Of the now four people who sat around a flickering flame, an identical pair of them kept whispering to each other, completely ignoring the obvious fact that the subject in question could hear them quite clearly.
"Hey... you certain that's him? Isn't he supposed to be... I don't know, a snake?"
"Gee, I don't know, though I sure would prefer to have a fuxxing snake the size of the world crush me—"
"I'm being serious! Why is he a human??"
"...Snake person."
The twins jumped, and two pairs of eyes, one silver, the other peridot widen at the quiet person.
The man in question swiped the air a bit, tapping an invisible console before a notification sounded and all of the gathered Players received a line of text.
[Patron Jörmungandr has allowed the following three players to view his status screen:]
[Player Laura Duval]
[Player Truth]
[Player Dare]
All of them leaned in as he swiveled the now visible screen towards them, their jaws dropping a little at his description:
——————————
Name: Jörmungandr
Race: Serpent,+(1)
Level: 1
Title(s): Patron of Ragnarok, (+5)
Patronage Count: 1,848 remaining, (+8)
———
Stats:
AGL: 87
STR: 93
DEX: 126
SPI: 300
LCK: 0
CONST: 100
PERCEP: 58
MANA: 18
——————————
Shock burst through the trio, dyeing their faces pale and stiffening their movements at how much raw power this monster had.
Spirituality 300?
Constitution 100??
Dexterity 126??!
How is this fair?! And he's only level ONE!??
ONE! Just ONE!
"Um... excuse me, Mr. World... Serpent, um... w-why is... why are... how... how did you get such ridiculous stats without leveling up?"
Jörmungandr tilted his head, confused.
"..Like that...when I...checked..."
"You mean... they were like this from the beginning??"
An innocent nod came from the serpent, his narrow eyes wide and sparkling with childlike curiosity as the expressions of the trio worsened.
It was then Truth voiced something that sent the other two panicking, as he assessed his Patron's potential properly.
"Guys... if he's only level 1, and his stats are like that... how... h-how strong will he be when he's like level 100...?"
It was an insightful question that halted their thought processes, and the truth of Jörmungandr came to the forefront, a truth not a single one truly considered when choosing this man as their Patron:
He was a complete and absolute monster.
"...Scared?"
The trio looked towards the Patron as he gazed into the flames, a tired reflection of the fire within his warm eyes, a certain age about them that made them truly consider his myth and the legends surrounding him.
It was only then they remembered the stat most out of place among his other monstrous ones: Luck.
For the first time, they wondered:
How long had he been alone?
———
[Somewhere in the Glacier Mountains]
A blizzard was brewing around a group of people, the wind battering them and the ice slicing at their cheeks, burrowing into their skin, biting, tearing.
Though dressed in the thickest clothes available to the party, they were being torn to shreds by the weather, the cuts and aches in their bones a testament of their struggle, but they pushed on, weathering the storm in hopes of a better future.
The trees that surrounded them did little to buffer the outrageous winds, but even so, they took what little protection they got and rolled with it; they needed to find him—their leader.
Though initially unknown, the reason for their haste was soon discovered, as a blur of black streaked through the wind, latching onto and piercing one of the group of twelve, felling him as blood bloomed scarlet and painted the monochrome world with color.
The group scampered faster, forcing themselves against the elements as best they could, scrambling for purchase on the unforgiving terrain that did them no favors.
Its cruelty was demonstrated when another cloaked sojourner, a smaller one, lost footing, rolling down the slope and was axed by a pursuer before they could even reestablish their footing, sinking into the snow and slowly becoming buried, the white hiding the red.
A cry of grief resounded, but the group of ten, then nine, eight, seven, and finally six remained, but they clawed onward, desperate to survive.
The man.
They needed to find that man—the one responsible for them. The man, where was he?
The girl with the black eyes didn't know; she just pushed forward, shivering and chattering with cold, her limbs stiff as she prayed to the patron she'd foolishly chosen.
'Where's the wolf man?'
She didn't know, but she kept going forward, desperate to survive, to find him. She tightly gripped her older sisters hand as she pulled her forward, trusting blindly in her conviction, choosing to believe her older sister was right from the beginning.
A splatter of blood on her face broke that desperation.
Her eyes widened, the warmth of the crimson slipping down her face a startling contrast to the cold as she screamed, holding onto her older sister with tears stinging her dark, dark eyes.
