • Swift Paws
  • Ever light of foot, quick and silent is how this wolf usually moves. He can top out at about 40 mph with excellent endurance. He is also quite persistent, willing to chase his quarry for several miles if need be, but everyone tires out eventually.

  • Pack Mentality
  • Kodak can communicate with and command his related species Canis Lupus. His wolf brethren are excellent sources of information on fae behavior all around the world since most fae rarely hide themselves from animals. They are also more than willing to do his bidding as their perceived “father.” He can sense distress from his “pack,” and this ability is not limited to wolves alone, it extends to anyone he has taken into his pack, including other fae and even humans. He can sense when they are in trouble, wounded, sick, or just generally upset in any way, even if they are separated.

  • The Alpha
  • His greatest strength can also be his weakness at times. As previously mentioned, he hates when his authority is challenged. He can be a stubborn brute if it comes down to it, unwilling to yield no matter how convincing the argument. He has a very “father knows best” sort of attitude, and thus, he has real trouble admitting when he is wrong.

  • Magic
  • While he can use a bit of it himself, like an immune system ill-equipped to deal with the flu, he is also more susceptible to its damaging effects. Offensive magic hits him harder than any blow from a sword or bullet from a gun.

  • Fire
  • Being a creature with an affinity for ice and snow, it is only natural that his opposing force is fire, and thus, it can be very damaging to him.

  • Isstíga (Ice Step)
  • Ice spreads out from his paws, freezing the ground below him and freezing his opponents feet where they stand in a circular radius around him.

  • Andast (Last Breath)
  • Frost emanates from within him like a dragon breathing fire and freezes his opponent solid for a limited amount of time.

His strong jowls and sharp fangs are the only weapons he requires.

Fighting Style:
Lightning fast. Brutal. Bloody. But what else could you expect from a creature who’ll rip your throat out with his teeth? He is in his element when he can get the jump on his opponent, and honestly it isn’t that difficult to do considering his skill set. He is an excellent stalker, able to track his target patiently, and conceal himself long enough to attack before you even know his is there. It is very unlikely that his target will be bigger than him, but if it is, he will usually attack from the side. If it is smaller, he will attack from the front, going for the throat immediately. His main goal is to do enough damage that his opponent will die from blood loss. If he is in a real bind, he will use his magical abilities, but in general he will hunt like a wolf was meant to.

"Lives are like snowflakes. All beautiful, making patterns we have seen before on the surface; but if you look closely enough, everyone is unique."


Fenris Wolf
It is by no means a plentiful species. There have only ever been four that he knows of, and of those four, he is the last. The Fenris Wolf is characterized by his above average size. They are generally two to three times the size of your normal gray or timber wolf, but still displaying the classic appearance of the Canis Lupus species with a broad snout, pointed ears, and thick coats of varying colors. The most obvious distinction between the two species—besides the Fenris’ larger size—is that the Fenris Wolf has a much longer tail. They also exhibit the same enhanced visual, auditory, and olfactory senses.

But what really makes them special, sets them apart from their normal animal brethren, and categorizes them as fae, is their mental faculties and magical abilities. Fenris wolves are immortal and will not die of natural causes. They are exceedingly intelligent, and have to ability to both learn and speak multiple languages in addition to their natural ability to communicate with normal wolves. Their health regenerates at a faster rate than some beings, and they have the innate magical ability to manipulate ice in various ways depending on their skill level. His father and brothers were quite adept at this, but Kodak’s abilities are more elementary by comparison.

How his father managed to produce a batch of sons is somewhat of a mystery. Until Kodak’s older brothers came along, Fenrir was thought to be the only Fenris Wolf, and there didn’t seem to be any female of the species. Kodak has tried, to no avail, to propagate his species by mating with other wolves. This, however, has only produced “normal” pups. Whatever Fenrir’s secret was—however he sired Kodak and his brothers—he seems to have taken it with him to his grave.

  • Mother Nature
  • Though she may be the mother of many in the metaphorical sense, she is his mother quite literally. Adoptive mother, but still, she is the only one he has ever known. Alive.

  • Fenrir
  • The original “father of wolves,” and the first Fenris Wolf; his father, his namesake in the human world, and his eternal shame. Deceased-Executed for his crimes against humanity just after Kodak’s birth, or so he has been led to believe.

