As slow as a crawl did his wait extend. The only reason the large dirus bid his time was because patience was just the confluence of opportunity and advantage. And Dion would need as much of the latter as possible. Yet again, what was advantageous to beasts? Sharper claws, bigger fangs, more potent mana? Dion didn’t know. Couldn’t, the cognitive aptitude to understand was missing.

Guided by some instinct, deep in the recesses of his generational knowledge, he knew the time was right. The sun was buried in its crept of darkness and the moon, full and bright, descended its light just like the star. The glow would allow for the animals with the worst night vision to navigate easily. Something in the light, a strange power to it. Beyond comprehension of even the sentients.

An image clawed in Dion's mind. Thankfulness and gratitude thrummed from inside. He had been blessed, the same gift in the dungeons with his master. Amarok had shown herself in small influences and had further picked sides of the battle to come.

Slowly he stepped into the apex’s above ground territory. In a circle of trees there was a large mound in the middle. It led to a gaping cave entrance. Dion howled, long and challenging. Others, much inferior, had joined the call. Woops, and yelps. All manner of animal call sounded out. Not one of the territories' defiled the call. Nocturnal or not. This was too important to go against the tide of nature and instinct. The pinnacle was being challenged. A new era was either going to be rushed in, or the tyrant would still be supreme.

Dion prowled in a long semi-circle. Each step pronounced and calculated. Dion's sleek body poised for sudden movement. With each step, His hackles rose in excitement as the noise around him continued to explode in perpetual thunder. So much sound dispersed from the gathered animals that it began to shake the ground. It abated, and came back with a greater force. Soon in sync with a heartbeat. The slow, rhythmic jingle of nature itself made the background of challenge.

A roar sounded out, above and beyond the rest. Silence ensued, and the scuffs of movement escaped the opening in the ground. As if the apex’s walk was the beat of war drums, thunderous raucous echoed again. This time, in tune with the incumbent tyrant. Six thumps of repeating noise, each equally separated with each other, and then the hexed music grew louder. Eventually, when the melody of nature crescendoed. The apex, the mangled and vague bi-pedal, the furious four armed guerilla, emerged.

Absence of vibration once again fell upon the small clearing. The gorillas smacked his chest and whooped in aggravation. Dion returned with a growl as he licked his lips. One yelled and the other howled as they charged in to meet each other. The animals around them all screamed wildly, untamed, and the unbridled force of nature came. For now, until this fight was over, no one ruled over them.

As the man-beast ran, dark power formed at the ends of his limbs. With each thump of its foot or fist. Spikes of blackness jutted out the ground beneath Dion. Ultimately the attack didn’t bear the dirus harm with his speed and agility. Quickly the two closed in. The tyrant sent a fist with his left, Dion dipped under it but was blindsided by a hand just underneath.

Dion's side weathered the strike, his natural defense and strong muscle formation still stood. With an animistic ignorance of pain, the dirus doubled his attack. Claws raked the tyrant's chest, but the blood spilt was of minimal importance. Dion jumped back as the gorilla tried to ensnare the dirus in its many limbs.

The tyrant beat the ground. Shadow caked the entirety of his form, and then

His body tripled. The two extras just inches from the guerilla’s real body, one to the left, another to the right. Dion wondered at the implications of the spell, but bestial bloodlust had already set in as the probing attacks finished. The real fight had begun.

The second round commenced as the two entered close melee range. The disadvantage was clear for Dion. It seemed that the giant monkey could switch his physical body between his copies. Each swipe of claws or bite into the shadow substance lacks tangibility. When he dodged one limb, another of the 12 total arms was there to intercept. Dion received much more damage than he dished out. He had to change something. He had to adapt.

He suppressed the activation of his master's power. This was his battle, and his battle alone. Yet, with each passing second the situation was getting worse. Action had to be made before the tide of the battle was irreversible. Dion leaped back out melee range and circled the monster. He was stuck, with no capability of range but out classed in close-quarters, it seemed the best option was to run. The thought never crossed his mind, he was in nature. A place where a challenge was won by living and lost by death. With no in between.

The large dire-wolf's black coat hid his wounds. While the tyrant didn’t have many to conceal. Suddenly the wind shifted and the guerilla’s awful scent wafted to Dion's nose. His generational intellect and cunning vibrated in his mind as he thanked Amarok for the assistance. Visuals could always be obscured and barred. Scent wasn’t so easily thwarted, and the tyrant smelled. Bad.

