A late autumn storm battered the cliffs of Nerine. Outside, the sky had grown dark and tumultuous, and the howling wind bent the sapling redwoods backwards and forwards overhead Wolfbane. He stood just inside the comfort of the dark wood, not yet choosing to take that first fateful step out from his cover and onto the worn trail that led up through the sparsening forest and out into the moorish, brackish wilds of the gray kingdom. He took a breath and adjusted himself - shook his sleek, scaly shoulders free of the wet downpour, straightened his neck and raised his head proudly though he could not see - then trod out from Taiga and into the open.

He was expected, after all. Not exactly as himself, but expected anyways. Turns out Bane was lucky enough to happen across a particularly interesting character in Pangea who’d given Wolfbane inspiration to… sort out a minor mistake for the entire Kingdom. Really, he’d insisted! He had ties in Nerine and (to be honest) Neverwhere was long overdue on a favor he’d been dying to give her.

“Never say Never!” Wyrm cackled in the back of his head, and Wolfbane grinned eerily through a set of ragged, sharp teeth. Past the last remaining sentry trees he strolled, touting the horns that grew right from his puckered eye sockets like some freakish crown on his forehead. Lightning struck, shearing the dark fabric of the night sky, and the lingering crack of a blinding flash gave every one of his look-alike scales thin, black outlines. Ghaul strode out from the redwoods and onto the southern road of Nerine, flicking his demon’s wings and bringing a halestorm with him.

You know, Wolfbane had gotten a really good look at @[Neverwhere] the last time they’d met. He struggled sometimes, when trying to recall memories from before, but the ones he remembered from that foggy beach walk with Lilliana… ah, well … they’d been more recent. Much stronger. He couldn’t forget the way the snarling, malformed mare reacted to him back then, or the way she’d intentionally thrown the first hit - interjecting herself into something that Wolfbane wanted, using Lepis to cock-block him.

But he could make her forget, just by willing himself to be some horse - any horse - other than the one who’d bring suspicion. Even better: a horse that she greets at the doorstep of Nerine, calling out his false name loud enough for anyone nearby, (who could possibly be nearby in this sort of freakish weather?) Ghaul!

The wind screamed, tearing at the two horses. Neverwhere was intent on bracing the lashing, frozen rain in the near-dark for a brief monologue, and that afforded Ghaul enough time to cover the angling, uphill distance between them. Mud caked his talons, covering the markings underneath up to his knees; he heard what the silvery horse was saying word-for-word, but pretended not to hear above the rising gale. Or pretended not to care, either way.

Another flash of light, a crack of thunder. This time the bolt was closer, sending tremors through the earth, but Ghaul could care less. The wind, the hail, and the threat of certain death didn’t stop him from walking to suddenly loping up the hill in the span of one stride. Ghaul disappeared under the drenching rain. His skin and horns melted away, and too little, too late…

Wolfbane himself leapt at the Queen of Nerine.

His back legs were still misshapen into some other animal’s, complete with paws, but he seemed to stretch himself thinner and sail over the open space between them anyway. He wasn’t a horse, but a creature that sprouted several eyes and widened its already too-wide mouth full of needles, lunging at Neverwhere with a snap that could be heard through the downpour.

Wolfbane felt tempted for a moment, to do what she’d done. He contemplated offering her a bit of mercy if she went quietly, like her friend Lilliana had in the Field. But he thought better of it, dug both his hooves and his claws into the unsteady footing of the mud, and hoped to overwhelm her with sheer strength if she retaliated by trying to disengage and run away.

He’d rather get on with the maiming; there was plenty of time for pillow talk later.

Ironically enough, Wolfbane’s manipulative power (both outer and inner) was hardly a strong enough power that he’d be any real threat to a horse who wielded true magic. Against a spell or two his body was weak - susceptible to the countless faults any one body could have - and he could’ve been struck down in the very prime of his curse. A broken bone, a nasty infection, maybe a good drowning… all would’ve done the trick. He wouldn’t even pose much of a real threat to any regular horse who outweighed him.

But @[Neverwhere]’s teeth find good purchase on his soft skin and they dig before ripping up the tender flesh, only they rip and tear fruitlessly. Each time she bludgeoned him, the offending blow was fixed seconds later, completely healed by his own powers of self-preservation. As fast as the bald-faced bitch could bite, he could just as easily heal, and so her blows landed squarely each time without much of a difference. Her blunt foreteeth burst one of his many eyes, but another two popped up elsewhere to take the place of the one he’d lost. Just like in the Field, he regenerated his health at an alarming speed.

