everyone is capable of violence given the chance

-

Douglas watched Charles with anticipation, holding his breath tightly as he waited for his answer, expecting either a no or a yes equally. It’d never been his place to shoot the gun; he was supposed to track, locate, and physically take down Charles’ targets if the situation called for it. He’d only stare in awe when his hunter braced himself to shoot with precision, taking down creatures bigger than both of them combined with a well-placed shot.

 “Seriously?” Doug said, his eyes lighting up with excitement when Charles moved to retrieve the Falcon’s twin, his answer contrary to his expectations. He blinked, his heart jumping into his throat as his grip tightened around the rifle in his hands as he looked down at it again. He nodded once, his lips curling in between his teeth as he set his mind to be ready for a challenge he’s never had before. There was some instinctual resistance, like the wolf in him was butting heads with the human part of him. Surely, he had been trained to lean more on his animal instincts throughout his early years with the man’s guidance, but he had noticed a shift towards training and refining him as a young man, too, over the last few years. “If you think I can, then I will,” Doug said with another affirming nod, smiling up at him before he finished packing away his bag and slung it over his shoulder. 

The first part of any hunt was always pleasant; they were just setting out, which meant there was wiggle room to talk until he caught a scent or found a trail to follow. His hand rested on the strap of the rifle, overly aware of its presence - whether out of instinctual fear as guns with silver bullets could easily be the death of him, or out of the sheer pressure of living up to Charles’ expectations - he wasn’t fully certain of. He tried to embrace his nervousness as excitement, though. “What was the first creature you ever hunted?” Douglas asked idly as he stepped over a fallen log and looked back at his guardian. “What made you decide this was what you were meant to do?”

---

Charles wasn’t in the business of catering to his wolves or treating them as equals, but Douglas had always been different, ever since he was a pup, Charles knew. This boy was his legacy. He was malleable and held onto a certain sense of his humanity that the hunter scarcely saw in any of the other wolves he’d raised over the years. And the boy’s loyalty knew no bounds. The surprise of Douglas curled up and waiting for him at the end of a busy day had become something the collector grew fond of and began to expect. And, thus, they had built a different relationship than the man had had with any of the ones before Doug.

“You know that I don’t say things I don’t mean.” Charles replied easily, his smile apparent on his features as he registered the mixture of glee and nerves that simultaneously threaded their way through his boy. “You’ve nothing to worry about. I have taught you well.” There had been target practices and the like, but Doug had never been asked to shoot down any of their prey – Charles had always wondered if he actually had it in him. He had a hard enough time trying to bring one down by his strength alone, always relying on Alphonse or one of the others to do the dirty part for him. Charles was hoping to strip him of this final burden, like the one missing piece before the puzzle was perfect and complete.

——-

Quite frankly, he didn’t want to go back.

He didn’t say it when they’d gotten off the plane, immediately greeted with warm humidity that clung to the skin like a wet blanket, but he felt it in his bones. He smelled the green before the door had even open, and the moment his eyes laid sight on the vast greens, he relaxed for the first time in what felt like months. Plants and flora made him happy, and though he was colorblind, he could still distinguish yellow and blue from green. He could not see any difference at all between red, pink, and orange flowers, but he could place them by their vibrant smells instead. The compilation of smells and color was comforting; Douglas was home.

At least for a little while.

He tried not to think about it too hard, determined and excited to appreciate the moment. It was even more special to be here again, releasing Douglas from the tension and pressure that had been built up in him. He got to forgot all of it for a week and just enjoy doing what he did best in the place he performed best. Spry and eager to show off, Doug was lit with energy and exuberance.

“Really?” Doug grinned from ear to ear, pleased to make this trip a little more memorable and unique. He paused briefly, his thoughts spinning as his fingers. grazed over the intricately carved engravings and smooth wood. “…Do you think I could try shooting with it?” He asked, curious even though he was definitely more comfortable hunting using his physical strength and speed over weapons. He looked at him with a little hesitancy, like he was anticipating a no, but when Charles mentioned that it was Christmas, he relaxed, knowing that his more ambitious asks would have a chance with the good mood he was in. “Not for the whole trip -I’m definitely better suited for what I do best - but maybe just to learn what your side of things is more like. You make it look so easy.”

---

There was part of Charles that didn’t want to go back, either. He longed for simpler times… for times when he could easily please Douglas and Douglas was eager to please him, times where Doug looked at Charles as if he had hung the stars in the sky and unquestioningly trusted the man. He wondered if they would ever get that back.