He jumped back in close quarters, but ignored his sight and followed the need to inflict damage. The dirus nimbly dodged the incoming attacks as he followed the flow of smell in its odd currents. It tucked and swirled around the body, so he did too. When he passed through a shadow feint, or crossed the path of the fake bodies fueled by dark power, the spell as a whole would flicker. The guerilla’s frustration peeked to rage when the mana constructs faltered and dispersed.

Dion backed away in time as hundreds of tiny spikes came out from the tyrant. As soon as the power in that attack fizzled out. He tensed and released muscles as he closed in at speed. The dirus darted past his foes guard and dipped below the top right arm. Snapping his jaws shut, he tore muscle and tendon away from the connection point of the bottom right arm. With his momentum, Dion was already out of a counter-attack range.

Not that the gorilla had time for a response away. The dirus pivoted and launched at the tyrants back. Weight and speed toppled the beast. He clamped down on its neck, and used all of his claws to gouge large portions of flesh out of his foe. Just before the gorilla gathered his strength to push the dire wolf off. Dion jumped away, but not before severing more flesh with his teeth.

Blood traveled down Dion’s tongue, and into his stomach as it was quickly digested. Power churned in his gut as it entered everything. Bone, muscle, dantian, and brain. In a sudden rush of understanding came an addition of his base instincts. The transference of power was beginning, but he needed more. More blood, more flesh, more strength.

Each of the animals met a feeling of an emotional battle filled with the bestial drive to kill. Dion’s mind was on bloodlust, a need to devour, to feed. But before he could dive into its persuading actions, he stopped himself and forcefully drove clear thoughts into the forefront. A pulse from his stomach told him that his very own piece of insatiable nothing was not too happy with him. The guerrilla on the other hand was fully consumed by his rage, he didn’t bother with anything other than squashing the defiler in front of him.

The tyrant slammed his three remaining good arms on the ground and yelled. Spittle flew from his mouth as shadow formed an ethereal armor around him. Bright red shackles of power formed around its neck, arms, legs and torso. They didn’t impede movement or power, but signaled something else.

All the animals raged.

Shadow shards flew out at Dion. He ran around dodging in between the ranged attacks. They didn’t last long, as the tyrant used the time the dirus was taking evasive actions to close in. With one hand, he tried to smash a wolf shaped hole in the earth. The first half of the attack was dodged, but the large spike out of the ground wasn’t. Shadow skewered the dirus in the stomach and the gorilla didn't waste time as he used two hands as a weapon of capitulation.

In return, Dion fell and let the spike dig deeper into him as the large swipe of the beast missed. He wanted to yelp in pain, but kept it in. Now was not a time for weakness. With force he ripped the spike out of the ground and jumped at the tyrant. He was too slow. A shadow enhanced arm blocked but he latched on. Dion used all of his jaw muscles to dig and dig. He found bone. Before anything of note happened, the gorilla smashes the spike and shoved it into something vital.

Dion was flung and rolled in harsh thumps. The gorilla rocked his chest with only two arms, his left top arm hung limp. Red tinted power pulsed from the tyrant as a red eye opened from the black armor. A beam of similar colors shot out and hit the Dirus. Shooting Dion down as he was just about to stand.

The loss of life was knocking at Dion's door, but death was unwelcomed and forced away. Losing was the furthest away from the non-sentient mind. He didn’t have the capacity or the want to ponder the tide of demise. His single track mind paved the way to the simple thought of continuing. Besides, who else would look after his master.

The dirus stopped his expiration but stayed in that moment of life and death. The previously white fur turned black. Dark power virbated from his core and was further corresponded by the chunk of Nonesthic inside of his stomach. With the last attack, he had enough. Memories and instinct came to him in a rush. Understanding of his newfound power. His wound didn’t heal, but the blood pouring from them did turn dark, and from the pools of shadowed gore rose three shadow-wolfs. Dion stood as the tyrant, who was just boasting in victory, looked at him. The dirus smelled the horribly thrilling scent of anger. And fear.

A predatory grin showed the blackened and longer fangs of Dion. The last white on the dirus faded away and the shadow visages that resembled him stood aside. Entangling themselves quickly before dispersing in a circling pattern. The tyrant roared as he lost the real challenger in the fakes.

