Odd Ending

Chapter: 1

George Whitfield's Wednesday started out just like every other day before, except today was special and he knew it. An invisible energy seemed to buzz all around him and why it shouldn’t, after all it’s not every day

you turn five years old. He hopped out of his Power Ranger bedspread with an unusual amount of get-up-and-go and head down stairs for the breakfast his mother was bound to be making him with his usual care free grin that dominated the rest of his features. His dark hair bounced as he made his way down; unlike the rest of his friends, who carried the trendy short hair cuts, he had a nice bowl cut that had grown to shoulder length. He also had the most breath-taking green eyes anyone in Albany had ever seen. He was his father's pride and yet still his mother's baby which is the way it should be for children his age, at least that’s what he thought.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs and entered the kitchen he saw his mother just where he thought she'd be – in the kitchen with filtered light resting upon her slender shoulders and brunet hair making her look like some angelic figure waiting there just for him. She was wearing her faded blue sun dress that was scattered with white polka-dots and when she turned to acknowledge him with a smile he knew, even before he was old enough to know, that he was blessed.

“Good morning, Georgy” his mother said in her sweet voice that was almost always reserved for him and his father. “And how is my big, strong man doing?” asking more in jest than actual curiosity.

“MOMMY! Guess what! I'm five! Mommy, can I have TWO pan'ycakes taday 'cause I am, ya' know, a BIG BOY.” he told her enthusiastically.

“We'll just have to see how much room you have after your first one.” she told her son as she poked him in the belly playfully. “And don't go get carry’an away, you know we are going camping today and you know how easily you get car sick, okay bud.” his mother warned him.

“Alright,” he said in a sigh. George didn't like camping, especially since they did it for almost every special occasion. In fact just last week they went out because it was memorial weekend. He was almost eaten alive that trip by mosquitoes and on top of that his flesh had been burnt to a crisp by the unforgiving sun – which still had not fully abated. George sat down unenthusiastically in his chair remembering all torturous things that camping entailed. His mother seemed to pick on her son's change in attitude because she turned her attention away from breakfast and on to him. She held the strange power that no one else in the entire world had and George loved her for it

She knelt beside him, her freshly applied red lip stick shined in the light as she did so, adding to her enchanting smile, and her hazel green eyes seemed to warm their way inside his heart as she whispered to him, “I'm sorry baby, we can't afford a party like the rest of your friends, but I promise you this is going to be the best birthday that you ever had.” As her husband came down stairs, her instantly reassuring smile, amplified with bright red lip stick, flashed as she finished with “um-kay love?”

Mr. Whitfield appeared ready for the trip. His hands were full of miscellaneous camp ware, which consisted of three aluminum fishing rods, a green duffel bag, and being juggled in the middle of it all was a huge cast-iron pan that was used every camping trip. The supplies in his arms seemed to engulf his usually sturdy body which George held in very high esteem. George was proud of his father's muscular physique because whenever he would wrap him up in one of his famous bear hug it seemed like nothing in the world could ever touch him, let alone harm him. It was George's safe place, his security blanket, his safety net and he wouldn't trade it for the world. George's father was the also the source of his son's gorgeous green eyes. Mr. Whitfield however had a hard rugged face that took away his eyes soft charming qualities which his son so gloriously inherited.

“Um, what’s cookin' good lookin'?” Mr. Whitfield asked, his question obviously directed to George's mother, as he entered the kitchen.

“The usual, pancakes, toast and eggs, with a nice refreshing oj on the side.” his mother replied as she stood and walked over to him. “Do you need some help there?” his mother asked laughing as she took the cast iron from the man along with a fishing rod or two.

George, although he hated mushy romantics, liked to watch his mom and dad get along like this. Even though he was only five years into his young life he knew that not all families were so lucky. In fact Tommy Baker's dad, who was a fat drunk of a man left bad bruises on Tommy, sometimes even on his face. George had asked Tommy once why his dad was so mean but Tommy just got upset and pushed George down on to the pavement and told him to mind his own business and ran away. George's mom and dad however never fought, at least not around him, and they always looked at each other in a weird, puppy dog way that he would never understand. They were a romantic sight even though George didn't know it. His mother was smiling at his father, each one looking deep into each other’s eyes as if sharing a secret that only they knew about, the kind of secret that let magic into the world. Which makes sense, for what is love but the purest and strongest form of magic?

