Man, life had been a real bugger as of late. Marina spontaneously vanishes, leaving the insecure Bucky at Sunhaven’s vulnerable helm. What’s more, the empowered fluffy feline then proceeds to demote the wolverine from his positions of power three weeks straight - not that Wendell was upset about it, of course. Those were military positions, they were, and if a conflict were to impulsively arise from the dust, he was supposed to be one of the first responders. This bumped his values’ heads together, in a very nasty way. For once in his short, distressed life, the Brit clung onto a position of power over others, and the importance of oneself it brought. On the other hand, a position of power potentially meant confrontations and strife, both of which not exactly being his strong suit. Anybody that knew Wendell on even an acquaintance-level of interaction understood that the chipper mustelid absolutely despised bad blood of any sorts.

Friction between rival parties never caused more good than bad; when taking Wendell’s existence into account, this was exceptionally true. Friendly debates were a-okay, but arguments, fusses, and other verbal disputes, his fragile shell for the soul could hardly take any of it. However, the stress given forth from oral altercations was nothing on the burden placed on his weak shoulders by physical engagements. Even the slightest mention of a past disunity can tighten his throat and hold it in an iron grasp, simply because of how much shit life threw at his optimistic mug.

Snowbound was his original home. The powder-coated valley, the hot chocolate, the friendly faces, the heavy emphasis on peace and kindness, it concocted the perfect brew for someone of Wendell’s principles. Then, the Pitt came along and took over, causing Wendell to flee to his current residence. As he had been told by the group’s former leader, Atbash, the Pitt had been driven away, but only to ultimately return and set the snowy stomping grounds ablaze. That was not where his virginity to tragedy and trauma was lost - his pureness had been displaced years ago. Though, the horrifying events that transpired at his previous abode burned fiercely in his mind, still shaping the man, mouldings him into a clay sculpture of cowardice and discomposure.

Right when the flames began dimming down a bit, some inter-tribe drama was birthed between the Ascendants and Sunhaven. And, right when the newfound stress obscured itself into a state of oblivion, Mother Nature aims for the balls, and chucks a killer flood at the slowly-recovering group.

By the point of the first snowfall, whilst the Christmas decorations and music made the scene, the dread died down once more. The extravagant red and green lights, the pine-tinged wreaths, they served as jubilant distractions from reality.

Yet, as the Brit learned from experience, life has a push-and-pull factor. As soon as you’ve been pushed into the good, you get pulled right back into the bad. Never has there ever existed harmony, despite the constant efforts made by many.

In this case, the festive season pushed Wendell into a positive mood, a positive stance on life. A gargantuan lion named Stryker came along and fucked that up, unfortunately.

As he woke, the burning scent of moistureless air entering his system, his breaths became quite shaky has his chocolate hues peered into the neon ones that had caused so much anguish. A brief cry exited his system, one sounding a lot more like a tuned exhale, while the mammal analyzed the situation he was in. Indeed it was quite the situation. He wasn’t leaving here alive. The deuce, lion and wolverine, have had quite the history in regards to one another. The overgrown feline had taken Wendell’s home, but failed in maintaining an iron fist over the male. Judging by how heartless he knew the miscreant to be, this very spot, in front of a crowd even, would be his bloody undoing. Ah well, best to give the audience a hell of a show.

"Y-You finally caught me... at long last," he’d nervously remark, his unstable reaching various highs and lows as he spoke, ”just tell me what you want t’ do t’ me, and I’ll happily oblige, you obdurate fuck.”

In no way was he threatening Stryker with these insults; they were his strategy in getting what he wanted. If he was brought out to the public’s eye, then there was obviously going to be a little torturing going on. Hence, the creature theorized that by backtalking him, perhaps his demise could come at least a bit quicker.

Fear enveloped his terribly shaken mind as the Stryker, the dastardly bastard, fixed an illuminated gaze at another individual in the audience, before educating the likely-vile feline on the transpiring situation. With each hateful sentence gushing out of the lion’s maw, Wendell’s heart sank further and further. It was no coincidence that he, of all people, was to be the subject of the Ardent’s wretched torment and pain; this was revenge. Spoken phrases such as ”an old friend o’ mine”, and ”Wendell is the one that got away” each invoked substantial amounts of terror inito his rapidly developing thoughts. The wolverine examined that the backstory had been overly-exaggerated on Stryker’s part, portraying the Sunhavener as a runaway antagonistic malefactor, rather than a man simply trying to live life peacefully. None of this mattered now. All that mattered was that he was in for a world of pain.

Surrounding movement as a whole apparently went to slow-motion whilst the lion once again shifted his glare unto Wendell, the height difference between the two annotating the obvious strength advantage Stryker had in this circumstance. Such power he had evaded once before, back in the chilly confines of Snowbound - this time was different. Now, if he had tried to run, it was possible that a much more painful demise awaited him, a bloody death at the hands of many instead of the hands of only one. For him, the latter was preferred route, even if both choices meant suffering, if not death.

Still in slow motion was the unsheathing of unnatural sharpened claw, followed by the raising of a beefy limb that beckoned the mustelid nearer, against his own will. A bizarre complacency sprung from this bodily contact, as if it was his profound nerves’ way of telling him that this would be the final “normal” moment in his life; and he reluctantly relished the moment. A few witty words ushered themselves out of Stryker’s system, before suddenly, all outlandish luxury and ease ceased to exist on account of the feline’s adjacent actions. Tremendous force, deriving from a heavy paw placed at the aft of his head, swept him off all fours and slammed his face onto the solid surface. A thunderstruck scream of pain and shock erupted from within, while the control of his jaw had perished, and teeth violently loosened from the gums. Words cannot describe the despair, the shock, and the fear in which he underwent in these very moments. Soppy tears had begun puddling in their sockets, and the process of crying had only sped up when the hyperventilating commenced. But Stryker did not relent. Very shortly after making mincemeat out of Wendell’s jaw and chompers, he elevated his victim and continued his dental work.

Weak gasps and feeble cries slipped out of the Sunhavener’s gullet whilst one of the lion’s aforementioned knifelike claws penetrated swollen gums, and tugging out the the pearly whites unaffected by the initial attack. Blood pooled in his unresponsive mouth, only to drip down his hung chin once it began to overflow.

His form once again met the ground, this time in an agonized collapse. Gags as strong punches rocked his midsection, an unpleasant mixture of blood an what may have been last night’s meal brewing together below.

”Ready for the next part?”

No he was not. He didn’t even want a next part. No. He wanted to be at home, to be with those who had respected him, to coincide in a society of kindness and compassion likewise to what was found in Snowbound. There, he’d share stories, and drink and eat to his heart’s content.

"Arnckk..." was about as good a response anybody in his position could give. Right now, Wendell was unable to speak, nor would he ever do so again.

His chocolate hues, misty and flustered, glared expectantly at Stryker. At least for the next part, whatever horrors awaited him, he’d be prepared.