Little Lamb

Cuu was unsure of wether or not he was the one who had done it. When he had emerged from the brush, seeing a stranger looming over Doctor Oswald; taunting the air, and alluding to his intents... something snapped. He had spent his whole life holding The Wolf in check, but ever since his father's ****, his grip on the beast had begun to loosen. The bars on it's cage were once pristine, then bent; and now they were broken. As Cuu shoved his arm through the back of the man, his only feeling was disappointment...

At the lack of blood.

"Here-" Cuu, or something using his voice, spoke into the midnight winds. "-shall mark your grave."

"Funny." The man said, somehow unimpeded by the arm in his chest. "I was just about to say the same thing!"

There is a flash of metal as a sickle is swung into Cuu's face; unfortunate for the man holding it, the blade had found a set of razor sharp teeth. Cuu bit down on the blade as it reached him, catching it. The steel blade began to wobble within the maw of the beast, then with a sharp yank, snapped cleanly from the handle. Cuu spits out the blade, a small trickle of blood trickling from where the weapon had caught his lip.

The Wolf's eyes lose distinction of whites, iris, and pupil; the orbs were now only of a single hue: blood-red.

"Die."

With the **** of a true demon, The Wolf launched the pierced torso of the man through the woods; back towards the fields. The **** of the wind alone was enough to knock Dorothy onto her back. The awestruck straw-man, dazed by the display, seemed utterly aloof as his body smashed the trucks of several trees on its trip towards the grain. The sounds of fighting in the distance stopped; likely due to confusion at to how, and why, one of their number had just been seemingly shot out of a cannon.

"Come on, come on!"

The cat's coward huffed as he ran, his voice growing closer, likely using the shock to make his escape. Cuu couldn't care less. At this point, all he wanted was his enemies heads; whoever those enemies may be. There was a tug on his pants, drawing his hateful glare down to a battered Doctor Oswald. She winced at the sight of him, more so, his eyes.

"C-Cuu... I didn't mean to-"

He snarls down at her, as if unable to speak, walking to the tree that The Hood was pinned to; yanking the second sickle free, then crushing the handle as if it were old, moldy bread. The red cloth quickly wafted through the air, and wrapped itself around Dorothy.

"Stay." Cuu cracked his knuckles as he stalked past the recently shattered stumps of the woods.

His doctor nods silently, her tongue held out of shock, and fear. The coward, holding a whimpering, half-conscious Cat, was rabidly stumbling his way through the blasted out woods.

"You two! Fuck me, what happened!?" He said, only to be met with a silent doctor, and an angry Wolf walking past him; as if he hadn't said a word.

...

Dorothy had never been more terrified. One second, she's fearing for her purity as some lunatic is looming over her, then Mister Cuu is chucking said lunatic so hard it nearly blew out her eardrums. The look in the man's eyes, if you could even still call them that, was horrifically intense; like hellish portals to the deepest reaches of the Other-Side. When she saw Baldur carrying a wounded Pearl, however, she regained her senses.

"Baldur!" She called out, getting to her feet. "Come on, this way; there should be a stream that leads to my Gran's house."

The shaken man looks back towards the fields, where a silent Wolf was currently marching. "Yeah. Gran's house. Sounds good right about now."

"Grandmother's fresh cookies..." Misses Shesh, despite seemingly being shocked into a stupor, weakly smiled; vanishing from Baldur's shoulder. "...with some milk."

Dorothy grabs the cuff of Baldur's free arm. "Come on, then!"

She looks back one last time as she rushes towards Gran's House; hoping that whatever comes out of that fight is still Cuu, by the end of it all

...

Ink. Cuu could feel it beginning to pool at the back of his throat.

"No. Not yet." He told himself, swallowing it back down. "I don't need to."

The small crater the straw-man had made in the fields was empty; much to the annoyance of The Wolf. He scanned the area with his bloody eyes, seeing pair of shell-shocked Tales some twenty paces away from him, ten paces apart. One was of darker complexion; from Underland, most likely. The other was a heavily scarred woman, who was shivering and shaking as if she were freezing. Both were armed; the woman with clawed gauntlets, and the man with a large lumber axe. A swirling mass of straw weaves between the two, reforming, and standing back to full height as if no injury had befallen him.

"Careful." There was a look of fear in the scarecrow's eyes. "This one is... different."

"I..." Cuu's thoughts grew foggy; it was too late._ _"...can't hold him in!"

Cuu could feels the *pop* in his knuckles as he stretched out his clawed fingers; something was holding his throat hostage. Something in the Ink he was now **** on. His lips did not move, but his jaw would not close; the dark, husky voice was calling from inside his body. Reciting its words as if poetry.

"Forty great wolves, you felled; as well as forty crows."

As it spoke; Cuu felt his grip over his body wavering once again, just as it had weeks prior.

"On the night we last met, a new form arose."

The Ink began to sizzle as it hit the fields, the smoke of it's remains swirling in the calm winds; the words now sounding as if those same winds were the source.

"The Woodsman chopped. The Scarecrow spooked. The Cowardly Lion fled."

Some of the smoke began to encompass Cuu; the Moon up above shifting it's phase to a Waxing Gibbous.

"The Little Lost Girl soon awoke, to find them drenched in red!"

The monster of smoking ink shook as it's body morphed and grew; it's blood-red eyes glowing with hatred. The smoke acted as fur, long and shaggy in appearance. There was no pain, no blood, nor injury for Cuu as his bones shifted, his jaw extended. The smoke settled into the form of a large, shaggy beast on all fours. From the shadows cast by its mass, smaller, equally bloody eyes peered through; rows of teeth gleaming like moonlight.

The Wolf lifted it's head towards the Moon, and howled in bloodthirsty delight.

The Pack was off their leash.

...

