This was one of the many things he would never surpass his great Father on. He was like a wave—zoning in and out and dancing around the legend that was his father. For hundreds of years he had done his best to surpass him. He had ruled fairly, had won multiple wars and had even bedded more females than his father, but still, his name was mentioned with less regularity than that of his deceased father. Shouldn’t his existence surpass his father’s in the present time? No, destiny wasn’t so kind.
There was only one thing he surpassed his father at: He has survived longer. Apparently, no one considered it important or deemed it worthy of mentioning. In fact, he had survived in another era where youkai no longer ruled and he had kept the majority of his people safe. Wasn’t that enough? Why wasn’t he praised? Why wasn’t he loved by his people?
Was it because he was cold?
Was it because he was weak?
No. He was strong but he lacked power. He lacked what made the Great Inu no Taisho special. There was nothing special in him, nothing that made him rise over his equals. He was plain and boring. His bite was lethal but not magical as his great sire had been.
He always knew, but never gave it any importance; after all, there were no remains of anyone who had survived his Father’s bite. He made sure to kill them all.
Or so he thought.
He sniffed the air once more. He could not be mistaken. There was a trace of his Father’s unique scent over the lands, the polluted lands, and he had a diminutive idea of what it might be.
“One survived,” he stated and narrowed his golden eyes in annoyance, “A lone, female werewolf.”
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