This trip was going to be special. Charles had it all planned out. They were going to have a good time and they were going to bond. For years, almost all of Doug’s life, really, Charles had struggled internally with his connection to the wolf. He perceived Doug as his son and had for quite a while but had never verbalized that to anyone, least of all Doug. This Christmas, he planned on expressing his feelings to Doug and letting him know exactly why things were the way they were – Charles saw himself as Douglas’ father and wanted to do everything to ensure his safety and his future were as bright as they could be.

He was touched when Doug asked if he could try shooting the magnificent gun. Charles nodded, reached up and plucked the second one from the wall. He had two such beautiful pieces that hung crossed over one another as if on display. “We’ll bring them both. One for me, one for you.” He offered with a slight smile in the younger man’s direction before turning back to his last bag that he was packing, just making sure they had everything they needed. The excitement roiled in him like bubbling, boiling water but he appeared as placid as a lake.

“Doug, I would be happy to see you do your best both in your natural talents and in mine. I think you will find you’re proficient with the guns as well.” The compliment didn’t go unnoticed but Charles simply replied with a squeeze to the boy’s shoulder. “We should get going soon. I want to enjoy as much time in the jungle as possible.”

“Too bad,” Hades remarked coldly, rooted firmly in his own selfishness and refusal to be alone in his kingdom any longer – even if it meant his company loathed him. Despite that fact - he’d never admit it - the way Percy stiffened at his touch made his lips pull together into thin line, but he refused to offer more of a response than that.

Hades was quiet while Percy took in Elysium and spoke, half smiling when he merely touched a barren boulder and turned it into something beautiful. A sigh escaped him at his question, “I didn’t bring you here to interior decorate. You deserved a change in scenery. I wanted to show you that it’s not all darkness and death in my kingdom. I’m kind to good souls who deserve it. This is supposed to be their home in the afterlife, but with your help, surely it’d be a paradise.”

A few more gentle touches and there was more beauty in Elysium. Percy listened as the other god, the older god, spoke, swallowing hard. It took everything in him to not be even more difficult than he already had been. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply through his nose, and exhaled slowly through his mouth before standing and waking back over to Hades.

Percy looked up at him, an intent gaze leveled on Hades’ own. “You are dancing around the answers, then, Hades. Why me? Why did you do it the way you did? What do you want from me?” He had ideas, of course, but the two of them hadn’t had more than clipped conversation, and Percy was ready for the truth. “What is it that you think I can really do for you, Your Highness?”

-

“Don’t act so humble,” Hades replied, stepping closer now to the shorter man, his slate blue eyes looking over his face like he was a precious and rare gem. “If you’d like me to compliment you, Percy, all you need to do is ask. No need to fish for them,” he smirked at him playfully, quickly softening when the other god decided to comply with his wishes to show him the garden. He looked a little surprised, taken off guard, not having expected the turnaround. He resisted saying anything that might indicate his surprise, and simply closed what little distance stood between them, gently setting a hand on Percy’s shoulder like he was made of glass, and the two of them disappeared from the room of his palace. 

In the next instance, they were surrounded by vibrant green and moss replaced the stone beneath their feet. Rolling fields of grass sprinkled with flowers spanned for miles. Pillars and arches littered the landscape, and a temple stood atop a hill nearby. Though they were still deep beneath the Earth’s surface in the underworld, Elysium had no ceiling, mimicking the world above ground perfectly to comfort the heroes and favored amongst the gods. It was an idyllic and calm paradise in the afterlife. “I am only cruel in my judgement to sinners and those who try to escape my kingdom,” he said, breaking the silence after giving Percy a moment to take it in, “but I offer peace to the few that deserve it here in Elyisum. It’s beautiful, but it’s only a fragment of my own making. I’m sure with your touch, it could be truly be a paradise.”

Percy cocked his head to the side as he regarded Hades. “You’re confusing me.” He replied flatly, huffing slightly, turning his head away from the man with such dramatic effect that his curls bounced with the force of it. “I don’t want you to compliment me, Hades. I do not even wish for you to look at me, yet here we are.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, shifting his gaze back to the other god before he was touched. Percy stiffened slightly – just to let Hades know that he did not appreciate the contact – and blinked. When his eyes opened again, they were somewhere else.