The first wolf came head on. It ducked under a bolt of black and red power. But as it closed in, it was unable to maneuver a crushing fist. Black goo remenicint to the thickness of blood flew from the mana fueled construct. The tyrant learned too late that the reckless attack was a feint leading to a distraction. As soon as the shadow gore touched the ground, the other three copy Dions latched on the raging gorilla. Each inducing as much pain as a physical bite would.

The tyrant roared and flailed like a fish. He tried to leverage his strength to shake the wolves off, but the attempt was fruitless. So, it did the only thing the non-sentient, anger filled mind could think of. It jumped slightly and landed hard on his back. Three identical whimpers and the sudden lack of substance told the gorilla that his foe was vanquished. As soon as the smallest tingling of victory drudged its way to the forefront of the tyrant's mind, the feeling was impeded. Four large paws landed on his chest. The tyrant's warmth was sucked, funneling into the contact of the large, pitch black dirus that stood on top of him.

Dion opened his maw and bit viciously down onto the gorilla's neck. A feint with-in a feint. An answer in the absence of the black puddle that was owned by the original shadow wolf told of the tyrant's mistake. His life-blood poured vigorously. A mute roar gurgled from his half smashed jaw and crushed windpipe. With a tendril of invisible Will the tyrant reached to the monster inside of his soul. In a span of a few seconds a deal was made. Red power thrummed stronger from his core. Altering his composition and make-up. Soon he would no longer be the same animal. Something worse. Something more. Power and life he took, freedom he gave.

The dirus noticed the sudden change. The blood in his mouth became vile and rotten. In his meta-physical sense he transcended any other perception but somehow tied closely with his scent. He could tell the foe before him was changing at such a rate that nothing would be left of the previous tyrant. Thinking quickly, Dion let go of the neck and began to rip and tear the pseudo-gorillas chest. A power reminiscent of Shell's green vines healed and stitched the wound together, while it simultaneously changed its host. In response, the dirus conjured his new found power to his claws. Physically making them sharper and longer. After each cut a small burst of shadow power entered and further corroded the large gash Dion made.

Soon he came upon his target of a large beating heart. It was already inflicted with the red power. He snapped down on the organ and crushed it. A little blue flame was suctioned from the blood. Both his body and core tried to claim the piece of power. Both were burned out and tired. But the using of his foes soul wouldn't be honorable, not like this at least. Instead he ushered the representation of the tyrants being into his stomach, to his Nonesthic piece.

He followed it into the dark plane. A ethereal tyrant glowed in the darkness. Behind him, a mass of various animal parts covered in dark red gore hovered with a giant yellow eye in the middle. Dion didn’t dare contemplate it. Instead he simply acted. With a portion of his Will, a door appeared and opened beneath the gorilla. The tyrant fell in. Tendrils of red followed. The dirus wasn’t sure if the ugly amalgamation was trying to pluck the gorilla out of its afterlife, or follow it. It didn’t matter.

Dion turned into a blur as he viscously severed the ties that bound the two creatures. With-out anything to hold it back, the gorilla fell and its door closed. The amalgamation didn’t mourn for its host and turned towards the dirus. Despite his senses of incoming danger, the hideous creature before him didn’t become offensive. It stood still and withered. WIthout a host and an anchor, the thing couldn’t live. The eye covered him with its stare. Gathering information and drinking in the dirus’ identity. As if it was…

He banished himself from Nonesthic and to let the creature die alone. Dion felt the rush of being thrusted back into his corporeal body. Sound, touch, scent. All of it pounced at him. With an effort of will he focused. The animals around him escalated their sound. A monument had been toppled and a new era would usher in. Claw and Fang. The cycle of death and victory continues.

Certain rights had to be observed. Traditions passed down by bestial instinct. As it was law. Dion wobbled himself into the lair of a silenced dynasty. The entrance lead to a complex of tunnels and small alcoves woven beneath the skin of the earth. With three shadow-wolves to aid him. Dion killed every single blood-kin. Be it a senior or a cub. No mercy. Beasts were afforded such luxuries.

After the deed was done. Dion peaked from the cover. Baited stillness. The dirus jumped up on the mound. His dark visage was outlined by the bright large moon behind him. The celestial counter weight poked from the edges of the skyline and breathed a purple hue to its previous banishment.

Dion howled, and his kingdom followed.