  • Kharjo and Fenrigg
  • Kodak’s elder brothers. Twins. Old enough to take sides in a rebellion that would forever separate the Fae and human worlds. Unfortunately, they chose the losing side. They are either Deceased along with their father, or being held in a prison for the rest of eternity. Kodak is not sure. He’s never wanted to ask.

Honestly, his history isn’t the important one. Kodak’s life, though long, hasn’t been particularly eventful. His years, especially the recent ones, have been spent roaming the world looking for fae who might deliberately or inadvertently harm humans—to stop them in the first case, and warn them in the second. No, his is not the history that defines him. The events which led to him becoming who he is were unravelling before he was even born.

He remembers, quite vividly, the day when everything changed for him. He was on the brink of maturity; no longer a pup but not quite an adult either. It was a hot summer day. Fairies were flying about in the Sacred Grove, and bees were buzzing from flower to flower. It was truly picturesque. He was playing with another fae—a boy his age, a centaur. He was having fun, for once. A boy who was half-horse was about equal to his size and therefore there was no need to be gentle. Kodak was winning their rough-housing match. But then the centaur grew angry and began to taunt him. He spat hurtful venomous words that couldn’t be true. Kodak didn’t believe him. Not at first.

He said that his father was a monster—a disgrace to all fae. That he was at the forefront of the rebellion years ago when the balance had come dangerously close to tipping. Fenrir hated the humans, he wanted them wiped from the face of the earth and there was no reason why the fae shouldn’t do it. They were more powerful, after all, more superior. Humans should bow to them. And thus, with his two oldest sons at his side, a bitter plot was set in motion to make humans the slaves of the fae.

Fenrir sought the help of a dark fairy who gave him an ability, a curse, it really was, but one that would serve his purpose. In exchange for her help, he promised the fairy a prominent place in the new era which would surely follow. The fairy promised that once Fenrir had fallen under the curse, he would have the ability to turn men into wolves with a single bite, but, she warned, that this curse only worked under the light of the full moon. Once he turned all of mankind into wolves, he would be able to command them to do his bidding, and they would become slaves to the fae for the rest of eternity. And so, Fenrir began appearing to humans in their own form, luring them into the woods when the moon was full. Once they were well alone, he would turn back into his true form and attack them, and the men turned to wolves just as the fairy had promised.

But, the effects of magic are unpredictable. Fenrir’s curse did indeed work, but he began to notice that the wolves didn’t stay wolves. They turned back into humans once the moon began to wane. Fenrir was furious. Once the next full moon arrived, he and his sons attacked an entire village, slaughtering some and turning others into wolves. This outburst gained him the attention of Mother Nature. Fenrir was stopped, but the damage was done. The curse spread into Fenrir’s victims, and when they would bite others during the full moon, even more became cursed, and a new creature was born from wrath and hate and spite: the werewolf.

But Kodak wouldn’t believe. He couldn’t believe that his father could be capable of such atrocities. And why would his mother have kept it from him all this time?

In his anger, he attacked the boy. He bit flesh from his arm, causing blood to spray across the forest floor.

He wouldn’t believe. He couldn’t.

Kodak ran to his mother—begged her to tell him that it wasn’t true. With a sad sigh, and a looked which could only be described as pity, she told him that it was indeed the truth. And then she stroked his face, looking for all the world as if a terrible burden had been lifted from her. He knew it had, because her burden had transferred to him; it was his to carry now, for the rest of his life. He remembered asking her, why she’d spared him, why she hadn’t let him die along with the rest of his family. Because she had replied you were an innocent. He thought of the blood he’d shed on the forest floor.

Was he really? An innocent?

So begins...

Kodak's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kodak
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If there was one thing you learned after living nearly nine hundred years, it was patience. The world could be crumbling around him, and yet, no matter how urgent the situation, there was one thing he would always do: wait, think. Many a death had been caused by rash decisions, and so he’d learned not to act rashly. Yes, his patience had always served him well. And yet, today, Kodak was finding patience rather elusive. His paws thudded softly against the forest floor as the wolf paced back and forth, his eyes fixed firmly on the city below him. His spies had warned him there were whispers of something happening in the city today, and if that wasn’t enough to set him on high alert, there was something else; a feeling that Kodak could not quite identify. Whatever it was, it set him on edge in a way that nothing had been able to for quite some time. He could sense that something was indeed happening today, and it was going to be bad.

