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Rated: 13+ · Novel · Animal · #2258808
A bloodthirsty Pack is led by a ferocious fox Warlord to hunt down a Deserter
Gear POV

After marooning the Pack, I knew I would be wanted. I knew they would be looking for me. Did I care? Maybe not openly. I didn’t need to but at the immediate same time, it was almost like losing a family member or a close friend. To abandon my duty as a god and make my own sacrifice was that beyond a normal duty, though to a family or a friend. Straight up desertion and betrayal were not tolerated at all in the Pack, I had seen too many cohorts in the past try to desert. Vixen always found them, making an example out of each one before finishing the job with a single sword stroke. The Pack had grown ruthless as its numbers increased and so too had the yearning for bloodlust. But there was no turning back now. I had managed to escape a few days earlier with most of my surviving crew that had raised and trained me since birth. But after I left, being mere mortals, they couldn’t teleport , and so they ran. My last thoughts of them were sadness for their sacrifice to keep me alive and well. They knew the risks of joining and they certainly knew the risks of leaving. Once you are an official member, there was no refund, No way of stepping out. You were bound by life or death and everyone who had chosen to stay with the Pack knew his word was absolute. I never knew exactly of Lord Stoneclaw’s whereabouts either and that gave me great anxiety, I was somewhat close to him when I deserted, If he decided to take sides with the fox, by the fang I would be in big trouble. I couldn’t outrun them forever. Vixen was a fox and a good tracker. If he knew even remotely where I was, or where I was headed, no doubtedly he would send others to my location, meaning I always had to keep moving. Especially now that I was alone. Death was inevitable just a few days ago, surrounded by those filthy vermin Vixen had made into savages. They would scour every part of the woods and once they found me, the chase would be on and then I would see the true meaning of relentless pursuit. Even if I teleported away, I wouldn’t make it farther than a few hundred miles from their location, a distance they could cover in maybe three days at most, I was never safe. A refugee, a survivor and now a deserter charged with grand betrayal. Vixen would probably kill me on the spot if he saw me. He wouldn’t let Jagger get even close because this was a personal bond I had severed in order to get out of the chaos that was bound to erupt and cause a civil war between the sectors of the Pack, which was bound between morals and law. If even one creature put their paw out of line, punishment was made severe for this purpose to put all those who dare try to sympathize for the offenders at risk and teaching future recruits to hold their tongues, mind tier manners and speak only when spoken to. This caused quite an effective and ferocious mindset on even the most timid of creatures, sending them on a galvanized killing spree. The carnage of the Pack would not end until its bloodthirsty leader Warlord had had his fill and share in such endeavors.
What I pitied most was the fact that the recruits were forced into the Pack by a sheer force of will and fear through death threats of the recruits and or their family. Of course, not wanting to lose your life or your own family was important to most, if not all beats, so they joined. Now, there were a few who were considered “unworthy” of Pack membership, so those who were, usually non canidae species members such as ferrets, rats, stoats, weasels, and minks to name a few were put to a “loyalty test”. If they succeeded, they could stay. However, fail as to slip up even once, and your punishment was worse than death. A forced court of order statement was thrown upon you, accusing said beasts of mutiny, disorder, betrayal, and even to go as far as to say your duty as a member was a lie. There was no trial or jury, no defendants, no justice. Then the accused was set upon by the remaining horde members, a death certainly not entirely pleasant to witness as a bystander. But they were trained as such, and they acted as such, and so they were. But those who were seen as common game to the Warlord, he set them free! Into the woods for three days, allowing the escapee to run as far as he possibly could, but not without having a tracker put on their foot paw, so you were known to every hordebeast your exact location. And no matter how far or fast you ran, they would find you and end you in the manner of the unjust trial/jury scenario. Those who were successful in either passing the test (two known surviving victors, each having had separated their footpaws from their legs to get rid of the tracker) were made into a high ranking officer known to the Pack as Watchdogs. Watchdogs were a unit of trained stealthy assailants bred for one thing. To track and kill the remaining “deserters”. They were given high quality hunting and tracking equipment, modified by the Packmaster Vixen himself, enhanced with the latest technology of the century for maximum effect. The reward for each bounty brought back alive was an immediate promotion to a Pack Captain or as we knew them as Knights. You were also given two days worth of rest in personalized tents, not to mention various trophies and medals to show off your superiority in the ranks. Demotion was almost impossible at that stage. However, if you managed to bring back more than one escapee, depending on the level of danger , wanted status and relation to the Warlord, plus the rank before fleeing, rewards would only stack from there. This made many wish to join the Watchdogs of Vixen as they called it. Since the previous coups had been disbanded easily and with relatively little resistance or impact on the Pack in itself, each and every member was eager to get as much praise from the Warlord as they could leech out of him. Some even framed their own mates with high treason and other unauthorized injustices, just to get the Warlord’s attention. Soon, Vixen caught on to this and quickly prepared a plan to make sure his Pack’s complaints were true to their word, Thus, he made a treaty that everyone signed on, swearing oath as member species and rank with the promise of death should they break it, that they would never turn on their own. They also signed a Consequential Chart that showed each and every offense, minor and major across from its severity and potential, of not all liable punishments that pertained to each one. This created The Rogue Pack in its most updated formal and ruthless reputation. The Supreme Pack was on the rise, and I was their next target.






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