The Power of Legend

     Legend is often born of truth, of tales long ago that have transformed, becoming less fact and more myth...until forgotten. This legend, though, was still alive, breathing, moving, hiding. It had been shut away, shunned, forgotten, thought dead and gone. No one knew it could not die; the dragon blood forbade it from passing.
     The dragon blood made it fearsome, a skilled fighter, the best hunter. Once it had a prey to pursue, a target, it was relentless, never stopping, never resting. Possessing twice the knowledge of man, and infinitely more wisdom, it was intelligent beyond compare. Its wolf blood made it patient, silent, lithe, nimble. Its senses were unrivaled, infinite in perception, its mind quick and nimble as its body, and keen as its senses.
     The bloods mixed! Teeth sharper than any blade, eyes a mixture of draconic and wolf, vertical pupil a dark slash against the sharp yellow, piercing and intense. More pronounced, dagger-like dragon claws grew from wolf paws, and two prominent fangs lay in full view. Scales stronger than any metal lined its body which was mottled black and grey like wolf fur. It was half the size of a horse, yet with muscles of enormous capability and strength, greater strength than even a dragon. Its tongue was like that of a serpent, long and slithering. The gift of flame had been bestowed upon the beast, a blue and white inferno that could melt even diamond. No wings adorned the creature, but run it could and run it did, faster than the eye could follow, ever enduring, never tiring.
     This was the beast of legend, the exiled lore: cursed for its mixed blood, feared for its powers. This beast had been shown cruelty, had been betrayed. Though not mad, not deranged, it wanted revenge. Already it had picked its prey. The hunt had begun!

Precedents of Death

     It was a most unusual orchestra. The four sat facing one another in a circle, each with their instruments, each with their prepared melodies. Serenity sat calmly, peaceful and at ease, though seemingly dwarfed by her siblings. She sat with an air of acceptance yet gentle repose. To her right sat Destruction. Large, imposing and intimidating, the very air around him seemed to shiver and shake. His enormous hands twitched with anticipation, powerful hands that thundered and shook, but often were so big as to lose their grasp on victory at the last moment. Usually it was Anguish or Fear that took advantage of this fact, snatching Destruction's final moments of satisfaction, taking his place in the melody. Anguish caused the air to shriek around her, her aura throbbing with miserable retching. She gasped and howled with sick pleasure, ragged breaths a metronome for the distorted music. Fear sat wide-eyed and frozen, scarcely able to mutter his despairing notes of song, regret and dread filling his eyes, his voice, his throat. Whimpers full of terror escaped his quivering jaw.
     And so, the conflict began.

Signs of Quick