Bune, finally snapping out of his panic trotted after them, his tails lashing in agitation.
"Halt! Halt at once!" cried the Left Head. "The Captain is in a delicate strategic session!"
"He's out right now, you mean!" countered the Right Head. "If you damage anything i'll use your antler velvet to polish the silverwhere!"
Zac's perspective was a jarring, upside-down view of polished obsidian floors and soaring archways as Skarg stormed into the keep. He was held aloft in the wendigo's grip as easily as a sack of potatoes. The sheer, effortless strength was terrifying… or it should have been. Instead, Zac's traitorous mind was busy cataloging the way Skarg's biceps bulged, the power evident in his every stride. The lack of fear, he realized with a jolt, was going to get him killed. Or worse. A small, inconvenient part of him didn't seem to mind the 'or worse' part.
"He is my responsibility!" Skarg bellowed, his voice echoing in the vast space as he started up a grand staircase that seemed carved from a single, colossal bone. The interior of the castle was austere and imposing, lit by glowing silver braziers that cast stark shadows on captured angelic banners hanging like mournful tapestries.
"Your responsibility ended when you lost him to me, you brute!" Nock's armored boots rang on the stairs behind them.
Bune, trotting to keep up, his clipboard now in hand, finally got a clear look at the glowing crimson rune on Zac's lower back. Both of the butler's heads blinked.
"Wait!" the Right Head called out, a note of dawning comprehension in his voice. "That mark… is that the President's Seal?"
"Of course it is, you glorified lizard!" Skarg roared over his shoulder. "Now get out of my way!"
"But that changes the logistics entirely!" the Left Head insisted, already scribbling furiously. "Asset acquisition forms will need to be triple-signed! He requires a full security detail! And a dietary plan! Does anyone know if he has allergies?"
At the top of the stairs stood double doors of petrified wood. Skarg, ignoring everyone, kicked them open so hard they embedded in the stone walls.
And there, lounged in the Captain's high-backed throne, was an eagle.
A harpy eagle man, to be precise, and the first word that popped into Zac's mind was 'dense.' He was packed with the thick, functional muscle of a soldier who lived in the gym. His ranger leathers were stretched taut across a chest and shoulders that seemed impossibly broad for a creature meant for flight. 'Pecs on a bird,' Zac's mind boggled. 'Holy shit. That's a thing. And it is a very, very good thing.'
His face was streaked with fresh camo paint, and his golden eyes were bright with a cocky, challenging light. A massive crossbow was slung across his back. This wasn't a knight or a rogue; this was a special forces operator, a demonic Rambo.
"What are you doing here, Halphas," Skarg growled. "Shouldn't you be out flying around and stocking your nests or something."
"Waiting," the eagle replied, his voice rough. "Word travels fast when a new recruit drops out of the sky." He flashed a talon in a lazy salute. "Name's Halphas. Earl of Violence. Looks like you're the FNG, Fucking New Guy."
He kicked his feet off the desk and stood. "Alright, you lot can fall out. I'll take charge of the recruit, get him debriefed and squared away."
Skarg finally set Zac down, planting himself between Zac and the eagle. "You'll do nothing, bird-brain. I'm turning him over to the Captain."
"That's not how the chain of command works, herbivore," Halphas smirked.
The air crackled with tension. Andras, ever the agent of chaos, stepped forward with a charming smile. "Now, now, lads. How about a little game? First one to lay a hand on the little avatar gets to keep him until the Captain returns." He didn't wait for an answer. "Ready? Three… two… one… Go."
Andras then took two steps back, leaned against the doorframe, and calmly lit a cigarillo, a spectator at the chaos he had just unleashed.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Skarg lunged.
Zac yelped and dove sideways. A crossbow bolt slammed into the floor, blocking Skarg's path. The room exploded. Nock drew his longsword, placing himself dramatically in front of Zac. "Have no fear, sweet Zachary! I shall be your shield!"
"Get out of my way!" Skarg roared, clashing with Nock. "You have the manners of a beast and the soul of a love-sick poet, Furfur!" Nock taunted.
Skarg's roar of fury at the name was so profound it shook the very foundations of the castle. While they were occupied, Halphas took aim again. Zac scrambled behind a large, ornate desk as a bolt shattered a priceless-looking vase.
Bune's heads were in a full-blown panic. "Not the Ming Dynasty Soul-Urn! That's irreplaceable!" the Left Head shrieked.
"The floor! The drapes! The bookshelf!" wailed the Right Head as Skarg body-slammed Nock into it, sending books flying.
The chaos was reaching its peak. Bune, watching his master's sanctum get systematically destroyed, began to tremble. A low growl emanated from his chest, a sound deeper and more guttural than either of his heads could produce.
"That's… quite… enough," the two heads stammered in unison as Bune's body began to contort, his tailcoat ripping at the seams as his frame swelled. The scales on his back cracked and split, and a ridge of jagged bone erupted along his spine.
"THAT IS A TWELFTH-CENTURY DEMONIC WEAVE!" both heads roared as the tapestry was torn. "WE HAVE HAD ENOUGH!"
With a wet, tearing sound, a third head erupted from between his shoulders. It was a dragon's head, but a degenerate, brutish version of the other two. Its scales were rough, its horns broken, and its snout was blunt and canine, lined with jagged teeth. It slobbered acidic drool that sizzled on the priceless rug.
"SHUT YOUR FUCKING CAKE-HOLES!" the new head bellowed, its voice a vulgar atrocity. It glared at the fighting lieutenants, its red eyes burning with manic rage. "YOU! LION BOY! YOU SWOON AGAIN AND I'M GONNA MAKE YOU DECALW YOURSELF BY HAND!"
It then swiveled to Skarg. "AND YOU, DEER-ON-STEROIDS! YOU BREAK ONE MORE PIECE OF FURNITURE, AND I'LL TURN YOUR ANTLERS INTO A FUCKING HAT-RACK… AND FUCK YOU WITH IT!"
The fight shuddered to a halt. All four lieutenants stared at the transformed, three-headed Bune. The third head panted, its gaze promising horrific, unsanitary violence. It was into this sudden, terrified silence that the main doors, already hanging crooked on their hinges, were blasted inward into a shower of bone-dust and splinters.
A grey wolf stepped through the haze, he was tall, broader in the shoulder than even Nock, and moved with a silence that was more terrifying than any roar. He wore a high-collared black greatcoat, stitched from what looked like midnight and old battle flags, the silver embroidery on the chest like claw marks made of starlight. It was unbuttoned, revealing a simple black tunic underneath, and a crimson sash was cinched at his waist, a longsword with a wolf-head pommel hanging at his hip.
His fur was the color of a gathering storm, iron-grey shot through with threads of black and silver. And he had a beard. It wasn't long, but it was thick and neatly cropped, framing a muzzle that looked like it had been carved from granite, scarred and stern. How a wolf had a beard, Zac's brain didn't know and didn't care; it was just profoundly, unfairly hot.
But it was his eyes that held Zac captive. They were the color of ancient amber, and they held the weariness of a thousand campaigns, the sharp intelligence of a master strategist, and a deep, bottomless well of sorrow.
Zac felt his heart, his real, lustfilled, human heart, give a powerful, frantic thud. The caged fear remained silent, but this… this was something else entirely. This was awe, the WOLF... the WDILF.