It was his job to stop it.

He kept his eyes trained down on the city, surveying it for any unusual activity as the weather began to change. The ugly grey clouds began to open up, and let loose torrents of rain. The trees shielded him from the brunt of the onslaught, but they could not keep him entirely dry. Normally, he would be fussing over his beautiful white coat, but now he barely flinched as the water drenched him, soaking him through and making him feel heavier. The rain did not impair his sight, however, and he squinted his ghostly pale eyes as they caught sight of the something unusual he had been looking for. There it was: a mass, a horde of fae converging on a building. It was a place of learning for children. What was it the humans called it? A school? What could these fae want with helpless children?

But, the answer to that question was too terrible to contemplate further. All that could come from this was chaos and pain and ruin. This was low; even for the Dullahan. Kodak wasted no further time. He began to run at top speed down the forest slope, dirt flying up from beneath his feet and rain still pelting down around him. When he reached the outskirts of the city, he allowed his glamour to conceal him. Even if it seemed that the King of the Unseelie Court wished to force the knowledge of his kind on the human world, deception was still necessary if he wished to reach the school without being stopped. And even if he could hide his wolf ears beneath a hood and his tail behind his cloak, he would still keep to the shadows as best he could. Kodak had learned that the clothing he wore was less than up to date, having garnered more than a few curious glances the last time he attempted to blend himself into the human world. His mother often wondered why he never made more of an effort to hone his glamour ability, but the answer was simple: Kodak did not like using it. It was not because he disliked human society or because he hated the fact that fae had to hide from humans. It was because it reminded him of his father, and the role glamour had played in the events of long ago. And anything that reminded Kodak of his father could not be a good thing.

But now there was little other choice. Kodak ran down the darker back alleyways, allowing himself to be pulled by the sense of other fae in the city. He ran, wishing he could be on four legs instead of two. And as he ran, the sense became stronger, and he knew he was getting close.

He stopped, and he knew he had reached his destination. Staying in the shadows, he surveyed the scene. Humans crowded around the school. Most looked worried, some intrigued, and some inexplicably excited. Kodak pulled his cloak tighter around his body, hoping that it would give him some anonymity. But he needn't have worried. No one bothered to look his way as he moved swiftly but silently along the edge of the crowd, taking care not to draw attention as he looked for a way in. His adept eyes could see the magical barrier formed around the school keeping the humans out, or in. But he doubted whether it had been created to keep fae out as well. He made his way to an area of the school less populated with people and tested his theory. Stretching out a hand, he touched the barrier. With a deep breath, he pushed hard against it, and smiled as his hand went through. Kodak followed his hand through to the other side, and with his guard up, he made his way into the school.


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Shirlee Fiala Character Portrait: Douglas Baines Character Portrait: Shankara Character Portrait: Icarus Brightly Character Portrait: Kodak Character Portrait: Cordatta Avicii
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#, as written by Raidose

The skies were at odds. Rays of sun fighting to break through the shadowy overcast, only to have those same darkening clouds encircle and strangle out the offending beams. Warning growls of thunder rolled through the heavens, like an animal crossed. Even those few areas touched by these golden havens were quickly consumed by fog. The haze grew thicker with unnatural speed, slowly engulfing the whole city. The anxious crowd which had gathered around the police barricade grew disconcertingly quiet, and the local PD were not much better. No demands were given, no orders issued, and still no idea what in the hell that barrier even was. Worse yet was a presence on the horizon. Some unknowable dread which seeped into the bone, making hairs stand on end.

Something wicked this way comes....

The smell of salt rang heavy in the air as the gulls cried in complaint. The plodding, sobriety-challenged footsteps of a local homeless man trekked down to lay his withered body by the docks. He groaned and murmured about the faults of his life, taking another deep swig of misery to cure what ailed him. A dry, cracked hand reached out for support, gripping tight on the old wood post separating him from a quick dip. His leaning turned to a slothful slide as he found himself laying against it, drinking deeper of his spirits only to find that his cup had run dry. Yet the bottom of another bottle searched, and still no answers.

