The Evolution Chronicles

"The Henshaws? Damn those slimy bastards!" Daven slammed his fist on his stone throne, breaking off bits of grey stone. His eyes were fiery, and his voice was laced with anger. They had spent the past two days tracking down the humans who had captured two of their pack mates, and they had finally made some progress. Unfortunately for them, the ones who had captured Dion and Mian were the most powerful group of humans in the Northern Continent.

Daven rubbed his forehead in frustration as the scouts before him lowered their heads. They were just as pained as him. It was very unrealistic of the to look to a frontal battle with the Henshaws. They had one of the most powerful humans in the world right in their kingdom. A Pillar of Humanity. Perhaps there were now two of them.

Daven sighed again. Not only had they lost the opportunity to empower their pack, but they had also lost their future Patriarch. Everything was just spiraling out of control.

"Patriarch!" A yell came from the entrance of the main chamber. Daven sighed internally as he felt another problem arrive at his doorstep.

"What is it?" He resisted the urge to glare at the lean Werecat before him. The scout was currently breathing harshly, trying to regain his breath.

"P-patriarch! Bad news! The Henshaws are mobilizing an army!" The brown furred female demi-human sputtered, panic in her eyes. Daven immediately perked up at the mention of an army.

"What direction is this army marching in?" He sat forward and narrowed his eyes at the scout.

"They are heading straight for us!"

"Damn it! Those useless humans dare!" Daven shot up from his throne, an ominous aura bursting free from him. He had wanted to avoid battle with the humans due to the presence of their Pillar, but now that they were marching on his territory, he no longer cared. If the humans were marching on them, then they had no choice but to go to war.

"P-patriarch..." A choked whisper reached his ears, drawing him out from his inner deliberation. He raised his eyes, and the scene before him was one that slightly irked him. The scouts before him all bore choked expressions, and he could almost see their flushed cheeks from underneath their fur.

He took a deep breath, and exhaled loudly. He was surrounded by weaklings.

Shaking his head, Daven withdrew his Mystic Force. Mystic Force was a magical force that represented the bloodlust of an individual. Normally, only beings of great power could utilize the Mystic Force that had formed within their bodies. Daven was one of these individuals, as well as several dozen dominant ranking pack members in his pack.

He sat down on his throne and waved away the scouts surrounding him. "You are dismissed. Inform the Council members that they are all needed here." The moment he gave the order, the scouts immediately scrambled, trying to get out before each other. Daven scoffed at this. He thought his Navira Pack was better than this. Apparently, a lot of weak will high ranking demi-humans had made it into some good positions.

It was fine, the war would toughen them up. He just hoped that they would become strong enough without dying out there. The loss of even a single member was one that would pain him immensely. Although he thought they were weak, they were his pack, his family in a sense.

Daven sat down in silence for a couple of minutes, the only sound accompanying him being that of his claw tip tapping against the armrest of his stone throne. His ears twitched slightly as he heard the sound of hurried footsteps echo through the caves. The voices came next, just before a dozen demi-humans made their way into the main chamber. Daven eyed them as they stopped before the throne, bowed their heads, and then sat down on the soft furs that were spread around the throne, facing him.

"Council." He spoke.

"Patriarch." They returned.

"We have a grave matter on our hands." He cut straight to the chase. This was a matter of utmost importance, and there was no need to beat around the bush. "Balvan, please explain the situation." Daven turned to look at a dark brown furred Werewolf that sat at the edge of the semicircle that the council members had formed before him.

Balvan, the leader of the Scout Regiment, bowed his head and cleared his throat. He stood up, before angling his body so that he could face both the Patriarch and his fellow council members.

"I will not waste time with the usual talks and greetings." Balvan's voice was deep and smooth. It carried his rank and power through the air in minute vibrations that everyone could feel. He was powerful. Very powerful. "The First Battalion of the Scout Regiment, Arm One, discovered the traces of a large army heading our way a few hours ago." As he spoke, the look on everyone's face grew grave! They knew what an army meant. It meant war.

"Under my command, we traced this army back towards the borders of the Henshaw Dynasty. The army of soldiers heading our way numbers at least fifteen hundred soldiers, of varying ranks. We can expect at least half of those soldiers to be the average soldiers, those that were just newly recruited into the human army. Perhaps they mean to bathe them in blood and sharpen them. The remaining half of that army, though... The remaining half of the army should range from the level of a lower rank, all the way to the level of a strong middle rank. Perhaps a few warriors might be as strong as one of our high ranking members, but there is no way to be sure."

"They have hidden their tracks well, and have chosen to take the long way around, instead of directly cutting through the forest to attack us. This move of theirs has bought us roughly a week to prepare.. And we must make the most of it."