A huge humanoid white wolf clad in black armour and a long mane dragged a slightly curved sword through a devastated terrain with destroyed mountains, rifts all over the ground which lots of trees had fallen into.
"Damascus… is dead?" The wolf growled. It could only wait for now, but soon, very soon, it shall seek out his regent's killer.
***
While that ancient god resumed its activity, Godfrey remained on one knee, his head bent over as sweat trickled down in heavy drops, his eyes dull.
He had always wondered why the strong were so different, so aloof in the perspective of the weak.
Once upon a time, he thought it was all about strength. Now he knew it wasn't. Being stronger comes with its own burdens; you see things, feel things.
The cruel reality the weak never saw is laid bare before your eyes. You either side with it or fight against it and risk being crushed.
Strength didn't eliminate problems.
