[center][b][color=slategray][sup][h1]F E N R I R[/h1][/sup][/color][/b][/center]
[COLOR=slategray][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]W E I S M A N   S T R E E T   M A L L[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][sup][color=darkgray]July 3[sup]rd[/sup], 2020  |  3:34p.m.  |  Happy Harbour, Rhode Island[/color][/sup][/INDENT][/INDENT]

	He managed three steps before he stumbled, tripping over his own feet like an old man who had just run a marathon. He caught himself from falling at the last moment, and thrust Bonk’s captured mallet under his arm, a makeshift crutch. His chest beat like blacksmith bellows, but no matter how many great lungsful of air he sucked in it felt like he was suffocating. Black dots danced upon the surface of his vision, while his head pounded fiercely, almost like that damned clown was still swinging away at his temple. A low whine escaped his lips. What was happening to him? His body had never betrayed him like this before.

	What if Bonk had broken him? What if he’d suffered damage that could not be fixed. Was this to be his life now, dizzy and breathless, blind and uncoordinated? In a word, [i]weak[/i]. He felt the sharp edge of panic brush at the edges of his consciousness. He couldn’t live like that. The broken warrior. The de-fanged wolf. It was the promise of a life not worth living, chill and mocking. Anger rose to meet the growing terror, and with it a new surge of strength. He wasn’t going to roll over and surrender to meekness, not so easily as this. With a cackling growl he ripped the wolf-shaped helmet from his head, determining that if his vision was failing him anyway, it wouldn’t pay to impair it any further.

	The relief from his torture was near instantaneous. Within seconds his head pain was receding and the stars that flooded his vision dimmed. He breathed a sigh of relief, his chest moving more freely now. The solace that flooded him was tinged with confusion, until he caught a glance at his helm, which now sported an indent larger than his clenched fist. Bonk’s first mallet blow must have caused it. No wonder he’d been feeling so weak. That gouge would have been pressing down upon his skull. Bloody helmet, if it couldn’t protect him properly, what good was it? Shayera’s next offering would have to be of higher quality.

	[b]"Fenrir, are you alright? Do you need medical attention?"[/b]

	Twilight was hovering nearby, eyeing him critically. They’d been on the team together for only two weeks, and the two had barely exchanged words. Not that Fenrir was all that talkative to begin with – he struggled with [i]words[/i], finding his mastery of speech to be clumsy and inept, and generally preferred to remain silent rather than open his mouth and subsequently make a fool of himself – but he felt that the light-wielding heroine looked down upon him, as if he was something dirty, unworthy of her time or attention. Even now, it felt like she was judging him. 

	He turned his nose towards her, before hawking loudly and spitting a glob of bloody phlegm. He wondered how bad he looked. The side of his face felt sticky, so he was reasonably certain that he was half-covered in slowly cooling blood – most of it his, unfortunately. Nothing he couldn’t deal with though. No need to involve [i]doctors[/i]. He wasn’t some weakling that couldn’t take a beating under his own power.

	[color=slategray]“I’m fine.”[/color] he muttered softly, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. She was immaculate. How’d she manage to get through this without getting her hands dirty? He wasn’t sure whether he was annoyed or impressed. He settled for the former, pointing at the rest of the team who had surrounded the Dee Dees, new victims to vent his frustrations upon. [color=slategray]“Let’s finish.”[/color] He hefted Bonk’s mallet, and took a step forwards.