Hades was silent, his lips drawn back into a thin-lipped smile, annoyed by Percy’s assumptions. “No, I wanted your company,” he said honestly, his features softened but still stoic in his disposition. He didn’t react to  “I’d like you to be more comfortable while we talked. Most of the Underworld is dark, but Elysium is special. If you think it’s so pitiful, then perhaps you can change that about it to suit your tastes.”

It annoyed Percy a little that Hades wasn’t being mean and nasty to him -- that he hadn’t forced Percy to do anything beyond come here and stay here. He huffed a sigh, arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t even laid eyes on the garden in question. “What do you want my company for? What makes me so special, then?” Percy blinked, he hadn’t left these quarters in... well, since coming. “Show me the garden, then. Maybe it’ll soften me to whatever else you have in store.”

Hades hummed at his retort, looking Percy up and down with an amused half smile. So cute, yet so prickly. In the younger god’s attempt to push him away, he only made himself more endearing. “It was necessary to even have the opportunity to speak to you,” he lamented, all too aware of his banishment from Olympus. He had to strike when the time presented itself, or wait another hundred, maybe a thousand years for another opportunity. “I do have a garden down here, you know. The gardens of Elysium, where great heroes reside in the afterlife. I’d like to take you there - but without the kicking and screaming, please.”

“You don’t simply want to speak to me or you wouldn’t have dragged me down to these depths.” He replied, cold as ice. He was aware of his beauty, of the feelings it struck in mortals and other gods, the effect it had. Apparently, it’d had quite the impact on Hades. Percy ran his tongue over his teeth -- the idea of being in a garden was tantalizing, but he was unwilling to relent to Hades even a little. “Permission denied. I don’t want to see your pitiful excuse for a garden.” He had hesitated, however. “I thought you wanted to talk to me? So, speak.”

“You’re immortal. Don’t act so delicate,” Hades replied with a shrug of his shoulder, silent for a lingering moment while he listened to him. He grew quiet, and solemn, “Exactly why I had to take you,” he sighed, “you’d never let me convince you that Zeus’ opinion and rumors about me are wrong. I could not have gone about it any other way. Please…I ask for one chance.”

Percy bristles at the implication, “I am delicate. Thank you.” He says, his gaze narrowing as he regards the other man. Hades is quite handsome, always has been, but there’s always been something dark and taboo about him -- something beyond the fact that he’s the god of the underworld. “So far, you’ve only proven him correct, Hades.” His tone is flat as he regards the other, arms folded across his chest. “I don’t imagine that you can convince me, but -- seeing as you will not leave -- go on, I’m listening.” For how long? Well, they would soon find out.

“Don’t lie to me. As if you’d give me the time of day if I had been diplomatic in my approach,” Hades replied, bitterness in his tone as he looked over the scorn painting Percy’s features. “You - like everyone else on Olympus - have always been silent in Zeus’s open ridicule and mockery of me. If I had been polite about it, you would have run from me and I’d never catch you.”

Percy huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “You can’t just see something beautiful and pluck it so carelessly.” It was true, though, he had never said a word in Hades defense, but who would? “It wasn’t my place do defend you. And why would I?” He scoffed at the other god. “Look at what you’ve done.”

“I have eternity to be persistent for your attention,” Hades resisted frowning and pursed his lips briefly instead as he turned over the younger god’s words like a smooth stone in his hand. “I know you’re unhappy,” he said, quiet in his tone as he walked closer, shrinking the distance between the two of them. “But I could make you happy if you gave me a chance.”

Percy stood up a little straighter when he felt the distance between them grow smaller, Hades like a shadow on the wall. There was a tingle of something up his spine, his icy blue eyes cast sideways. Every piece of him was as sharp as a knife, and that was Hades’ doing -- for bringing him here. “You didn’t give me a chance.” He replies, blinking upward as he turns to look at the god, finally. “You take and you take, don’t you? Without regard for others. Maybe you should’ve been persistent about my attention before you dragged me down here. Maybe then I would’ve chosen this. Instead, you have my scorn.”

He wasn’t prepared for this.

Seth was struggling in his new position as alpha. He’d been a better beta to his father; second-in-command to back up his strength and authority in the decision making in with pack. But his and his mate’s untimely death at the hands of hunters had left the beta with no choice but to stand up to take care of his younger siblings and the few others that sought safety in their numbers. 

The new alpha smoked cigarettes like a chimney when he was stressed; it was rarer to find him without a cig in his hand than not. He didn’t drink anymore, not wanting his wits to be crippled for decision making - as much as he missed having a drink to relax his nerves after a long day. But with the bickering and in-fighting that was beginning to happen over whether or not they should stay in New York or leave, he couldn’t afford it.