"Sister!"
"Aspen—sh!t, let go of her, we need to keep moving! You'll freeze out here, let her go, you'll be killed by them!"
"No," Aspen shrieked, "save her! Save my sister! I-I need to save her!"
"Aspen—"
"Aspy... leave me..."
Another warm liquid began to dribble down Aspen's cheeks, her youthful expression contorted with sadness and grief as she sobbed, "No... Nononononono! I won't sissy, I won't..."
The young girl held onto her sisters faltering body, and one step at a time, the people creeped back, weapons prepared to maim and kill, cruel smiles on their faces as finally they had caught some lambs for the slaughter.
In Aspen's watery eyes, the image of smiling monsters in human skins danced in a cruel, unnatural waltz, and she found a resentment growing within her.
How could they be this way?
How could such cruelty have found its way within human flesh, how could they have let it overtake and burrow within them like this?
Why?
Why were they like this, smiling unnaturally, all too happy to hunt and slaughter innocents?
That blinding, boiling anger grew and grew, until a darkness—a sheltered innocence—bubbled up and snarled at the aggressors.
Her left eye paled to an eerie blue, tears tracking down her face as she desperately whispered while clutching her older sister, "I wish those monsters could just disappear..."
"Alright, if you want me to."
Aspen flinched, looking behind her only to see a streak of silver and blue tear past her, and the shocked and horrified eyes of the group who had left her and her sister behind.
Screams erupted into a hellish symphony, shrieks and calls of panic being wringed from the throats of the humans vividly as flesh was torn and bones audibly snapped like twigs, a violent ring of scarlet painting the trees and sinking into the snow.
The screams and cries for help stopped as suddenly as it started, and only the panting of a wolf could be heard; the howl of the wind ceased, the caress of the ice paused, and flakes of white powder gently trembled as they drifted down, their bodies shaking.
Aspen, with her pale blue eye and her black one, slowly turned to look for the carnage behind her—only to be shielded by a body of a man, crouched behind her, his gaze calm and gentle overall, despite the blood that marred his countenance.
He was tall with a slim build, but had broad shoulders and strong legs that reminded Aspen of a wolf; all that covered him was a pair of ragged, white pants and a dark black fur skin cloak—one that looked like it was from a bear.
Despite his bare torso and his lack of shoes, he seemed perfectly comfortable in the snow, as if this frost was nothing to him; his hair was a jagged bluish white that seemed silvery, and it framed his hard but ruggedly attractive looks perfectly.
Eerily pale blue eyes greeted her changed ones, and his bloody hands gently wiped away a tear, the blood smearing her pale cheeks.
"Don't cry," he murmured, his eyes strong and cool, and all at once, Aspen nearly came undone; she'd been looking for someone to rely on, and this man seemed like the exact person for the job.
Another tear leaked out, this time from relief, and Fenrir smiled, his fangs that were stained garnet from the bloodshed not comforting in the least, but he seemed kind in Aspen's eyes, so she didn't view him poorly.
"Let's warm up your sister, okay?"
Smoothly, but slow enough not to scare her, he pulled off his cloak before wrapping her sister up in it. Her sister groaned in response, but a touch to her head and a soft murmur later, she was blissfully asleep.
Hauling her sister in his left arm, he offered his other one to her, gently pulling her up and lifting her up into his right and began to slink through and scale the rocks and trail easily, as if born to do so.
After passing the group, he turned with a calm yet distant gaze and commanded, "Come. I have no use for dawdling, especially when you can't even protect yourselves, let alone your pack."
The cold words shocked the survivors, their teeth clenching at the excuses in their hearts—but they knew he was right. With all the people that died... they could hardly be considered a decent group.
So, with their hearts in shambles and their spirits as low as their heads, they trudged after the man, trying to keep up with his swift pace.
The only one unaffected was Aspen; in spite of his cold words, he felt very warm...
Slowly, the rhythm of his movements, and odd comfort Fenrir commanded dredged up the bone-deep sleepiness that had laid beneath, and slowly, as the world turned soft and quiet, and all she could hear was the soothing breaths of her Patron, and the warmth of her family.
"Sleep," he gently advised, his enhanced senses aware of her exhaustion.
That was all it took, to make Aspen fall asleep.