"So is this going to get ugly or are you going to come quietly?"

Kuzma didn't acknowledge the old dog, continuing to stare at his feet.

He could not believe that he had actually begun to doubt his original opinion of the human. He had actually begun to think that the man was as kind as he acted, that he was probably the only soul Kuzma had ever met outside his clan that was true and kind and not out to kill him or sell him out to the gods.

And then he invited the old wolf inside, leaving him in the hands of the gods' most loyal of creatures.

The human had been no different, playing Kuzma all along with such a convincing act. It had been so good too. So good that Kuzma had begun to lower his defenses, begun to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was someone in this dark world on his side. But no. No there wasn't.

The human was just like everyone else. Evil, conniving and a liar, ready to break Kuzma because to him, Kuzma was nothing but a monster.

He didn't bother to react as the old wolf moved to stand on the right of the bed, ignoring her presence and waiting for the moment she tried to kill him, as was her duty as one sworn to The Council of the gods.

"I wonder how you hid for so long. The rest of your people were caught so easily, yet you evaded capture. Mind telling me how? I love a good story."

Kuzma, again, did not respond. He just continued to stare at the toenails the human trimmed so neatly.

Probably to get you clean and tidy for some god's fetish to be explored.

The man even had the audacity to act the same as he left! Carrying on that kind act, telling me to call him. Mocking me! Displaying his cruelty with each soft word spoken! I am no monster! He is the true beast.

But why?

Why couldn't have the act been true? Why can't there be someone that cares about me? Are they all truly gone?

His thoughts made Kuzma swallow hard and glare at his feet, trying to understand why the human selling him off to the wolves was having such a huge effect on him.

He shouldn't have been surprised. It was what he instinctively expected from everyone--to be ready to hurt him, and yet he was surprised the human was doing just that. He didn't know why.

It happened all the time, with everyone his master and himself had dared to trust while both of them were on the run. Kuzma shouldn't have been surprised but he was and he wanted, desperately, to know why he was.

Because just like every other time as a child, you wanted this to be different.

Kuzma pressed his legs tighter to his chest, annoyed with himself because that was the truth he was trying to avoid from revealing itself, the truth he wanted to remain hidden but his damned mind worked on its own time.

But it was the truth all the same. Kuzma wanted it to be different, even under the skeptical eye he put on the human, that child in him that remained, still hopeful, wanted the human's act to be true.

And because he had begun to think it was so, it hurt so much when he found out it wasn't, thinking he should've just left as soon as he had woken up. He should not have stayed just because of the feel of soft sheets, or the fact that there was a bed, or the warm scent of fresh bread, or the warmth of someone there, someone that didn't touch to cause harm but to heal, comfort. Just like his master. He should not have let those things keep him in the small house, he should've just gone.

Maybe that was another trick of the human's. To make him stay and not attack by using such tempting things. Kuzma did not even think about the fact that the gods forbade the reveal of his part of the world to humanity or that the human couldn't have possibly known Kuzma was even coming. He was feeling too stupid, annoyed and hurt to think rationally.

"You're suddenly mute?" the wolf asked. Kuzma had forgotten she was there.

"No matter," she went on, sitting on the bed and making Kuzma tense up some more. "Alpha Sam will get answers out of you when she gets here."

Kuzma did not care. He was going to kill them all anyway, no matter the status of the dogs.

"First sirin anyone's spotted in over a decade," she said and Kuzma's eyebrow twitched.

Does everyone in America talk so much?

"You know, I killed a few of you myself. Back when I was younger."

Kuzma slowly raised his head and tilted it back, hair falling down his shoulders as he glared at her with his gleaming silver eyes.

Her sly smirk fell slightly but was brought back up soon after.

"A reaction. Good," she said, chuckling slightly.

"Why do you wait, dog?" he asked, not caring about the way she bristled.

It was a compliment as far as he was concerned. Unlike actual dogs, she and her flea covered kind weren't as innocent.