“I'm going to take this stuff to the car.” His father said ending the magic for the moment.

“Alright, I'll finish up and then I'll have Gorgy hear fetch you, okay Love.”

“Very well…” His father answered and he headed out the door.

His mother went back to the stove and a few smoky minutes later she sent George after his father. He found his father sitting in front of the door he went out of earlier. He was looking at their family car, which was packed to the brim with supplies that might or might not be needed for the trip ahead.

“Good morning buddy.” his father said as George emerged completely from behind him.

“Hey dad, wacha doing?” George asked his father in his worried tone which all kids get when they suspect something is wrong.

“Are you excited to be turning one year older” his father asked ignoring his son's question.

“Half a decade, the big O5.” his father continued as his voice started to drifted off.

“Dad, are you alright?” George asked more worried than ever.

“Huh” his dad asked refocusing “Oh, I'm alright” he said regaining his confident grin. “I take it your mother is done cooking” and with that comment he rose up right, he grabbed his son and held him high in the air and set him on his shoulders. “Let’s go and eat okay, okay buddy.” He took his son triumphantly back into the kitchen where their plates were piled high with buttered pancakes smoothed in syrup.

Cramming food into his mouth, George seemed like a pancake eating machine. Syrup oozed down his face in maple cascades that pooled together at his chin. It dripped slowly down on to the table making a puddle of sticky deliciousness right above his right elbow. His mother and father watched in slight disgust as he placed half of pancake into his trap. George loved pancakes a lot and he could only have them on special days of the year because his parents were afraid that he would develop obesity, if not diabetes, from eating so much sugar and unhealthy foods. Unfortunately for them this plan of action only encouraged him to eat more of the god like food whenever it was made available to him. No one knew where he developed his strange food cravings. Both his mother and father had excellent table manners their entire life and they never imagined that their child would have been born to be such a slob.

“This is amazing.” little George said as he wiped away the rivers of syrup on his face with his sleeve.

“George would you please not do that.” his mother pleaded. “You have a napkin for a reason” and with that she picked up the white fabric in front of him and rubbed it against his face as he tried to squirm away from her. “Didn't I tell you not to get carried away with breakfast, now you’re going to puke on the road for sure.” his mother complained in her angry voice. The comment was more directed to his father but little George took the opportunity to let his voice be herd.

“I don't like camping” George yelled at his mom; as he began filling the sugar rush just start to settle in to his system.

“Of course you like camping; now hurry up and finish your breakfast so we can leave. Okay honey?” his mother said in her oh so stern tone.

“Alright,” George sighed. He hated when his parents made up his mind on things he didn't like. They did it with everything – vegetable eating, teeth brushing, weekend camping, daily napping – it was all the same. “Of course you like them.” his parents, particularly his mother, always told him but what did they know? They weren't the ones devoured by insects, or bunt numb by the unforgiving sun.

George ate only a little longer after his little outburst and after he finished he was washed thoroughly with a wash cloth and packed into the family car, which was a huge protective minivan, that clunked and spewed as it dove down the highway. The drive to the camp site was a long one and George knew it by heart. It would take a whopping four hours to reach their destination and George had no intention of staying awake for it. It took his head only a few minutes to go from fully erected and bouncy to slumping and still, leaving his parents free to discuss more privet matters.

“What are we going to do Tomas?” George's mother asked his father in a small worried voice.

“I don't know,” His father admitted, “but I know that no matter what we're going to be okay.” his father said trying to be reassuring.

“But if they close down the mill how are we going to pay the bills?” his mother asked, starting to work herself up. “I mean we can't even afford our son a birthday cake let alone pay for the electricity!” She said, beginning to panic.

“We'll make it up to him, I promise, and as for the electricity there will be water if God wills it. You know that better than anyone Helen.” George's father promised her trying not to let her notice how worried he was about their present situation as well.

The mill had always been there; in fact that was what had sustained his father and mother when he was young. It just didn't make sense to him that it would close now. He was aware that was earth spinning around and around mindlessly on its tilt traveling around the sun but what he did not know was why the world was leaving him behind in such a hurry. The mill was all he knew, all he was good at, and he didn't know what he would do once it was gone and forgotten by time. He would have to make it, he thought to himself, “for my family.”

The rest of the drive was fairly quite except for George's constant fretting in the back seat from some unpleasant dream or another. It last only a few minutes, but the child woke in a panic, begging his parents to pull over.

