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!
It was running. Tirelessly. Sprinting all day. Unceasingly. It was hunting. The beast shot through the forest soundlessly, mixed eyes bright, hungry. Its prey was near. The beast stopped. It did not even pant from its exertion. It wasn't scenting; it could do that while running. Revenge was about to begin. The beast's nimble mind raced. It waited. Then raised its muzzle and...howled. The moaning dirge penetrated the silent forest, bespeaking the pain of treachery and the hunger of vengeance. The beast's prey heard the sound and froze. It knew that call. It echoed in his dreams and nightmares. And now it echoed all around. The human drew his weapon, horrified eyes sweeping the forest, conscious of his isolation from any help. With growing dread he stood, tense and fearful, trying to find his hunter. He knew he was doomed as he felt the iron gaze boring into his back. He turned and gave a horrified scream as the fire engulfed him.
He was the dracolf. So he had been named because of his mixed blood. He liked his name. It had been given to him in fear and so now in his hunt for revenge the name served him well, going before him, a warning, a horror. The dracolf was brilliant. He knew of warfare beyond the physical. Fear. His most useful weapon. Fear caused rash decisions. Fear impaired sight.
His next hunt had begun. His prey was aware, frightened, sick with the fever of uncertainty. His prey's blood-shot eyes twitched with anxiety, flicking back and forth in terror, knowing each breath could be his last. The prey saw movement out of the corner of his eye and spun wildly, searching for his stalker. A feral, yet controlled, growl emanated from behind him. He turned to see the dracolf standing before him, lips pulled back in what appeared to be a dangerous smile. The man could not help but stare in dreadful wonder of his awesome enemy. It was his last act.
He ran, fear pushing him to impossible speeds. But it was not enough; he began to tire, his adrenaline to run out. The beast was playing with him, he realized. He could not escape. The man turned, drawing his sword and hoping beyond hope that he could defeat his enemy. The dracolf simply walked forward, materializing from the trees like a wraith. His half-blood eyes flashed dangerously, staring intently. This was his last hunt and his most hated enemy. The man stared at the dracolf, waiting. The dracolf's shoulders came to the chest of the tall man, but he seemed to dwarf the human, looming larger than legend and myth. Then, the beast did something he hadn't done with the others. He spoke. His voice was mesmerizing as it slid between dangerous teeth, entrancing the man.
"Do you think you can defeat me with metal? My scales are stronger than your steel, my fire could destroy you before you raise your sword, and my claws could rend you in two before you could mutter a whimper. Yet you stand, hoping that luck will favor you."
The man inclined his head, not letting his guard drop a fraction. Then he answered. "You know this is no ordinary steel. Surely you recognize this as the blade that drove you from this land generations ago. But I am not he who wronged you, so why do you hunt me? My fathers are they who drove you from civilization, who called you evil. Their children have no offense against you. We have no hate, only fear. We fear your power, and because of your revenge, your infamy only grows. With my death you will once again be hated. Stop this rampage now. You have already killed many for revenge. Let no more blood be spilled. I can promise nothing for the race of man, but as an individual I would find you the most noble of creatures if you forgave. The wrongs done to you were great and inexcusable, but recompense can be gained differently. I do not plead for my life, but for your eternal peace."
"Pretty words. But what if I do not want peace? Man cannot defeat me, not even the largest army. What is one more life. Both of my parents were feared, but I have been naught but hated from birth. All I must do is open my jaws to destroy you. You say you never wronged me, that it was your fathers? That may be true, but their blood runs through your veins, the same treacherous ichor. Why should I spare you?"
"If you kill me, my descendants will hunt you unceasingly. They will take up my blade, the only thing you may fear, and they will fight you to the ends of their lives. Others will join. The other blades will be taken up against you. You will become the prey. Why subject yourself to being hunted? You are wise; indeed stories of your knowledge and sagacity have been told. Here, though, your wisdom seems to end. You are blinded by your lust for retribution, your astuteness blocked by your vengeful desire. You of all creatures should see this. And I, naught but a man, point it out to you. Will you continue in your irrational way, or learn wisdom and be a free creature? Take my life, I will die anyway, as all things must. You will simply bring death's warm embrace early. Choose, Dracolf, and let this be ended."
The dracolf was not impressed, but more bemused. This human knew nothing! He should just kill the man...but something stopped him. Why did he hesitate? Something in the man's words spoke truth, and the way he offered up his life, dropping his sword and tearing his tunic from him, uncaring of his fate...The dracolf looked at the human, at his foe. His head dropped slightly.
"I sense sincerity in your words, human. So I will give you your life." The magnificent beast turned his back.
The man was shocked, releasing a breath of astonishment. He moved to pick up his tunic and sword, relieved. He did not even register the grey blur that crashed into him before he found himself embracing Death, just as he had said.
"Who is wiser now, human?" The dracolf looked at his dead enemy. He had almost been swayed when he had realized something: he was already hunted and that would never change. One human could not stop the hunt.
Besides he was now invincible, as his searing breath melted the once mighty sword into a shapeless mass of metal. His fire had forged it. Now his fire had undone it. Nothing could stop him. And nothing could change that. Over time his existence would become story, story would become legend, legend would become myth, and memory of the greatest beast would be all but forgotten.
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