"Graaaah!" "Yiiip!" "Grrrr!"
"Crunch!" "Yelp!" "Argh!"
"Can you still hold up, musclehead?" a nimble wolf asked, casting a quick glance beside it as it dodged an attack from a persistent opponent. There, a robust wolf stood menacingly.
"Crunch!" "Yelp!" The robust wolf spat out the bloodied head of its foe; the poor creature's skull had been crushed. Not only was it deeply dented, it also bore a hollow pit carved by its bite.
"Worry about yourself, pipsqueak!" the menacing, robust wolf snarled mid-fight. With its large, bloodied fangs, it seized another foe by the skull, shook it violently, then flung the limp body aside once it was certain the kill was complete. Strips of mangled flesh from the enemy wolf clung between its teeth as it spoke. It then let out a menacing roar, as if inviting a new challenger, intimidating a few of the others.
"Suit yourself!" the nimble one scoffed playfully as it focused on the enemies ahead. It shook its head, trying to dispel the uneasy feeling creeping into its chest. Although the two had never exactly gotten along, the smaller one—whom the other called "Pipsqueak"—secretly worried for it. Neither ever said it aloud, but over the years, the two had quietly come to acknowledge each other as rivals.
The pipsqueak's worry was not unfounded. When it looked at it, it could no longer clearly distinguish whose blood it was—the "musclehead" or the enemies'—given how much was dripping from its thick, ripped body. Mangled flesh clung to its teeth, and hollow bite marks covered its body. It was amazing it was still able to stand at this point.
"Damn it!" the pipsqueak weakly muttered under its breath. It skillfully dodged an attacker much larger than itself, then countered with a strike that made the enemy wish it had ended its life instead. The enemy began to whimper as it was consumed by excruciating pain, its vision completely faded.
Observing the battlefield closely, one could see scattered wolves with bloodied eyes. Some lay motionless on the ground, completely lifeless, while others stumbled blindly after losing their vision, only to be trampled beneath the chaos of their own allies, their calls for help drowned out by the raging battlefield. There were also blinded wolves being dealt with by members of the pipsqueak's pack.
Looking at the comrades and rivals, pipsqueak and musclehead, closely, one could see the stark difference between the odd pairing. One was above the average size of a normal wolf, while the other was the exact opposite, below average in size.
The two looked like a father and son when standing beside each other.
Although there were some oddities in their physical characteristics, they had still become indispensable members of the black wolf's elite pack.
The two used their oddities as sources of strength. The abnormally large wolf used its size to its advantage; being bigger than normal also gave it greater physical power. It used this abnormal prowess to wreak fear and havoc across the battlefield. On the other hand, pipsqueak, being smaller, was faster than most. It used its smaller physique to dodge and maneuver with ease, delivering fast and precise fatal strikes in the process.
While their strengths were obvious, their weaknesses were just as easy to spot.
The musclehead being bigger means being slower, which also means getting hit more often than not. The robust wolf just used its robust body to tough it out.
As for pipsqueak, it was the exact opposite. While faster, it had a harder time dealing fatal damage. Still, it never used that as an excuse. It never allowed its shortcomings to hinder its ability to contribute to the team. It persisted and succeeded; if it had not, the wild was unforgiving, it most likely would not have survived failure.
Pipsqueak knew it could strike with terrifying accuracy, but it pushed that ability further, aiming for an even more difficult target: the eyes. No matter how big or small a target is, the eyes remain one of the most vulnerable parts of the body. It made sure to master hitting small, moving targets to compensate for its lack of raw power.
...
Like a tornado, an unstoppable force of nature that bulldozed everything in its path, the black wolf was now only a few steps away from its separated packmates. As the gap closed, it began to see a faint glimmer of hope. It would regroup with its pack and make sure they made it out alive.
It saw it.
The change is barely noticeable, yet the intuitively perceptive wolf manages to sense it: the timing of the enemy wolves' attacks has subtly shifted. The black wolf suddenly got a bad feeling. It desperately shook off the countless enemy wolves throwing themselves at it.
Its worry was proven right almost immediately. The opposing wolves shifted their attention to the most eye-catching among its separated pack, the robust wolf, also known as the musclehead. The black wolf tore through one enemy, then another, then another, while trying not to tear its eyes away from its subordinate, who was in a perilous situation.
Grrr—arghh! Snarl! Snap! Thwack! Ruff! Gnash! Roar! Yip!
The opposing wolves swarmed the robust wolf, while others moved like men in a frenzy, hurling themselves into the black wolf's subordinates without regard for their own lives. Amid the chaos, they severed the robust wolf from its pack's formation by brute force.
The besieged musclehead fought desperately under the concentrated assault, but the pressure only intensified, it was only a matter of time before it would be overwhelmed.
Its packmates struggled to reform their broken formation, fighting not only for their own survival, but to reach the musclehead before it was too late.
A random wolf took a bite at the musclehead's ankle. As the others saw its pained reaction, one quick on the uptake followed suit, biting into its other leg. Another latched on as well. The musclehead's knees began to buckle.
For the first time since the start of the battle, an opposing wolf managed to break through to its upper body, its shoulder blade was wounded for the very first time. Feeling the searing pain in its shoulder, its initial instinctive response was to retaliate. The robust musclehead wolf shook its body violently and shook loose the one biting its shoulder. It then proceeded to grab the wolf still latched onto its ankle by the skull. The musclehead pressed down on the wolf's head and flung it away.
"NOOOO!" the black wolf barked, its cry turning into a scream as it witnessed everything unfold before its eyes. Somewhere nearby, the crooked laughter of the vile, sly wolf echoed.
...
The cunning, vile wolf leader strolled among the rowdy allied wolves. It stopped when it arrived at its target.
"Hey, don't you think it's about time you do your job?" A sly smile appeared on the cunning wolf's face as it addressed the one it was speaking to.
"Damn it, you coward! You're the one who told me to rein in my excitement. If you hadn't, I'd have already killed the one everybody claims to be the strongest," the short-fused wolf shot back. Its nostrils flared as it fumed at the cunning wolf's questioning.
"Just you wait. I'll put you in your place after claiming the position of the strongest," it threatened.
"Sure," the sly wolf replied pensively.
...