“Please,” George whimpered “I’m m m” but he was interrupted by a loud disgusting sound that could only be associated with one thing, vomit. George's breakfast that had looked so appetizing just a few short hours before was now a projectile of deliciousness head straight for the front of the vehicle where his parents were so conveniently located.

“Ahhhhh!” George's mother cried now covered in half digested pancakes and orange juice.

“I told you not to eat so much!” his mother snapped, more harshly than she had intended.

George was instantly reduced to tears by his mother's harsh tone. “I'm sorry.” George told his mother tearfully over and over again, which was his way pleading for her to forgiveness. “I’m so sorry mom.” The boy cried one last time before collapsing into the back seat and whaling away into the cushion.

“My dress! It’s ruined.” George’s mom cried ignoring the puke stained child in the back of the car for the moment. “This is just great,” his mother said complaining out loud as she had her husband pull over. It only took her a few minutes to retrieve the stuffed suitcase from the rear of the vehicle and only a few more to change into a completely new outfit that was just as stunning as the first. The new dress consisted of a collaboration of colors that mingled together in such a way that it was hard to tell them apart.

Her attitude was still fowl when she returned to her seat however and George knew better than to comment on her change of wardrobe before she had time to calm down. It was a rare sight for George to see his mom so angry and when she looked back at him he saw the furry that existed with in her, if not all women.

“Come up here George,” His mother seamed to hiss. “And take those stinky clothes off. Come on, hurry up.” His mom said impatiently as she yanked off his puke stained shirt and replaced it with his new Scooby-Doo tee-shirt which he had previous reserved for his first day of school. “You need to start listening to me.” His mother scolded while she continued to clean him.

“Oh, he just being young.” his father said trying to lighten the situation, too bad for him it wrong thing to do.

“You always defend him!” his mother shouted newly enraged. “Y-you can’t always baby him Tomas.” His mother spat at him, then without warning she buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

“Oh, Helen” George’s dad said soothingly. “It’s Okay, were going to be okay.” He repeated. “Just breathe baby, it going to be alright. We’re almost there, and then you can relax and I’ll set-up the site, then you can change into your pjs and I’ll cook diner. You won’t need to do or worry about a thing, I’ll take care of everything, Okay?”

“Okay.” his mother answered tearfully as she lifted her head from her hands. And with that, Tomas decided pulled back on to the road and head for the camping trip that only comes around once in every life time, to bad for him he didn’t know this, for, perhaps he would have stayed home.

They reached their camping spot just an hour later and they were shocked to find the place completely deserted. All that was there to greet them was clusters upon clusters of giant Sequoia trees, standing tall and majestic like they always seemed to do but still it was an eerie sight to bare whiteness to, even if neither adult would admit it at the time. George how ever noticed right away that something was off. It was to quite, he realized, and way too dark. Even though light shined above, it seemed darker in some way he just couldn’t figure out how.

There were no animals playing in the illuminating shade, no birds flew over head and strangest of all there was no sound coming from the inner forest. The place seemed muted, choked of all voice but what no one could figure out was why. George’s dad pretended not to notice as he stepped out of the car and began to stretch himself out. “Ahhh.” His dad breathed as after his back cracked in several places from the stretching. “This place is amazing.” He said out loud as he opened up the trunk to begin to unpack and set up camp. The noise he made outside the car seemed to be sucked into the void of the forest. Even when all the tents were put up and mom was pleasantly swinging in her hammock the place seemed propel a vow of silence.

It wasn’t till the fire was lit that George began to feel a little more comfortable in his surroundings. The flames danced in front of him in the fire pit. Promising the world to him, while at the same time strange shapes moved silently in the darkness.

His dad was melting marshmallows when it stuck. It came out of the cool darkness with savage furry. All George saw was monstrous claw reach out of the eternal darkness and rip his father’s head from his shoulders. Blood was shot from his father’s body as it fell lifeless to the ground. The dark sticky substance drenched George before he could register what had just happened. Finally after what seemed to be an eternity of silence a scream was let out somewhere far away from where George stood. It was only a moment later that he realized that the screaming had really only taken place a few feet behind him. In fact it was his mother’s lips that had given life to the ungodly noise. Then as if snuffed out by the wind the cry suddenly ended and more blood fell on top of the already drenched child. All thoughts were ripped out of George’s mind leaving only numbness in their place. Finally, it was his turn. He didn’t know what fate his mother and father had suffered but he knew he was to surly follow and as if brought forth by thought the creature appeared before him out of the forest and blood.