He’d stolen a moment for himself, a cigarette glued to his fingers as he inhaled the smoke like life support. Seth had just begun to relax when a voice interrupted the silence, making him look up from the vacant spot on the ground he’d settled on. Immediately, the man’s words startled him, not anticipating the bluntness and the revealing of their status. Every muscle in his body seized in reflex, the cigarette dropping from his hand as he backed up a step. Had he been so irresponsible that people knew of them? Doubt spun wild webs in his head. 

He was vastly unprepared for this.

“What?” Seth questioned immediately, processing the information that had been suddenly thrust upon him while simultaneously feeling defensive about his werewolf status being drawn out to the light so abruptly. Did he play stupid or feed into it? This was not the right job for him. “You’re either off your rocker, or you’ve got the wrong person. And right now I think it’s a combination of the latter.”

One didn’t get to be Eivor’s age without a certain sense of acuity, mental and otherwise. He could sense the dread, the anxiety, the defensiveness inside of the young wolf. He sighed, staying on his spot for a moment, weighing out his options. He looked toward the young man’s building -- there had to be at least half a dozen others inside. The pack was not small, and it would be no minor tragedy if they were lost, especially out of ignorance or foolishness.

Eivor took a few steps closer, he could smell the sweet stench of the cigarette burning, the smoke on the other man’s breath, the fear in his sweat. “Off my rocker?” He repeated, “I assure you that I am of completely sound mind. I know exactly what I’m talking about, and this is no rouse. You do not have to give me any revealing details, I know all that I need to. And I know plenty that you might like to know -- concerning your enemies.” There were only a few feet between them now, it was as if Eivor had been moving on air. “I don’t have the wrong person, Seth.” He’d caught the name in passing. “This is your pack now, and it’s your duty to ensure their safety. If you do not heed my warning, you will lose them all -- and for what? I assure you, I would feel quite terrible to witness the fall of the last, considerable werewolf pack in these boroughs.”

Eivor had only been back in New York for a few short weeks, but he’d heard enough to dishearten him. There weren’t many vampires left his age -- or even quite close to it, and all the new blood (as he called them) had warped world views and senses of self. He frequented their clubs if only to be around other immortals and sate his curiosity. He was crestfallen when he heard of an intended massacre of a local pack of werewolves. He could remember vividly the first werewolf he had met and how well she had treated him -- and the ones he had loved and lost. If only these foolish, pale-skinned fiends could see the possibility. After hearing the plan, Eivor finished his drink and left, sniffing around for the targeted pack.

It didn’t take long to find them -- werewolves had a distinctive scent, and Eivor’s senses had been fine-tuned over the centuries. He watched and waited, watched and waited -- listening -- before devising his plot. He would approach the young alpha when he was alone and confess the New York coven’s plan.

He found the young wolf outside the place he took residence, smoking a cigarette in the cool night air. Eivor approached on silent footsteps, leaving a considerable distance between them so he could flee if the need arose. He was illuminated by a single street lamp that stood desolate and sagging in the alley. “Someone intends to hurt you -- and your pack.” He said, his voice carrying over the distance, tinged with an implacable accent. “They prepare to hit you the day after the moon, when you’re weakest. You should prepare yourselves -- they’re younglings, so not very strong. A serious fire could do away with them, or an explosion, but nothing less than that.”

The impact his head made with the ground set off every alarm in his body. When everything went black, he ceased to exist. His brain shut down as a defense mechanism, trying to protect itself from more damage despite how counterintuitive it was in the moment. With more runners coming at them, he was nothing but dead weight.

Briefly, Wyatt’s brain tried to kick on, just enough to register that he was being carried and not being eaten. He tried to speak, to open his eyes, to move - but nothing happened. Then, blackness came again and swept him away into nothingness once more.