Too quickly for any one hit to be fatal or to slow him down. Too quickly for him to die, and this is the reason he’s persisted throughout the years: because so far, nothing’s been able to kill him.

Neverwhere makes the same mistake twice, attempting to bait him, but the passion for Wolfbane isn’t in the fight anymore, it’s in the eventual victory they both know is coming. He’s waited long enough to hear her final words and to listen to the last few gasps of breath coming out of her mouth; he won’t be bothered by what she has to say. In fact he smiled through the grip he’d gotten on her withers, and jerked his head forcefully when the old title of ‘Commandant’ was brought up into their one-sided conversation. Perhaps she could feel that.

He’d already sprouted another set of grotesque limbs by the time she got to Heartfire’s name, and when she claimed the sight-seer was watching them, well… Bane was all too eager to wrap the thin, clawed arms around her neck to hold her just as close as he liked. “Let’s give ‘er something worth watching, eh?” He mumbled, popping his teeth free for a moment while he shifted his body weight around.

Somewhere in the cacophony of it all he ended up where he’d least expected. He fully envisioned her dying at this point - there seemed to be blood everywhere, despite the torrent of rain. What did it matter if he debased and defiled her beforehand? “Force her.” His thoughts commanded, so Wolfbane did his best. The set of extra limbs he’d grown were grasping at her flanks, her barrel, anywhere to help him gain traction and pull him up on top of her. With mud caking his body and sweat beginning to build on his skin, Wolfbane never once paused to consider what exactly he was doing before it was already done.

It just… happened. The hailstorm left him slick with moisture and tattered from the downpour, but Wolfbane laughed and shouted his pleasure all the same, emboldened by the fact that this sort of conquest was giving him an acutely different sort of pleasure when compared to the time he’d spent with Lilliana. He felt… amused. “Here,” He raged, gasping and shuddering as he ground his hips into hers - like it had been her doing, like she had wanted this, “something you can share with your beloved Lilli.” He mocked her with an ugly face, hoping that those words would keep her company. He gazed at her coldly and wished her a most painful, especially slow death, and then swiped at her with one of the limbs hanging by his sides where wings should be, lest she start struggling even more.

Neverwhere was valiant in the face of death. She fought with every ounce of energy she could muster, and did her best to ensure that Wolfbane’s conquest wasn’t an easy one. From above her, he could appreciate the effort of all that writhing around she was doing and, even in the throes of an unforgivable act, how she tried to break free. She kicked him square on the underbelly and he lost his breath, but it was the power of reeling her back in that he truly lusted for. The knowledge that no matter how much she struggled now, hope was nowhere near to saving Neverwhere.

It was the feeling of a God. A power unlike magic, but still similar in the way it totally consumed him. He was stronger, faster, better than her and every horse who’d threatened him until this point, and when she gasped a last-attempt insult he only grit his teeth and saw a pulsing wave of angry red across his vision. He lost control for a senseless moment, blinded by his own rage, and wouldn’t be able to recall exactly what happened in response to her bitter self-righteousness.

They would know the answer, come springtime.

In the present, night wore on and the storm began to shift its energy elsewhere. The hail had lightened to a steady rain and the thunder was long gone in the distance, out over the churning sea where lightning sparkled soundlessly. Wolfbane snapped back into a present state of mind and, like the weather itself, pushed away from the limp body underneath. He was exhausted, but the urgency of flight had him glancing at Neverwhere to assure himself she couldn’t follow (gleefully, he wasn’t even sure if she were alive) and then quickly twisting his body into many forms at once: a melding of something quick on its feet and dark, covered in a skin impervious to water.

The skinwalker flicked his tongue into the air, tasting its mingled scents, and escaped further into Nerine where he knew the ocean and its black depths would harbor him. Later, when he crawled out from the waves and onto the eastern beaches of Pangea, he would savor each moment of the fight with Neverwhere - replaying the encounter over and over in an endless fantasy fulfilled, doing his best to remember the worst of details - but until then he ran like the criminal he was, and he didn’t stop because the destruction he’d left behind was inevitably bound to follow.