"Orders. Watch the Fallen, make sure it didn't harm Marcus, which you're lucky you didn't. Being what you are and then harming a favored? Marcus of all people? I would've put you down myself. I wonder...How exactly did you control Marcus without breaking his mind? Isn't that an effect your powers have on regular beings? Or lemme guess? You tricked the guy? Knew he's too kind for his own good and used him?"

Kuzma blinked at her, confused. He wasn't sure what she was talking about.

Control? Used? He's the one that tricked me...

Wait.

"Good thing we came here in time," the she-wolf mumbled, looking as relieved as she sounded but Kuzma was too busy trying to decipher her previous words to give her his full attention.

And when he did, he felt like even more of an idiot.

You stupid piece of shit. You emotional, idiotic piece of pigeon shit. The human still has no clue what's going on.

You've been moping over fucking nothing.

"So he didn't know," Kuzma said to himself, placing his left palm on his face as his irritation towards himself grew, as well as his embarrassment for jumping to conclusions.

"What are you mumbling abou--"

"Stop barking for one moment, dog," Kuzma ordered, cutting her off.

The mutt looked to have had just about enough of Kuzma, her wrinkled hands balled up into fists as she glared at him, canines beginning to form.

"Know your place, Fallen. You are not a Golden race anymore. You are lower than worm shit and are the last of your filthy, cocky, disobedient race. You do not order anyone around! You smile up to the gods as your head is cut off!" the wolf yelled.

Kuzma blinked at her, having heard her words before when his people were being killed and some ran for their lives, he had heard it all. Sirins and the other three fallen races, they were disgusting, they were vile, they were the bad guys, they were the ones that thought they could be above the gods.

And of course, they thought that to be true. After all, their gods were the ones that told them so it just had to be true.

"I was nine," Kuzma said, eyes drifting towards the window on the wolf's left to stare out at the sky.

The wolf stopped growling to give Kuzma an annoyed expression, confusion present.

"What?"

"I remember. I was nine. I remember because...I had been excited. I was going to turn ten and join the ranks. A cadet at last, as was every raven hatchling's dream," Kuzma said on, and he was not sure if he was talking to the wolf or to himself, his memory coming to him in pieces.

"I was nine...or was I actually ten? No, no. Nine."

"What are you rambling about? Are you as mad as the rest of your people?" the wolf asked, sighing and showing exasperation.

"I was nine when the heavens opened and the skies rained fire," Kuzma mumbled, voice cold and face void of emotion.

The wolf froze, blinking down at him, stunned by his words.

"Then came the Valkyrie. Then came the Killer Of Monsters. Then came the lightning. Then came the screams, the cries, the anguish and the despair. And fire. So much fire. And we didn't even know why."

He turned his head back around to look at the face of the shocked wolf.

"I was nine years old that day. I didn't even know how to fly. I was nine years old...the day I watched my world burn. Why didn't I burn with them? Why?" Kuzma asked with a humorless laugh, realization hitting him as he remembered that day fully.

"I want to die," Kuzma said, the laughter stopped as he looked at the silent, stunned wolf with confusion, that slowly turning to comprehension.

"I want to die. I want to die. Why did I fight this?" he asked himself, trying to understand it. Trying to understand why he fought so hard to live even though he wanted to die so badly.

At first, it was to keep the sirins going but there was no point. He was the last and his death meant the end. There was no way he was going to plant his seed in a female. He would have never wanted his child to be hunted down like he was, just for being what they were.

There's nothing I'm living for. Why didn't I end it when I crawled out of that cell?

He wanted to die yet he kept fighting to stay alive and he didn't know why.

Is it fear of death? Stubbornness? Pride?

"...I'll call Marcus," the wolf said, sounding somber and quiet before walking out of the room. Her expression had changed from anger to confusion.

Kuzma stayed quiet before turning back to his toes, wiggling them on the dark blue sheets.

I need a reason to live, don't I?

Then he sighed and turned his head back to the window, eyes on the calm skies and listened to the busy people outside in the town, all pushing forward and living their lives and it left Kuzma with an amusing thought.

What if I fight to live just to piss off the gods? Won't that be the best reason?

It was sad, even he knew that, that that was his only reason for wanting to live, but it was a reason all the same and that was all that was important.

It is, right?