It was as he had seen it in his bedtime stories. A great beast with huge teeth stood before him and with each breath came a flame the size of George’s body. It was a dragon and George knew it was so. The flames from the dragon’s breath licked at his small features, scorching them with their vicious touch. George was tempted to cry out from the pain but his fear would not allow him to so much as wince in their furry. The fear building up in him crept like ice throughout his body, freezing in place all his joints and muscles; he was quite literally frozen with fear.

“I’m going to die.” George thought realistically to himself. He was only five years old when the thought of his own death crossed his mind for the first time. It was a traumatic experience that most children couldn’t even fathom about let alone comprehend and yet there he was, face to face with the legendary beast, looking death in her pale blue eyes, only to have fate intervene. Although the monster was just as great as hundred men, with his emerald green skin glimmering in anticipation of the meal to come, he was robbed by fate’s unkind hands. The beast of legend, the creator of orphans, was brought down by bird.

George didn’t notice the other creature until it stuck the monster. It seemed to appear out nowhere, as it dive bombed the ancient lizard. A talon slashed a tore at the mighty beast, causing green fluid to pour from its wounds. It was a battle of which George had never seen. The bird, which also appeared to be part man, had taken the upper hand right from the get go and it was over almost as soon as it had begun. The bird man took its right talon and tore out the throat of the lizard causing a rain of green blood. Once again the child was covered in a sticky onslaught of liquid that did not belong to him and afterword there was an eternity of silence that embraced him.

There standing in the dark forest, the orphaned child met eyes with his feathery savior. “What would happen now?” the boy thought out loud, and was surprised to hear an answer returned to him.

“I don’t know,” the strange voice of the creature said to him. George looked up to see his savior for truly the first time. He was magnificent, his feathers were red and gold and his wings were as grand as those the angels. His head was to the boy’s surprise that of a great eagle, pointed at the beak and everything.

“May I go with you?” the boy asked, surprised to hear himself ask the question.

“If that is what you wish.” The great bird replied. And with that he took a tight hold on the boy’s body and they rushed for ever upward toward the boy’s destiny.



























Chapter 2:

It was magnificent in the skies, up their lay a new world for George. A world that was as endless as the blue oceans, but in the twilight such as it was now, was also home to all the colors that ever existed in the world; from the soft pinks that soothed the soul to the more vibrant reds and oranges that brought about a restless riot in his heart. The sight of the sunset brought tears to his eyes that stung against the wind, to see such a romantic sight; especially after the tragedy that had befallen his family.

They flew on for an eternity, at least that’s what it seemed like to George, before the sight of a mountain penetrated the horizon. The closer they got to the majestic peaks the more colossal they became and even though it late summer there was already snow flowing from its peaks. George had never seen anything as majestic as the mountain before in his life. George remembered listening to his parents stories of the ancient Greek gods and their home on top of Mount Olympus and he wondered if these peaks were the same ones as in their stories. But then as if to prove him wrong buildings began to come into view. The buildings were really tall stone pillars that stretched as far as the eye could see upward to the sky, with random doors carved out every ten to twenty feet.

In fact it was to one of these buildings they seemed to be headed in particular. This building instead of being made of pure stone was instead laced with what appeared to be rubies and jewels; obviously it was of some importance. The place must have been made strictly for fliers because there was no other way to get to the door ways that were scattered among the pillars. George and his newly found feathery savior entered the building a good 30 meters above the base. The door they entered led to a corridor lined with burning candles that produced enough light to fill every inch of the hall. The stream of wax the candles produced steamed down in a pattern that reminded George of the ivy that grew on the bell tower at his church.

Finally the bird man came to a stop in front of a large oak door. Gently he set George down and knelt beside him. He spoke softly but clearly into the boy’s ear for the first time since agreeing to take him along. “You must remain here, do not deviate. Understand, son of Adam?”

George could only nod in response to the question, even though he didn’t completely understand all that was said to him, especially since his father’s name was tom, not Adam. But the response must have been good enough for the bird creature because the next moment he was walking silently through the huge door. At first George didn’t know what to do. He was left alone in a bright spooky room filled with candle wax 30 meters above land. Eventually however he could hear voice begin to rise on the other side of the door. One of the voices sounded old and raspy, kind of like the minister at his parent’s church, the other one he decided had to be his rescuer even though he had only heard him speak twice. The old voice seemed to be lecturing the younger one, shouting ugly obscenities at him and then there was silence. Then the oak door opened once again only this time by a bird creature holding some kind of bronze staff with matching helmet who ordered George into the room. At first George was inclined to say no, seeing how his protector was so adamant about him staying put, but then he saw him through the gap in the door and he was given a look that let him know it was okay.

