This is Danmachi Oratoria based. Where Asuna and Aiz as the main character. Asuna who was once apart of the Hera Familia, joined the Loki Familia and start of her new journey with her new friends.
A scholar once said that there were three reasons why werewolves would howl. The first was to assert their dominance over the enemy. The second was to locate fellow companions who'd strayed from the pack. The third was to strengthen their bond with their own kind, conveying the depths of their souls by calling at the sky.
According to Bete, however, these reasons were dead wrong, entirely missing the mark. Howling was an oath. When their throats trembled, they considered it a signal of their own readiness, carved into the heavens themselves. A promise of absolute will, devouring the sun, devouring the moon, devouring everything as they looked to the sky and the gods gazing down at them and met them eye to eye.
Yes, all you had to do was howl. No matter what kind of plight you may find yourself in, no matter how much the enemy may beat you down, no matter how much your body may cry out in pain. Release the courage and the power built up inside you and make that pledge. You'd grow stronger, faster than the you of a mere one second earlier. Only then did you have the right to step onto the battlefield.
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The oath Bete had made now—was a pledge to hunt. To stain his claws and fangs a brilliant red. And he hurled that conviction all the way to the heavens. The shadow-choked sky trembled, almost as though frightened, and even the rain seemed to weaken in response to his call. In the split second of clarity, he saw a golden outline shimmering faintly through the sea of clouds.
Bete's lupine ears shot up straight atop his head, his gray fur standing on end like sharpened needles. It was time. They were here. Assassins drawn to his howled oath that was neither a show of force, nor a beacon for lost comrades, nor a shared bond between friends. They would be prey for his claws and fangs. He gazed out over the ruined city, amber eyes flashing.
The assassins raced through the streets, melting into the surrounding darkness. They made not a sound, not even the pittering pat of the rainwater bouncing off their speeding forms, almost like living shadows as they glided forward. Black robes fluttering, they made their way toward the high-rise building sharpening into view between the cracks of the dilapidated brothels, drawn toward the howl of a wolf, still reverberating from atop a roof.
As they approached, they drew cursed weapons from their robes—the sure-kill blades they'd been provided by the Evilus. They been promised not only large sums of money for their work but these weapons, as well. More fatal than even the deadliest of poisons, such weapons would likely be beneficial to their familia of underground crime, allowing them to spill blood with even greater ease. Another step in changing the world for the better, or so the assassins believed. Such teachings were drilled into their brainwashed minds since the days of their youth.
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