The form shifted, their bones cracked loudly and then popped themselves back into place. The disturbing sounds echoed through the forest, broke the silence and threatened anyone who dared to come near. There would be no warning if a human took a brave step forward in that very moment, instead the poor soul would be found ripped open with torn apart organs and a crushed skull—an absolute blood bath.

Thankfully, the hunters were long gone, had ran off as soon as the act was done. You see, the members of the pack knew that those who claimed to be hunters were appalling, sickening, and monstrous. But, they could not deny that the hunters did know better than to stay at the scene.

They only prayed on the weak, and thought they were the strong.

However, the revenge kills that were about to take place were already signed in their blood the exact second that they decided to hunt children from the Ventus Pack. And, they were going to regret it, because their fates were going to be much worse than their victim's. He was going to find them. He was going to kill them. And, just like theirs, there would be no mercy in his touch.

Once the change was done, their figure was clearly one of a man. His back rolled and his shoulder blades moved as he straightened his posture. Now, at his full height of seven feet, the others had started the same transformation from wolf to man.

"Morpheus, your cloak." A man had appeared beside him, his light hair falling to his shoulders as it continued to grow from short tufts of fur to silky and much longer hair. In his hand was a bundle of fabric, and he held it out for Morpheus to take.

"Thank you, Leander," Morpheus replied, grabbing the article of clothing and throwing it on easily. Leander, the only one on this earth to call him by his true name and not his title.

They stood tall, still. Warriors were not far behind, just a mere foot between them. Morpheus bent down, one hand dipping its fingers into a puddle of blood and the other gently placing itself over the matted fur to feel any indents before the natural shift would automatically change the dead wolf into a child's corpse. He lifted up his hand and sniffed the dripping red liquid, disappointment shook his head, "Nothing."

But, from the corner of his eye, he noticed a speck of dark brown. A shade that was not a match to the bright, orange colour of the soaked and tangled fur. Morpheus gently lifted up the head of the wolf and pried their jaw open, in their clasp was a torn piece of fabric.

Morpheus pulled the piece of clothing up to his face, and his nostrils flared at the faint scent of a human. It was light, barely there, but it was enough. "Good boy," he whispered, so quiet under his breath that only the lost soul could hear him.

"What is it, Morpheus?" Leander questioned curiously, leaning over his shoulder as he eyed the sample suspiciously. "Is that-"

"It is," Morpheus unknowingly started to grin from ear to ear as he breathed in the air, even his teeth had began to elongate and poke out from his lips at the idea of finding the hunters soon. His green orbs flashed a deadly shade of rage, as they focused on a fog-like line that ran through the overgrown trees. "And, they are not very far."

The form below him suddenly moved, convulsing uncontrollably as their bones adjusted with no help from their owner. The shape transformed into a small, defenseless boy. The only thing that covered his bare, mutilated body was a thick coat of his own blood.

Shock took over Morpheus' features as he desperately held onto the murderer's scent, and his anger thickened as he recognized the boy.

There was an inkling, a hunch that had long been settled in his gut at the instant ache of loss, but now it was proven true.

"Leander, take the group and search the rest of the woods. I want the entire territory torn apart until it is unrecognizable. There are more children out there, and if we find them in time, then there is a chance that the rest of them will survive," Morpheus demanded, and stood up quickly. "Waste no time."

Leander nodded, and split up the warriors into pairs, informing them of the importance of the matter. But, just before they were about to leave, Morpheus stopped one.

"Tyr-" Morpheus turned to face a young warrior, whose expression was one of pure horror at the sight he had witnessed, "-carry the boy back to his father, Arryn, and be sure to tell him that his son will get a warriors burial."

Memories of the boy flooded Morpheus' thoughts. A child, who had only just hit the age for his first shift that fateful day, with curly, red hair that could have been easily spotted in the crowds of children who would follow Morpheus as he went about his daily duties. "Alpha! Alpha!" The boy would call out to him, jumping excitedly as he tried to catch his attention. He was the shortest pup amongst his age. "When will you take me in as a warrior? My father says I will be an even better one than he is when I grow up!"

Morpheus would always say the same thing in agreement, "Then you will be the greatest."

That morning, the boy and his friends went for his first game of chase in wolf form. A celebration of the gift. Morpheus assured him that he would join as soon as he could, but there was no telling when as the rates of pack children going missing or being killed across the globe was starting to grow drastically, and it was up to him to make a decision for the next move. Morpheus had received letters upon letters from other packs, all containing the same type of infuriating information. Wolfsbane. Bullets. Dangerous.