George stepped into the room and tried to appear as brave as possible, after all that’s what his parents would have expected from him. The room that he entered was obviously of high respect. There was a giant chair at the far end that looked fashioned for royalty and by all means it probably was, for it supported the most massive old bird that he had ever seen. He knew the bird was old because he was bald and shabby all over.

“Why? Son of Adam, have you trespassed on to our sacred piece of Gaia?” the bird asked. “Are you unsatisfied of the free majority of her that was given to you so long ago?” the bird pressed on leaving no time for a response. “Elvis, the noble Garuda you bare whiteness to, has provided me with the distressing knowledge of your kin’s fatality due to the foul, slithering, creatures known to your kind as a dragons.” The bird snorted at the end of that remark, as if to visually show how low he thought of them. “So what do want, son of Adam?” the old bird finally asked and this time he allowed time for George to answer the question.

George thought the question over in his mind a long time before he answered the question; finally he cleared his throat and told the only answer that made any sense to him. “Elvis,” he started by gesturing to his savior. “Promised me that I could come with him, after what happened …” George couldn’t finish the thought. It still wasn’t real to him what had happened earlier in the woods. He was five years old and just barely that, the only loss he should know of is possibly his favorite T.V show being canceled, not his families’ genocide taking place before his eyes; it wasn’t fair that he should be questioned so hostilely after what he’s seen.

Luckily for him Elvis stood up in his defense. “Mitsurgi, with all veneration I was the Soul that brought the son of Adam to the divine city of Venshi. It is my pact that the boy is honoring, and” there was a flicker in Elvis’ eye when he said this. “He Will Continue to honor it until I say otherwise.” There was defiance in Elvis’s tone and anyone in the room could tell there was a conflict that was about to break out.

“Excellent,” snorted the old bird Mitsurgi, “Now circumvent my thrown room!” Now !!!” The old bird roared.



Chapter 3



Elvis arrived with in an hour or so after George had waken up with his new ideals of revenge and with out any idea what awaited him back where he had left the boy. Instead of the frightened child he had rescued from the serpent, a new, misguided, and naive brat standing in front of him. But worst of all – he was demanding to be trained like a warrior. The thought itself was preposterous, but to see this creature ranting and whining was unbearable. Finally it happened, Elvis snapped.

“No! Absolutely not.” Elvis began shouting, but to no avail. The kid instead continued his illogical rant, and begged for just a chance to be strong. For a moment it nearly broke Elvis' heart, but there were rules that even he would not break, so instead he simply turned from the child and whispered the words,despite his heart's desperate need to comfort the child; they escaped his mouth no louder than a quite breeze “ You will never be strong like me.” And without turning around he knew he had destroyed something deep inside the boy, opening a wound that would never heal.

At first George simply stood with his mouth open, transfixed in space. For one whole moment nothing was real to him, he was simply floating in a dream of shock and anger, and as everyone knows, there is no wrath that rivals that of a five year old. George sniffed his tears away, and what had began as a walk became a full out sprint. He ran from it all, away from his slaughtered parents, away from the cold nest, and, most of all, away from his unfair savior, named Elvis.

He made it through the tunnels in a flash, he didn't even knew how he got out, but once he did he just kept going. The giant pillars now looked like mountains from the ground as he made his way past them. George had no idea where he was going but he knew what he was going to do. He would show the stupid bird that he was wrong, that in fact he was strong, stronger than anyone. He just didn't know how he was going to do it.

Blinded with rage, he ran until he could run no longer. Then, when his legs wouldn't run, they wondered. He did this until the odd town in the sky was far behind him and then he kept walking – determined to get away, no matter where that might lead him. The hours seemed to take forever before he was became to tired to go any farther, during which time the landscape had changed drastically. No longer was he surrounded by great mountains of pillars, instead he was at the beginnings of what seemed to be a dense, overgrown forest. It was hot but there were giant storm clouds looming dark and threating along the horizon. George was exhausted; his small stomach refused to stop gnawing at him because he had left without breakfast. He had never faced the torture of hunger this long before without having something to eat. It was at this point that he began to regret leaving his guardian Elvis. The thought of turning back had just began to resonate in his head when he saw them:

Two dark yellow eyes peered at him from the underbrush. There was an unmistakable cruelty and malice to them that drove ice-cold fear into young George. He hated himself for letting the grip of fear paralyze him again, and then it was to late.

