The worst kind of man

Tyranis patrolled the borders of his pack his head leveled with his body as his tail swayed lazily behind him. Things seemed to be going downhill fast within his pack and he was beginning to feel the weight of his crown without the familiar faces of Ruina or his family to stand beside him. He had Legion but he seemed absent, he had Thora, but she seemed to want nothing to do with him, he wondered often about his brother and sister in Abaven, learning under their uncle. His mind touched on the threat his uncle had made that faithful day on the volcano and he felt his jaw tighten. The soft fluttering of wings caught his attention and he looked to one of the white branches of the forest to see his raven companion resting above him.

” What is it?” He asked, already anticipating trouble.

“Trouble.” The raven croaked in response, before taking wing.

He followed the shadowy bird at a stalking pace, his thoughts racing, as he stepped closer to his brother who seemed to be snarling at a den. Inside was Hannibal, standing poised over a girl with a torn face, the scent of fresh blood wafting off the ivory male as the highlord examined the scene before him. His father had never allowed the abuse of his slaves, they were to be gifts to the Apollyon, now he could clearly see the wisdom in that, if only because it would be one of many marks against Hannibal.

”What is the meaning of this?” He asked coldly, his narrowed eyes fixed on the male who seemed to be mid coitous over the weeping girl. Even if he had made no laws against abusing slaves, in particular for the taskmaster, he had no love for the greasy viper of a man, and would never side against Cloud even under the worst of circumstances.