I've had Damyan Hollowlight since the beginning. Since I first tried writing novels, he's been with me. Since I was ten years old. Four years! I know, most of you will know him as a cocky, evil shapeshifter (or wolf, but he's a shapeshifter) who mistreated Citrine, but he's grown. I've discontinued Chronicles of a Wolf (I know, I'm so sorry, but I wasn't getting anywhere with it. Keeping it around was just beating the dead horse, and I needed to let go.) and that story never happened. Dyad, Myria, Vaelthara, sure they exist, but they're much different now. Damyan is... really the only character who stuck. The only character I couldn't cut. From the beginning, I've tweaked him, improved him, and changed him a little bit, and he's so good. He's so... human. Even when he's not. His flaws, his kindness (it's new, I know lol), it's so... loveable. I know, some of you might hate him because you've only known him in Chronicles of a Wolf. Give him another chance. He's better. He's so great. I could never hate him. He's... me. He represents my flaws. My arrogance, my drama, my little bit of self-centeredness. It's him. And not just that. He represents the balance between my flaws and the goodness in me. So give him another chance. He's one of my best characters, as human as any of us even though he's not human. Hey! @WOLFYKID1152 ! Guess what? Thanks for the inspiration! I made him British!
The truck pulls into the parking lot of an abandoned warehouse, jolting violently as it stops. The two burly men step out of the truck, and I finally get a good look at them. Pearl-white tusks curl up out of their bottom jaws, and their physical builds are like wrestlers’. Like I suspected. Dwarves. I let my form flatten and shrink, until I’m a harmless green leaf on the top of the truck. A small precaution. I can’t let them see me yet. I catch the wind, floating over to the back of the truck just as they’re opening it. I float down gently in between them, and then, my form explodes outward. Back as my normal self, I kick both in the head at the same time with either leg. I land in between them as they crumple to the ground, unconscious as my boots tap softly on the pavement. Too easy, sodding idiots. Inside the truck are piles of wooden crates. I gently slide the cover off one of them. Sure enough, it’s packed full of C4s. /Who would need so many? What are they planning??/ My breath hitches as the traffic doors to the warehouse swing open. /Crap!/ I slip to the right side of the truck, hidden from sight of the doors. Two dwarves stomp out of the doors, grumbling about not a big enough salary. I sneak to the front of the truck as they head to the back. “What?” One grunts. “Why are they on the ground?” “Probably too tired.” The other growls. “Just grab the crates.” /Ha. Stupids./ I slip inside, the traffic doors swinging after me once I enter. I spot a couple barbarians walking past, and I dive behind the nearest forklift. I narrow my eyes, scanning my surroundings. /If I were a crime boss… where would I hide?/ The main floor is filled with stacked crates and construction machines. To my right, there’s a flight of metal stairs that lead to the catwalk lining the walls. Multiple rooms are dotted here and there on the catwalk. /Ha, easy./ I slip onto the stairs, praying my footsteps aren’t loud on the metal. Though I know that’s not going to happen. My luck never helps me this far. But actually, this is going pretty smoothly. It’s more concerning, though. I duck into the nearest room with an open door when I hear footsteps behind me, walking up the steps. I pinch my nose, trying not to gag. Of course I ended up in the bathroom. They're so disgusting when they use the loo. It stinks. The dwarf stomps past, unaware of me. I slip out of the disgusting bathroom, finding the door labeled ‘Boss’. I shake my head with a sigh. Honestly, they could’ve done a little better with security. But they’re barbarians, after all. I let my form shrink, and I crawl under the door as a mouse. The office is big, well, big for a mouse, obviously. But small if I were to be normal. It smells like cologne and detergent, as if someone was trying hard to get rid of the barbarian stench. The desk is littered with papers, even over the keyboard of the laptop. A man maybe a couple years older than I normally look paces near the window. “Idiotic barbarians.” He mutters. “They were supposed to be here with the shipping hours ago!” He has brown hair slicked back with oil—he’s trying too hard—and dark, dark green eyes that are almost black. He’s dressed in a pristine suit, without so much as a speck of dust on it. /Yup. Definitely trying too hard./ “What took them so long?!” He demands, talking to no one in particular. I climb onto the windowsill, shifting to my usual form, one leg propped up on the sill, the other dangling. I examine my nails with a smile. “That’s what you get for relying on barbarians, mate. Probably your worst decision.” His head snaps over to me, eyes narrowing. “Hollowlight.” He snarls. I press a hand to my chest with a little wider smile. “Oh, you know me! I’m so flattered!” “Of course I know you.” He snaps. “You’re absolutely hated in the underworld, traitor.” “Traitor.” I test the word on my tongue. “Heard that before, haven’t I? Oh, yeah, everyone I see calls me that. Traitor to humans, traitor to the underworld, what’s new?” “Well, you just showed yourself to the wrong person. You’re gone, Damyan!” He yells, swinging at me. I roll backwards, his punch going way over my head. “Oh, sorry, you missed. Were you trying to hit me? Or the window? It’s hard to tell, because you’re so bloody bad at it!” “Hollowlight!” He growls, grabbing my wrist and bringing his knee up to my stomach. “Aww, missed again!” I chirp as I turn into smoke and back to solid behind him. He barely has time to turn around before I hit him in the nose with my fist. I jump backwards, stretching the hand I punched him with. “Honestly, I think you need some combat classes! Baby classes!”
