John stood frozen on the basement stairs, staring at the creature that used to be Marcus.
The werewolf's eyes locked onto him. Still had Marcus's color. Still had that same kindness buried deep underneath the predator instincts. But everything else was wrong. Too large. Too much teeth. Too much power radiating off him in waves that made John's legs want to collapse.
"Hide the kids." Marcus's voice came out distorted, half growl, but understandable. Desperate. "John. Listen to me. Hide the kids. Now."
"What? Why? What's—"
"Something is coming." The werewolf form tensed, ears flattening against his skull. "Can't explain. Don't have time. The Wolf God. He has a vendetta. Bad one. Against me specifically. And if he finds you all here—"
"The Wolf God?" John's brain struggled to process. "A god? An actual god is coming here?"
"YES!" The roar shook dust from the rafters. "JOHN. RUN. TAKE THEM AND RUN!"
The urgency finally penetrated John's shock. He turned and bolted up the stairs, taking them three at a time. His legs burned but fear gave him speed he didn't know he had.
Martha stood at the top, her face white as chalk. She'd heard everything.
"We have to go," John gasped, grabbing her arm. "Now. The kids. We have to—"
"I know." Her voice was steady despite the terror in her eyes. "I know."
They ran to the second floor together. The children were awake now, clustered in the hallway, their faces confused and frightened. Even Kalvin had lost his cocky grin.
"Mama?" The youngest, barely six, reached for Martha. "What's happening? What was that noise?"
"We need to go upstairs," Martha said, her voice calm despite everything. Mom voice. The kind that kept children from panicking. "Right now. All of you. With me."
"But Papa—"
"Papa will be fine. Move. Now."
They herded the kids up to the attic space. Small, cramped, barely enough room for all of them. John pulled the ladder up behind them and Martha threw the bolt on the trap door.
The children crowded around John, instinctively seeking protection from the strange big brother who'd become part of their lives. Their small hands grabbed his shirt, his arms. Kalvin, trying to be brave, stood in front of his younger siblings.
"What happened?" he whispered. "Why did Papa sound like that?"
John opened his mouth to answer. To say something comforting. To lie.
A voice cut through the air. Massive. Divine. The kind of voice that made the cabin walls vibrate.
"SO THIS IS WHERE YOU'VE BEEN... BROTHER."
The word 'brother' hit like a physical blow. John felt it in his chest.
Then came the sound. A sword cutting through air. Not a normal sword swing. Something huge. Something impossibly sharp moving impossibly fast.
WHOOOOSH.
The shockwave hit a second later. The entire roof lifted off the cabin like someone had peeled back the lid of a tin can. Wood and thatch and stone exploded outward in all directions. The sky opened up above them, suddenly visible, terrifyingly exposed.
The children screamed. Martha threw herself over the youngest. John tried to cover as many as he could with his body, feeling splinters rain down around them.
Another voice boomed. The same divine voice. The same rage.
"YOU LEAVE YOUR DUTY."
WHOOOOSH. Another slash. Another shockwave. The east wall of the cabin disintegrated into chunks of wood and dust.
"YOU LIFE AS A DEMI GOD."
WHOOOOSH. The west wall followed. The cabin was being systematically destroyed around them.
"AND CHOOSE TO LIVE AMONG THE HUMANS WHEN YOU KNOW WE DESERVE TO CONQUER THEM ALL?!?"
WHOOOOSH. The south wall collapsed. They were completely exposed now. Just the attic floor remaining, suspended impossibly over the ruins below.
"HAVE YOU NO SHAME?"
WHOOOOSH. The staircase vanished. The children clung tighter to John, their screams turning to whimpers of pure terror.
"THE BLOOD SNOUT BUTCHER. THE MAN WHO WAS SECOND ONLY TO ME NOW LIVES IN SQUALOR HERE!?!"
Blood Snout Butcher. John's brain latched onto the title. Marcus. Kind, gentle Marcus who'd found him by the river and given him shelter. Who'd made jokes at dinner and been patient with his children. Who'd threatened Saunder's guards to protect a stranger.
Marcus was the Blood Snout Butcher. Second only to a god.
"PATHETIC!"
WHOOOOSH. The final slash sent the second floor itself exploding apart. The attic floor dropped, and suddenly they were falling, debris everywhere, children screaming, Martha reaching for them, John grabbing whoever he could—
They hit the ground floor hard. Not as hard as they should have. Something had cushioned the fall slightly. Maybe debris. Maybe luck. Maybe divine intervention that wanted them alive to witness what came next.
John's ribs screamed. His old injuries from the beatings had barely healed and now fresh pain layered on top. But he could move. He pushed himself up, checking the children. Bruised. Terrified. But alive.
Then the footsteps started.
Heavy. Deliberate. Moving away from the ruins.
John crawled to what used to be the wall, now just a gap, and peered through.
The dawn light revealed everything.
Marcus stood in the clearing in front of the destroyed cabin. Except it wasn't Marcus anymore. Not really. The werewolf form towered at nine feet tall, muscles rippling under light brown fur. More controlled than the transformation John had seen in the basement. More aware. But still clearly inhuman. Still clearly a predator designed by something beyond mortal understanding.
And facing him stood something worse.
Eleven feet of pure lupine rage. Dark black fur, so black it seemed to absorb light. Built like something designed specifically for war. Muscles on muscles, scars crisscrossing the hide like badges of honor. And in each massive clawed hand, a sword. Not human swords. These were sized for giants, for gods, each blade easily as long as John was tall. The metal gleamed with a sickly green light that suggested poison or curse or both.
The Wolf God.
He looked exactly like what his title suggested. A wolf who'd ascended to divinity and never forgot what it meant to hunt. To kill. To dominate.
Brothers. They were brothers.
The family resemblance was there now that John knew to look for it. The same general build, just scaled differently. The same predatory grace. The same eyes that held intelligence alongside instinct.
But where Marcus's eyes still held warmth, still held humanity despite the transformation, the Wolf God's eyes held only contempt. Only rage. Only the absolute certainty of superiority.
The Wolf God took a step forward, both swords raised.
Marcus's voice came out steady. Still distorted by the werewolf form but clear. Resigned. The voice of someone who'd known this day would come eventually and had hoped desperately it wouldn't.
"Brother. Leave. Now."
The two massive swords didn't lower. The Wolf God's face twisted into something that might have been a smile if smiles could express pure murderous intent.
"Leave? Oh no, dear brother. I've spent decades searching for you. Decades wondering where the great Blood Snout Butcher disappeared to. And I find you here. Playing house with humans. With prey." The god's voice dripped venom.
"I'm not leaving. Not until I've reminded you what you really are."
John pressed himself against the debris, the children huddled behind him, Martha's hand covering the youngest's mouth to muffle her sobs.
Marcus stood between them and a god.
A god who'd come to drag his brother back to war.
Or kill him trying.