11,000 years ago

Dust drifted down from the curved ceiling of the great room. Usually filled with his kind, it was now deserted, except for the lone Guardian that stood facing the huge double doors. He stood motionless as he waited for the enemy to breach. The doors bent inward, groaning in protest from the size and strength of the latest attack against them. The Guardian tightened his grip on his weapons. Standing at twenty five feet, covered head to toe with chocolate brown fur, with the head of a wolf, he was the very definition of furociousness. He wore only and armored kilt, but he was no more vulnerable than a man covered in armor an inch thick, wielding a hundred swords. On his back was a massive long bow equipped with curved blades at both ends, each one about three feet long and razor sharp. Alongside it, a quiver filled with two dozen arrows, each as long as a man was tall. But the real danger came from the twin sickles in his hands. With five foot handles, and blades that were two, which met the handles at a ninety degree angle and a slight curve. The blades were double edged, and ended in wicked points. Combined with the fact that they were quite literally indestructible, all of this made them the perfect weapons for close hand to hand combat.

At the unexpected pounding of feet, he spun around with a snarl, prepared to fight till his last breath defending his home. What he saw instead of Shadow Warriors, worried him more so: Twelve other Guardians, and in their true forms like him. Ten of them the remaining elders. The other two young Guardians his age. One, his twin sister, with short tan fur and the head of a cougar, her weapons twin rapiers, wearing a light armored breastplate, and an armored kilt similar to his. Her name was Slash. The other, his closest friend, though of late they had been a little more than that. She had the head of a fox, and thick, smooth orangish-red fur. She wore similar armor to Slash, and her weapon was a quarter staff as tall as she, the ends capped in the same metal that made up his and Slashes blades. Her name was Sleek. Both were shorter than he, about twenty feet in height.

"What are you doing here?", he asked, his voice as deep as a baritone, booming in the cavernous room. "I thought everyone evacuated." "They did. Right into the waiting hands of the enemy. It was an ambush." Sorrow and despair crushed him instantly, but were quickly swept away by his terrible rage. The lead elder, the one who had spoken, placed a hand on his shoulder. "You three are the only ones left who can make it out." "No! I'll not abandon you." The doors groaned again and a sharp CRACK! echoed throughout as a split appeared in the once beautiful doors. "They will be here soon. You should leave now before it is too late. I shall hold them off as long as possible." He turned back to the doors, determined, his vision already turning red. He felt a hand on his shoulder once more as a second elder turned him to face them again. Shaking her head, she replied "It is us who must hold them back. We are not fast enough nor strong enough to escape, for we are not as young as we used to be. You three must go. Hide, wait for the next generation of Guardians to rise up. Protect them. Train them. Become the next elders, and-". "NO!", he roared baring his teeth, feeling his recently discovered, but now familiar, battle rage swelling up inside. "I will not leave you to die. Send Sleek and Slash. I will stay and fight. Make them pay-". "Streak please!", Sleek begged. That was his name, Streak, given to him for his unmatched speed. Along with his random burst of strength, it was his gift, inherited from his parents. Only a select few Guardians had gifts such as his. "We need your help. You have more combat training and experience than either of us, and what's more, you have a hunters instincts. Slash and I are ok fighters, but our skills pale in comparison to yours." Bull shit, he thought. He had trained with them and seen them in battle, and while it was true, he was more skilled due to relentless training and pushing himself harder and harder, their skills were far from being just "ok". "Nonsense, you're fighting skills are just fine." "We still need you. I need you." Her voice broke a little. "But-". "You know I'm right Streak. If not for us, do it for the others." Streak hung his head, knowing he had lost the argument. The elders formed a protective half circle around the doors, weapons at the ready. "May your speed never falter, and your blades stay sharp", said the lead elder. With heavy hearts and troubled thoughts, the three Guardians fled deeper into the fortress, and then into the night, never to see their beloved elders again.