With a disgruntled groan, he cast the offensively empty bottle at the waves and the wall of mist from whence rolled in. The dread shiver of cold came wafting from the waters, making him pull tight his coat. The old man was all but ready for another dreamless sleep, when he heard something splash in the waters. It was light, mind you. Like a fish, but.... not. It wasn't the noise, but the silence that followed which set him on alert. The gulls had fled, the winds had died, and the city went mute. He learned over, to peer into the abyss. Some part of him feared of something down there peering back, and it was....

The water was a bright crimson in color, like something biblical in nature. Slowly his hand dipped in, only to find this was not blood but... slimy. Algae. It was red algae, and from what he could make out through the fog, a whole sea of it. Splash. Another sound, made like thunder against the eerie silence. This.... was not natural. The old man couldn't explain why he feared it, only that he did. It was like he was born to fear this, like some form of predator was eyeing him down. His heart raced, his throat went dry, but nothing happened. And for the next several moments, that was all there was, a big nothing. Nothing except that feeling of dread.

It came in a crack of thunder, like a canon from the sea. An explosion of movement and sounds, as this hulking form leapt from below the waves. It's sound, a Godless mangle of calls, like the death cries of several drowning beasts. On four shattered, jagged hooves it tried to stand, staggering and waving about like a freshly birthed fawn before finding it's own strength. No skin, none save a thick layer of that bright red algae from the sea. Black mollusks pierced out of it's musculature. Stained bones grinning back at him from it's horse-like head. And atop it's back.... No, from it's back, a lifeless cadaver of horrible proportions. Limp, gangly arms dragged the ground, it's upper torso slumped against the horse-like head. This wretched thing looked like something you'd expect to see in a medical museum, pickled as a fetus in a glass jar.

But there it stood, and began to move. Like a corpse reacting to an electrical surge, it's massive limbs twitched before rising of their own free will. The body had gained life, grasping at it's face in pain and letting out a horrible screech. The hellish cry increased in volume steadily, higher and higher, louder and louder, till it threatened to deafen the old man. It'd peaked with a ear-piercing scream, grabbing at the kelp-like mane of it's steed with a strong yank, causing the beast it rode to rear back in pain. Finally it settled, the head of the rider lolling forward like it's neck lacked the strength to hold it. It rolled and twisted, till finally in heart-stopping swiftness, it was staring straight at him. It's eye.... That blood red, burning eye of this damned thing. It Hated the old man. He could feel it. Hell, he could see, taste, smell, and hear it. Every sense he had screamed at him that this thing only wanted him to End.

Pain shot through his left side, immobilizing him against the ground. With one of those ungodly arms, it reached out and point straight at him. His breath caught in his throat, his lungs hyperventilated. All he could do was stare back it it's canid-like head, as the edges of his sight darkened. He gasped and choked, till finally his body gave up. A mercifully blackness spirited him away from this place, from that thing. The Nucke.... That name echoed as the last thought he had. The Nuckelavee.... was free....

Orders came in for the choppers clogging the sky to RTB, the fog making it hazardous to negotiate through the city. Their air support gone and their snipers blinded by the wall of fog, all the police could do was hold the line and wait for orders. Brass was treating this as just an everyday hostage situation, but anyone with eyes could see this was far from normal. Just what in the Hell was that thing? A force field? Was this some kind of military technology? How did these psychos get their hands on it? And what did they want with these children?? People were getting restless, mostly parents wanting to know what's being done to save their children. But the quiet.... that was the worst. It was recent, too. Like things outside this city block just dropped dead. There was a frigid stillness in the air, thicker than any haze.

In the distance, it sounded like a horse's whinny. Everyone, and I mean everyone stopped to look around. The popular question quickly became "what the fuck was that?", as people just stood there scratching their heads. One cop, a rookie holding the back corner of the forward barricade.... he caught sight of it first. A large, looming figure which seemed to materialize out of the fog only a few yards from him. It galloped on horse-back, or so he thought, before it's arms rose up. What.... he thought, before he realized all too late that it was mere feet away. It's gigantic hand scythed straight through him, rendering him nothing but a grisly stain. It rode straight on, a headlong charge for it's objective. Before the masses could react, it's hand plunged into the hood of a squad car, gripping the metal mass by it's chassis and Frisbee-tossing it into the back lines of the police perimeter. Several were caught by the flying wreckage, either being trapped or crushed beneath it. Gunfire started, and the crowd went berserk.