The group had separated. Pairs sprinted off in hopes of finding more of the young pack members, especially since they knew that the first victim found had taken the worst of it. The amount of bullet holes in the tiny body had almost seemed as though most of them were not meant for just him, and the idea of a small boy jumping in front of others to save them lingered. Tyr held the boy's body carefully as he traveled back to the pack house to deliver the news. And, for Morpheus, he stalked the wretched scent.

The hunters marched back to their homes, feeling accomplished at their 'good' deed. They could not sense the awaiting predator behind them, hidden in the trees until the timing was perfect, for he was the true hunter.

The thoughts that ran rampant around Morpheus' head in that moment were deadly. Neck snapped. Spine pulled. Ribs broken. He was growing more and more impatient the farther he traveled. Slowly, his posture was fading as he leaned his enlarging body forward in hopes of calming the process down, but his hands still willingly curled into fists at his sides. The beast in him was turning. Morpheus cracked his jaw with the palm of his hand, getting ready.

Morpheus wanted to leave a mark.

One, two, three, four, and five. Morpheus counted their heads, and wondered what he should do. He followed them quietly, watching their every move as they applauded each other, and scoffed at their attitude. Images of their blood spilling eased his vengeful mind.

The sudden change in paths had Morpheus waiting patiently, resting up against a tree once he realized the hunters were starting to split up in opposite directions. They were done for the day, that much was clear. He didn't mind, not one bit, because he had already memorized each individual. He put on his best smile, and ran a hand through his hair as he tried to make himself presentable, just enough so that he could head into the nearby human town without being instantly caught. That would cause too much of a fuss, and sooner than he needed. The robe was not in fashion, but he did not care, and he doubt anyone would think anything of it besides being from away. His height would only add to the illusion.

Besides, anything made by and for werewolves were not cheap.

And so, Morpheus advanced.

He took confident strides through the middle of town, and the only looks he had received were ones of envy and longing. Women had fluffed up their hair and tugged down at their dresses, however, their actions were futile as he kept his gaze locked on his prey. He was saving himself for his mate, after all. But, what was said next made his head turn and his steps come to a screeching halt.

"Pelts! Pelts for sale!" The words sent a shiver down Morpheus' spine, one that only burned at his current emotions, and he casted his gaze towards the ongoing market. There were sellers lined up, selling just about anything and everything. Herbs of all kinds, freshly baked goods, handmade clothing, and more. The only thing that had him stepping towards the sellers and their products was the familiar, gut-wrenching look of a pelt.

The woman behind the shouting blushed at the attention, and it turned him nauseous. The scent of the hunter lingered around her, and he had guesses floating around in his mind. Cousin. Daughter. Niece. His tongue clicked as he nailed the correct answer. Wife. The confidence of her aura seeped out as she purred, "You may have noticed that these are not regular animal furs-" she leaned over, shrinking even smaller compared to Morpheus' size, "-they are from the beasts. Village folk think they are terrifying, but they are the same size as any other wolf, just a bit thicker. Their pelts are much more common in colder areas, but I am certain to gain a pretty penny from these!"

The process of permanently stopping the shift back to human must have took weeks to discover and perfect. Even Morpheus was uneducated to such a procedure.

Morpheus had rolled his eyes, and let out a noise of disgust as he turned away. The woman now behind him had nearly jumped in surprise, and she was forced to listen to the young girls snickering around her at her pitiful attempt at unnecessary flirting to sell. How could he bear to watch for any longer?

The pelts were the corpses of children—innocents.

This time, there was no stopping until his job was completed. And, thankfully Morpheus spotted the hunter right away.

The man had entered a house seconds before, it was quaint and well-lighted. Morpheus took a scan around, placed his hand on the door and pushed in. "Huh-" the man twisted to come face to face with death himself.

"What-What are you?" He stumbled backwards, falling into the wall. The sight of a much larger man warping and contorting violently in front of him was enough to send him flying back in fear. His body shook and trembled as Morpheus' fangs began poking out from his lips, and thick fur had started growing rapidly across his bare arms. The real beast.

"I am what you thought you killed."

That was all. Morpheus slashed his throat with the tip of his sharp claw, and watched as blood splattered everywhere before the body fell limp on the floor. As to make a point, Morpheus mangled his form until it was nearly unrecognizable. And, he left. Continuing on to his next victims until they were all carved with the same symbol.

The same message.

War.

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