Tactical Supression
POV: Rune (The Shadow Wolf)
Location: Redacted
Mission Status: Escort / Area Denial
The Alpha is moving too slow.
I trot ahead, keeping my center of gravity low, scanning the perimeter. My olfactory sensors are working at maximum capacity, processing the data stream of the forest. Pine needles. Damp earth. The lingering, stale scent of a deer that passed through here three hours ago. Irrelevant data.
I pause, rotating my left ear 180 degrees.
Crunch.
The Thief has stepped on a twig. Her stealth rating is currently suboptimal. She smells of iron, dried meat, and the fermentation of grapes.
I eye her posterior appendages. Her tails are fluffy, but inefficient. They create drag. However, they would make excellent tug-of-war targets. I am still waiting for clearance to engage.
I circle back to check the formation.
The Alpha, Siurad, is walking with a heavy gait. His armor is secure. His weapon is readily accessible. He smells of the Void and that burning-blue-liquid he puts on his face (The Alpha says it smells like something called Old Spice). He is the Command Unit. His safety is the primary objective.
Then there is the Asset.
I slow my pace, falling in step beside the one called Alexander.
I look up at him. He offers a hand, scratching the sweet spot behind my ears. I lean into it, allowing a low rumble of approval to vibrate in my chest. This is a necessary exchange of resources.
Tactical Assessment: The Skinny One.
He does not provide much defensive capability. His armor class is zero; he wears cloth robes that would not stop a bramble, let alone a fang. His offensive skills are negligible; he brandishes a wooden stick as if it were a weapon, but I calculate he would likely drop it upon initial contact with a hostile.
However, he provides high-value belly scratches. He smells of cherry blossoms and antiseptic soap. He is the mobile medical station.
Verdict: High Priority Protection Target. The Dispenser of Scratches must survive.
"Who's a good boy?" the Asset coos.
I am the darkness that bites, I think. I am the void that consumes. But yes. I am also the Good Boy.
I break away. The formation is tight, but the perimeter is vulnerable. The wind has shifted. It is now blowing from the North-West at approximately 15 knots.
I detect a threat.
Deep in the treeline, three hundred yards upwind, there is a disturbance. The scent is heavy, musky, and aggressive. Ursaurus. Raptor Bears. A pack of five. They are tracking us. They are planning an ambush at the chokepoint two miles ahead.
The Alpha has not noticed. The Skirmisher is distracted by a shiny rock. The Asset is humming.
It falls to me.
I trot to a large, ancient oak tree standing prominently on a rise. It is the perfect strategic vantage point. The wind hits this tree and disperses in a wide cone directly toward the enemy's approach vector.
I sniff the bark. A badger marked this territory two days ago. Pathetic.
I must override the signal. I must deploy a chemical deterrent so potent, so terrifying, that it rewrites the genetic survival instincts of everything within a five-mile radius.
I lift my leg.
I release a Spectral Fence.
I see the purple vapor rising, constructing a psychic barrier that screams DEATH in a frequency only predators can hear. I lace the stream with the scent of the Void, of dead gods, and of a creature that eats demons for breakfast.
Operation: Yellow Wall is a go.
The wind catches the scent. I watch the invisible cloud drift into the forest.
Downwind:
Three hundred yards away, the Alpha Ursaurus freezes. He inhales. He expects to smell prey. Instead, he smells an Apex Predator that makes dragons check under their beds.
The Ursaurus makes a tactical decision. He turns around. He roars at his pack. They do not walk; they sprint in the opposite direction, abandoning their territory, their young, and their dignity.
Back on the Trail:
"Rune!" Siurad shouts, sounding impatient. "Quit peeing on everything! We have to move!"
I finish my operation. I kick some dirt over the spot to seal the freshness.
I trot back to the group, my tail wagging once.
Threat neutralized. The ambush has been dismantled. You're welcome, Alpha.
I look at Siurad. He looks annoyed. He has no idea that I just saved the entire party from a mauling.
"Come on, buddy," Siurad sighs. "Stop getting distracted."
I let out a huff. Civilians.
We continue walking. I spot a squirrel.
Target acquired.
It is small. It is fast. It is sparking.
My tactical brain calculates the intercept trajectory. If I accelerate to Mach 1, I can intercept the target before it reaches the tree line. The collateral damage to the surrounding flora will be extensive, but acceptable.
"Rune," Siurad warns. "Leave it."
I pause. The Alpha has issued a hold order.
I look at the squirrel. The squirrel looks at me. It mocks me.
You live today, rodent, I transmit telepathically. But the war is not over.
I fall back into formation. The rear guard must be maintained. The Great Work continues.
I hope we stop for lunch soon. I require protein to maintain optimal combat readiness.