A few fingers twitched first. His eyes clenching tighter shut, eyebrows furrowing together when his senses came together enough for him to register the throbbing that radiated throughout his skull. He tried to recollect what had happened, hardly remembering anything before - wait, hadn’t infected been running at them? Where was he now? Wyatt’s eyes shot open in fear and concern, and too quickly, he tried to sit up, panicked as he tried to process what had happened, still trapped in the feeling of an imminent threat. “Where are they? Myles and Rory – we gotta-”

The quick movement disoriented him, and he found himself pressed back down to the floor, his eyes closed again, confused as to why he couldn’t seem to see straight. After a few panicked seconds, Wyatt registered that there was no threat - that they were safe for the moment - and marginally relaxed. He raised his hand to his head when it throbbed again, but he was afraid to touch it. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes once more, trying to focus on the man he now saw sitting beside him. He cracked a dimpled smile at Jesse when it registered to him that it was him. “Hey boss,” he said, his voice weak, but he still tried to laugh, “I hit my head bad, didn’t I?”

There was a clock on the wall behind where Wyatt was laying, and Jesse found his gaze passing from the man to the ugly time piece, back and forth like a pendulum. As the time ticked away, Jesse grew to hate the aquatic inspired clock which used the nose and tail fins of a whale to mark the passing of the minutes and hours. Jesse grew more and more concerned that Wyatt would never wake. He’d chewed at his fingers and cuticles until they were bleeding. He’d thought, more than once, about his hidden vial and the syringe – the boys were entertained by themselves, and Jesse was going crazy. He contemplated it for the relief, but he somehow kept talking himself out of it.

He was staring at the atrocious clock, Wyatt’s hand in his own, when he caught the other man stirring through his peripherals. He watched as Wyatt jerked to consciousness rather than slowly rising, his last memories pulling him to the top like a diver breaking the surface of water with seconds to spare. “Shh, you’re okay. They’re okay. Better off than you are…” He reached up, hand on the top of Wyatt’s head now – an instinctive gesture which he used to try and cement Wyatt to the spot so he wouldn’t move and further exacerbate his situation.

Jesse heaved a sigh of relief when Wyatt smiled up at him with those dimples in his cheeks. “Yeah, you did… pretty bad. But you’re a lot tougher than you look, aren’t ya, Dimples?” He teased, withholding the fact that he had believed Wyatt was going to die only a short while before. He squeezed Wyatt’s hand in place of hugging him and looked down at Wyatt with a morose expression. “I’m sorry it went down like that. That was dangerous.” With his free hand, Jesse grabbed a hydroflask filled with water and helped Wyatt to drink. “I don’t know how to thank you for what you did for Rory.” He paused, staring at Wyatt for a moment as if he couldn’t find the words he was looking for. “I’d be devastated if we lost you, Wyatt.” Another pause and a sigh. “How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do for you?”

Ryker Eros

Ryker was born at the beginning of the second rebellion. His father was a soldier, and his mother was a heartrender. Ryker knew, as soon as he could speak, that he was an amplifier. His mother had discovered it shortly after his birth and had warned him to conceal it to the best of his ability. He was able to do so, living a relatively normal life at home until the age of twelve, when the testers came to see if the boy was special. It was assumed that he would have some sort of power because his mother was a heartrender – her indenture having only been paid off a year before his birth by his hardworking father.

It was discovered that Ryker was an amplifier, and this was of utmost interest to the Kingdom. Despite his parents’ pleas to leave the boy home with them, Ryker was taken away to the palace to be of use to the King’s best magicians. Ryker remained here, treated well for his abilities, until the most advanced fire-wielder came for a visit. Upon realizing how much Ryker could amplify his abilities, Cyrus – the pyromancer – devised a plot to kidnap the young man and use him for his own gains.

Cyrus stole away from the palace with Ryker and took him to the Northern lands, which were not under control of the king. There Ryker remained, living the life of an indentured servant with a bond he would never feasibly be able to pay off. Cyrus kept Ryker locked in a cell the majority of the time. It was in the cell that Ryker learned to meditate, to focus his energy, and to build his own physical strength. Within a decade, Ryker was a formidable looking man – someone who could potentially take on Cyrus in hand-to-hand combat if Cyrus were unable to wield fire.

Ryker bode his time well. He waited and waited for the perfect moment, watching as Cyrus crumbled under the amounts of power he was able to extract while connected to Ryker. While out in the wilderness, training, Ryker crushed Cyrus’ wrists and stole off into the freezing cold badlands. He wandered, killing deer and finding shelter, until he happened upon an old woman who lived alone at the edge of the nearest port. He stayed there with her, helping her to live her life, venturing into the port city for supplies and not much else. He led a secret life, pretending he was nothing more than a retired soldier – a soldier who had been injured by the war. But then rumors began to swirl. The rise of a shadow manipulator – one who was looking for more power, searching for the infamous amplifier the King and the Pyromancer had lost.