You're a Villian Alright, Just Not a Super One.

Aresenn felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as he wrestled with the lead coyote, his grip tightening with each flicker of its desperate struggles. The creature whimpered, a pitiful sound drowned beneath the brutal symphony of growls and snarls. A hot surge of pride welled up within him as he caught sight of Dracun, his son unleashing a fierce ferocity against a second coyote. He watched, momentarily transfixed, as Dracun's confidence gleamed in those young, amber eyes, mirroring his own.

With a savage twist, Aresenn wrenched the coyote's head to one side—there was a sharp snap as the creature's neck gave way under his powerful jaws. He released his grip, the lifeless body thudding heavily onto the grass. The metallic tang of blood coated his tongue, the taste of victory.

But there was no time to savor it. The rest of the pack was circling, emboldened by their numbers despite the swift demise of their leader. Aresenn rose to his full height, hackles raised, a rumble building in his chest as he sized up his next opponent. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dracun dispatch his own adversary with a vicious efficiency that sent a thrill of satisfaction through him. "Don't get cocky," Aresenn barked, even as pride swelled in his chest. "Stay focused.”

Aresenn snarled as he eyed the circling coyotes, the thrill of the fight pulsing through his veins. Another one darted forward, snapping at his flank. Aresenn whirled, his powerful jaws clamping down on the attacker's foreleg. Bone crunched under his bite. The coyote yelped, thrashing wildly as it tried to pull free. With a savage shake of his head, Aresenn sent it flying, the mangled leg dangling uselessly.

"Aresenn Praetor"