Nobody darted through the tree-tops. Silent as the night, he held close that little bear that meant so much to him; to his old master, and to the boy. He wished to see how well Cuu could handle his Tale; or if it was handling him. He came to a stop as he found the boy's trio of compatriots running through the woods, stopping at a stream; although, one was being carried. He was shocked at first to see who exactly had been harboring The Wolf. Oswald's other little girl; wearing The Hood, just as his master had. The wounded one as well, with those ears, and that tail...

"Is that Alyssa's runaway Squire?" He thought. "The Author must be having a laugh."

The Wolf's howl echos through the woods, and Oswald's daughter looks to the others. "F-follow the stream that way!"

"Where the fuck are you going!?" The one carrying the cat said; he seemed the pragmatic sort.

Dorothy looks towards the source of the howl, sets her shaking hands steady, and pulls The Hood over her head. "My patient needs me."

The greasy-haired boy just lets his jaw hang open as he watches the girl run off; he rolls his eyes, and starts to run off down-stream.

Nobody grinned. "Just like her grandmother, then. Good, her sister takes too much after their father."

He follows the girl closely from the tree-tops, trying to get a better understanding of his old master's choice of successor.

She reaches the fields first; Nobody notices her stagger back as she does so. "C-Cuu!"

...

The Wolf watched with a malicious smile as it's pack hounded his prey; thirty nine smaller copies of itself surrounding the trio in a large circle. The Heartless was chopping away at any that tried to take their pound of flesh; they never change. A group of five leapt atop old tin-skin, biting at his iron-hard hide. They never drew blood, but the distraction was enough; a grouping of three leapt out infront of The Spineless, spooking the little lion back towards the rest. They descended upon her quickly, only for her Tale to provail as it had on that night so, so long ago. Fueled with fear, and moving with speed that vibrated the very air around her, she sliced away at the many wolves; reducing them to ink.

"Doggies! Bad doggies!" She fell to her back, swatting at everything that came her way with those long, sharp gauntlets.

The Mindless was already disarmed, and was unlikely to have Defined himself into a real threat; he had a few hounds nipping at his heels occasionally... although, The Wolf's current host did harbor some spite with him.

"Why is that, Little Cuu?" The beast asked it's hostage. "I was so deep in slumber, I seem to have not noticed."

Much to it's surprise, a rage that nearly rivaled its own replied; drowned as it was in the Ink. "Touched! Doctor! Rip! Apart!"

The anger was nearly enough to grip back control of the body; hmm, not good. Perhaps it would be better to not taunt this boy; who exactly is this doctor anyway?

"Cuu!"

The Wolf turned to the call of his host's name; the sight of a flowing, red hood setting his blackened heart fluttering.

"So, old Percival had finally given up the hunt after all..."

Distracted, The Wolf hadn't seen the axe swinging down onto his head; splitting it in two. The pain was severe, but the axe had not even a trace of silver. Enraged, the inky form of the wolf pulled free from the axe, twisted around, and howled. The **** of wind from it's mighty lungs blasted the damned tin-man back towards the fearful feline and the useless sack of straw. The ink of it's head quickly pooled back into place, healing he wound in a moment.

Footfalls came from behind once more; is this Wearer insane!? Even Percival had known better than to come charging towards him. Sick of the petty criminals, as well as this new Hood, the ink-bound demon sicks the full pack upon to trio; turning to meet the new threat. By the time it turned, however, the Wearer had wrapped her arms around his shaggy neck. His blood-red eyes glared at the woman, who just barely could hang by his neck with her arms; such was the difference in size.

"Mister Cuu... are you ok?"

...

Dorothy was terrified of the massive, shaggy, ink-bound wolf, but that did not weaken her grip on it's neck. Under that mess of black goo was her patient. Her new friend. Her fate, and his, were bound together; this she knew now for certain.

The Wolf glared at her; as if intrigued.

She squeezed even tighter around the beast's neck. "Mister Cuu, are you hurt? Can you speak?"

"Dotty, he's hearing you. Keep going." The Hood whispered in her mind.

The black beast shudders, and in the distance, the pack of smaller wolves seem to shrink away into pools of ink. The trio that had chased Mister Baldur and Miss Shesh, each of which seemed wounded and worse for ware, quickly limped their way towards the road. The inky pools of the other wolves slithered like serpents towards The Wolf, re-absorbing back into it's being. With the last droplets returned, the beast shook her from it's neck; baring down with it's fangs.

Growling at her, The Wolf spoke in a gruff, poetic manner. "O' Little Lamb; who are you to steal my breath from me!? To take what is rightly owed!?"

Dorothy, falling to her back, winced as the beast barked down at her. "M-Mister Cuu, I'm y-your Doctor! Remember?"

The creature reels back; two voices calling from one maw.

"Doctor! Run!"

"Silence! Prey!"

The jaws then snap down towards her, trying to rip Dorothy to pieces; The Hood quickly yanking her aside as the teeth tear into the wheat and dirt. The Wearer of The Hood felt complete shock, freezing up as The Wolf reared back for another attempt on her life. When it bit down once more, however, it was not on supple flesh and red cloth.

It was on bronze.

Standing between her and her patient was an older man, clad in armor of that same metal. The gaps in his armor were small, but those on his left leg, and right arm, emitted a faint cyan glow. His helmet, from which a greying stubble could be seen, covered a presumably missing eye; the other glowing with the same light as his limbs. In the moonlight, his olive-hue skin appeared as bronze as his equipment; giving him the visage of a man of metal. Something drops from his hand, and into the lap of Dorothy.

A stuffed bear, named Bobo.

The Wolf pulls away, leaping back several paces as it stares down the stranger.

"An odd scene. Don't you usually kill the sheep in your story; Nobody?"

"There's only one beast that must die tonight, Wolf."