Shapeshifters….. Beasts….. Wolves who came lurking out at night.

Humans….. When the monsters came to play all they could do was run…. Run… Run…. 

Oliviér learnt that from a rather young age. Ah, they would always hide, silence themselves, peek, whenever they saw. The young boy sauntering, wondering why these humans were so fearful of him.

He no longer wondered…..

He was a fiend. 

Everyone sought a painless death. One that they go down swiftly, without enduring the pain that came before the darkness. Without the agony, with the exhilaration of the taunting feeling. 

He sought pain. The feeling that hurt not only the body but the mind, that sent your mind to a state of high that nothing else matters than the signal of pain the brain had sent to the rest of you. 

The one that sent his enemies to their knees, and tore through his body. The pain that brings them to a state of emergency, that allowed them to see the life they had lived, wishing somehow they could retrieve that life back, they they had not lost their lives to his hands.

He not only sought it, he wanted to taste it. How wanted to taste their pain, their regrets for it was delicious knowing with all of those pain they would still die… in his hands. He knew he didn't need it, he just needed to feel it, 'cause it's all in his mind. 

He's a fiend.

The figure was the child of a Fóix after all.

They called him the spoilt spawn of terror. Son of Raymond Lé Fóix- The great villain of the Fóix Duchy.

Another sadistic bastard spawned by just another the Villainous Fóix Family. A creature spat from the bowels of terror.

A creature that craved pain, but it was not he wanted to feel it, he much preferred to inflict this pain on those he deemed worthy of it.

He saw the way many looked upon him. His people referred to his Father as a fiend, a demon, a thing horrendous and weaved from darkness.

 The gossips, the rumors, what they thought of him: A creature of pain and darkness, terror and anguish much like his Father.

But that was where everyone else was wrong. 

He was the demon that haunted his enemies. He was the thing that was truly yielded from sweet sweet darkness.

They could hide the truth underneath their flapping gums but he knew what he was. He craved anguish and pain more than anyone ever could.

He breathed ecstasy from the feel of terror from those damned to his wrath. The recognition they gave him as the Master of Evil, Spawn of the "devil".

Of course he wasn't a child of the devil, no the children of the devil were worse, but he was most certainly worse than a demon.

He didn't need to try too hard to experience the feel of pain he needed to damn his enemies to the horror that was his wrath to feel alive. He sought to his enemies and thrived from their pain but there was no enjoyment in what you did not cause.

This Wolf would send them to their deaths just for the look of fear, and terror etched on their faces before their souls are sent straight to hell- no way anyone who would cross his path would belong anywhere but hell.

He wasn't psychotic. At least he'd never thought of himself as one. He'd never killed anyone just for the thrill of it, Mother Earth knew the council would have his head if he went on a killing spree.

He killed those that disrespected the order. Those he deemed deserved a miniscule of his wrath, which was death.

The end justified the means for him. He had the heads of those that cost him his anger. 

He'd burn the world down to satisfy the order of his Nation. Maybe he was a little psychotic, maybe that wasn't the right word to describe him. 

He was dark. Angry. He was more demented than he chose to believe, he got off on the pain of others, he enjoyed ripping the throats of his enemies, he loved watching others in anguish to repel boredom.

He could stand upon an altar all day whilst humans and lowborns alike bowed before him, and kissed his feet because he was an egoistic bastard that had a sick thrill in watching others worship him. 

He enjoyed playing with the minds of others. They rumored him of being a fiend because he thrived off the sweet pain of others because he could never feel one as much as they did…. Maybe he could very well be labelled the devil because he loved to torture the minds of others.

A Fóix didn't hide in the shadows was his way of justifying his conceitedness so he flaunted himself, made a spectacle of himself.

Oliviér Fóix loved to mind torture. Loved to manipulate, slowly breaking whoever the unlucky victim was. 

He was a dark man. That was what humans have come to dub people with his traits.

He wasn't a fiend, the devil or a mad man.

He was the thing his enemies had to face when they challenged him. He was the punisher, a Fóix.

He wasn't psychotic. He was fucking dick.

A brown creature stepped out of the darkness upon hearing the sounds of thudding. 

The animal, the huge hound that watched him with predatory orange eyes. It was fucking huge.

The hound's height competed with that of a full grown adult, that neither the buildings nor the darkness could shadow the beast. For one the big beast was brown, with not just any white but snow white trails guiding along it's brown fur. 

A sharp spear-like black mark that started from the eyeline of its eyes, passed the crinkles of the edge of the beast's eyes down to the start of its ear.

The mark had two other arrow-like ends attached to the side of each mark drawn from the eyeline of its eyes, which made the markings seem much like a crossbow with two curved limbs at both sides of the markings.

Its eyes were cat-shaped (the irony) and its eyes, shit, it's piercing, glowing eyes that felt like one had been sent tumbling down a volcano as it looked at person on a horse.

It's chest rose and fell, the big creature with fur was it. It was the one that owned the dark sweet aura that caused him to nearly vomit. 

It stuck it's flat wide tongue to lick the blood pasted on it's mouth, before it begun shaking, bones straightening, fur becoming skin.

It shifted into a man….. The man's mouth was pasted with thick blood as well as it's body. Every muscle line narrowing from his firm arms down to his flat and hard stomach glistened with sweat and blood.

Both of his thick appendages between his legs swung as stalked toward the figure, firm arse out on display in the night.

"Paladin," Oliviér spoke in a low voice. "You came too late."

The blonde haired man in armor narrowed his eyes from the death blood and fire in the King's Tower to back at the man.

"Fóix, do I want to ask how many of this is your doing?" Paladin Sebastién replied.

Oliviér's lips which had turned a thickened red from the blood curled up. "I am not too sure myself."

"As expected of a Fóix, murder and violence runs in your family blood behind all your farce of a gentleman."

Oliviér jolted an eyebrow, a "sweet" smile appearing on his face sheening with sweat. "Oh Paladin….. is this not a case of the pot calling the kettle black? Behind that shining armor, that sunshine hair I still remember the ruthless massacrer, you are just as bloodthirsty as I am."

Sebastién's jaw locked into a visible tick. "You are conniving as you are shameless. Do not think I did not notice the way that poor girl looked at you, she trusts you as her Superior but sooner or later she will die, just like–"

"–Everyone around YOU dies?" Oliviér cut him off.

Sebastién's chest rose and fell. He turned to the men behind him. "Search for survivors, scatter and gather the dead bodies, burn them, I will report this to the Church." Sebastién spoke, riding away on his white horse.

Oliviér huffed through his nose.

"Monster," He heard a strangled voice say.

The golden-red eyes man turned around to see a haggard man with one eye being black while the other was hazel.

A hybrid. He was lying on his own blood, losing a leg.

"Monster, evil," the man continued.

Oliviér cocked his head to the side, nails turning into claws, canines turning into fangs as he smiled "sweetly".

"Monster!" The man yelled as he was carried away into a dark alley with inhumane speed.

"Evil! Beast!" He yelled again and again.

The shadow of a hunched over creature tearing a man piece by piece cast on the ground.

Then….

A pound of blood red flesh fell on the ground away from the alley.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Sooo Oliviér is a psychopath lol and Sebastién might not be so good. Anyways this chapter was mainly to show the readers how Werewolves are in this world…. Basically their very murderous. I also wanted you all to dive into the mind of Oliviér, to portray him away from Elizabeth's eyes.

What do you guys think? Is she safe with him or nah?