The law enforcement didn't know who or what this new hostile was, only that it was large, and by God was it fast. The damned thing had completely disintegrated the entire rear or the police blockade and slain three news crews before any of them got a bead of it. And even then, something just off. Their guns kept jamming, and even the ones still operational just would not remain docile, jerking around erratically whenever the trigger was pulled. Hailstorms of lead flew everywhere, even into the scattering crowds of civilians. The remaining film crews too stubborn and idiotic to leave without their scoop struggled with malfunctioning equipment. Whatever this thing was, it just refused to show up on film. A few stray rounds punctured the gas tank of their van, and even though such things simply don't happen in the real world, the entire vehicle erupted into flames.

The creature made a bee-line for the force field, but was finally cut off by a police firing squad. Letting loose with automatic rifles and riot shotguns, the thing reared back screeching and covering it's face. A storm of bullets pelted it, tearing through it's flesh and splattering that red slime everywhere. It hissed and shrieked and barked, before finally going limp against the ground. Was it.... dead? There was a moment of unease, weapons trained on the corpse. The look of the thing was..... It couldn't be real. Nothing like this should exist. One officer stepped forward hesitantly to confirm the kill. He couldn't help but look at it's one, empty eye socket. The other, overtaken by some meaty mass. It got closer, step by step, till he was right up on it. The barrel of his shotgun inched forward, nudging the horse-like skull.

The fire came back to it's eye. It glared at him. It Hated him. The arms of the Nucke came alive again, clamping around his entire upper body like a sprung bear trap. It's claws pierced into his back, stabbing all the way through his chest cavity and out his sternum. It made him watch. He couldn't look away. With the most horrifying sound that no human being should ever hear, it pulled it's hands apart, tearing the man asunder. The gunfire resumed in force, but this time to no effect. High caliber rounds tore right through it's meat, and it didn't even flinched. It just trotted calmly up to the barrier, crushing a squad car under it's weight. It stopped just at the glowing field, bullets impacting against it and the barrier itself. The Nucke took a long, rasping breath, inhaling deeper than anything that size should.

There was a pulse in the air, like that sickly breath you get right before you start turning green. The veins which spider-webbed it's whole body swelled to disturbing lengths, ready to burst with it's thick, tarry blood. The foul ichor surged to it's system mass and up it's neck. Putrid black spittle dripped and oozed between rotting teeth. It reared, spinning around with new purpose. It howled, torrents of black fumes spewing from it's mouth like dragon's fire. The Reek, churning from the Nucke with an otherworldly sentience. It covered everything, chasing victims down like a plague of locusts zeroing in on a target. Anyone who could run, didn't make it far. Anyone who couldn't, well.....

What was once the busiest part of the city was now a ghost land. No live soul dared go back. The Nucke turned back to the barrier, it's burning eye meeting the witch on the other side in a chilling lock. She knew her Lord had sent the beast, but then why did it eye her so? What did this meeting of eyes fit that shared between a wolf, and a hare? It's claw dug deep into the barrier, surprising her. It's hand pierced through entirely, the light of the barrier being mired by it's corrupting touch. The witch concentrated, trying to keep it from tearing through. Summoning the best of her will, the barrier forced the Nucke back. It screeched in anger, lashing and pounding against the obstruction repeatedly, but it held strong. It backed away, before locking eyes again. It's spindly arm stretched out, pointing a clawed finger at her with a menacing hiss.

The message was clear. From this moment on, if the barrier failed to keep things in, it would fail to keep the Nucke out. Fear of life is truly an excellent motivator, don't you agree?

With that, it retreated to the epicenter of the chaos it had wrought, lying down to rest and wait. It's breath became louder, exhaling more of that toxic miasma in thick wafts. The fumes completely shielded it from view in a matter of moments, creeping down the stairs and to the streets. The stone it touched cracked, the steel rusted, paint peeled, tires popped, glass shattered, and the bodies.... Let's just say some things are better left without description. The Reek encircled the barrier entirely, and anything it touched withered away. Silence, awful, terrible silence took hold again, broken only by the ragged breathing heard throughout the block.