The wolf pounced on the unsuspecting child with only blood lust on its mind. Its teeth sunk into his left shoulder and the worm liquid gushed from the now gaping hole. The forest was alight with the blood curdling scream that was forced out of his small lungs by the pain. Tears began to rush down his face as the understanding of death filled his head. It was the end – he was sure of it. He had out lived his parents by only a day and for what? Anger began to rush through him. Not just anger, but pure hatred. How had this happened to him? And without thinking George grabbed the nearest stone with his good arm and bashed the creature in the head repeatedly. At first its teeth only sank deeper and deeper into his arm but he no longer cared, he was going to inflict as much pain to the creature as possible, it might take his life but it was going suffer something for it. The wolf's left eye had successfully been cratered in, and George was at least satisfied that it was going to be blind. Still he pounded away at it. The wolfs eye hung out of its socket and blood rushed out carrying some kind of gray tissue while the wolf hung there limp. More blood flowed out from George's shoulder and everything was going numb. He could hardly feel the drops of rain fall on him as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Elvis sat at the balcony of his nest and watched his charge flee in the direction of the forest. At first he suffered no worries at all. The kid would come back when he was ready to, and if not then at least when the need to eat had grown to strong for him to bare, but as the time slipped by and as the storm blew in, panic started to settle within the noble garuda. The rain came down like bits of glass, cutting through the dry dirt bellow, and before anyone knew what was happening, a biblical flood was under way. It took Elvis only a few more delayed moments before he launched himself into action.

His wings were torn this way and that as they searched for a balanced stream of air to ride on. The rain cut into him like little daggers. Over all it was not his ideal flying weather but he continued fighting against the storm, knowing his charge could not be to far away, especially traveling in this weather. The storm seemed to be getting worse by the minute, and hope was fading when he saw their twisted bodies tangled together. His heart sank, how had he let this happened? His charge lying beaten and broken next to this... this thing. It was almost to much for his heart to bare. His heart was heavy with guilt. Had he been there would the son of Adam still be alive? He could have protected him from the beast. To be stronger, that was this frail creatures only wish. If only it had been so, maybe then he might have stood a chance against the wicked wolf.

Elvis' landing was far from graceful as he rushed to the child's side. He tried to choke back the tears but they came anyway. Such an unfitting end for such an unlucky yet brave soul.

A twitch, a sign of life, it was a miracle. Elvis heart went through loops, was he just imagining it, he had to be sure. He dropped his head to the boy's chest, it was hard to hear through the rain and thunder but sure enough there it was. A faint heart beat: frail and shallow but still there. Elvis scooped up the fragile child as if he was made of fine, delicate glass and then took to the skies once more desperate and pleading that it not be to late.

George awoke to find a smiling, orange and gold, sadistic looking version of Big Bird looking down upon him. It took him a few moments to realize that the strange image he was seeing was really Elvis shrouded by a halo of light.

Elvis couldn't help but grin as the boy's eyes opened. It was amazing that he had survived yesterday's incident, let alone coming out of it better than before minus some shoulder pain. “Good Morning, Son of Adam” Elvis declared, and he actually meant it. Yesterday he was forbidden by every Grudan Law to train the boy, but today everything was different because no longer was the boy simply a boy – he was a man-wolf, a fact which changed everything.

“Morning” the boy replied more groggy than he intended. This was followed by an awkward silence, one that Elvis was more than willing to fill.

“Well, Son of Adam, you did a fine thing killing that Lead Man-Wolf like that, mighty fine.” Elvis said encouragingly. And with that said and a clap of Elvis' talons, a new Garuda entered the room carrying with him the remains of some creature George had never seen before. It had distinct characteristics of a wolf but also those of a deranged human. The thing before him was terrifying. It was more than ugly, it was unnatural. More bone and fur more than anything else, infested with disease and covered in mange, the creature was sickening. But to the garuda's it represented something much more. To them it was his first kill a prediction of the his world to come, only they didn't know exactly how accurate that statement would become.