[html] It was rare the child wandered too far from his family. From the protection of his mother's deadly fangs and the company of his sister and brother. But the world beyond called to the little solider, so loyal and blind to the teachings and whims of Kaena. A rare burst of individuality in the Prince of Fear, and the boy tread alone through the long grasses and trees growing distant from the den he called home. Claws pressing into the rain-soaked earth, smelling strongly of damp soil and decay, crimson eyes trained on his surroundings and movements were of one many years older then the young coyote puppy. He crept along like a serpent, sliding across the ground and leaving barely a trace or upturned twig in his wake. A beautiful boy, with a soft golden coat and features that showed no trace of wolfen lineage. Large ears, sleek form, and long, fluffy tail that held none of the awkwardness normally present in the young. Chosen. Perfect. He and his siblings were Mother's favorite, and the young creature held a cold arrogance with his head held high and body poised like a true Prince descent from royalty. A royalty of the damned and fallen.
He paused, one paw still raised in mid-step as head turned skyward. Droplets fell as the wind rustled through the leaves, leaving damp traces down the boy's pale-coated nose. He wrinkled his muzzle, angry at the audacity of the earth and wishing to punish it, but he'd yet to grow and the time would come. Instead, he inhaled the rain-mingled scents that permeated the air, fur bristling at one such odor that'd filled his senses since he'd first left his mother's den. Wolf. Fangs bared at the thought, growl dying in his throat as he remembered silence was key when sneaking about. Those disgusting beasts. Oh, Kaena had taught him well. She'd taught him of those devilish, damned beasts that were worth less than the dirt beneath his paws. They must be eradicated. They must be destroyed. They all must be burned the like demons they were, to leave only the perfect and the beautiful, like he and his family to walk and rule the earth like the true Kings and Queens they were. [/html]
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Since Hel was born in Europe, I'll just move her whole pack in Souls. Because, you know, this is fairy land and all 
The black pup was out and about again. Her brother Fenrir had threatened to tell Loki about her running out of the den again, but Hel's quick bite to his tail was enough to shut him up. She was already big for her age and curious, and usually she would prefer fighting to this kind of stuff, but today her brothers were being silly. She wanted to explore. The pack was growing strong, despite their wolves not being the toughest of their litters. In truth, Asgard was made up of her brothers and sisters and occasional cousin. And they were still asleep.
The ground was wet and the air smelled of storm, of rain. Oh good, she'd play in the mud a bit. Slowly, the black little pup started walking, her nose pushed against the grass. Her tail wagged slightly and her sights set on a small grasshopper. Hel grinned and started yapping at it, trying to get it to die. Her dad would like her to do that, kill small insects. It showed no revulsion towards blood and death. Her paw slipped and soon she was tumbling until she landed next to what looked like a weird wolf. Hel got up and shook herself vigorously. Her head cocked to the side, her ears perked, icy blue eyes locked on the other pup, she asked You funny woffie. Wha are you?
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[html] He was blind. Eyes closed to the world, wrapped only in the adoration of Kaena, Mother was his world and his God. The way and the light to his being. Whatever she said was law and fact and she was the only creature the golden-haired boy would willingly and truly bow his head and expose his belly to. His siblings he respected, because they were of the same blood as himself, and thus born of perfection as well, but Kaena was the best. Even thinking of her made his body weak and warmth to rush through his veins. Oh, Kaena. For her, he would destroy the world.
Something fell from the sky, or so it seemed. Fur bristling, eyes wide and fangs bared, young Samael turned his eyes on something dark that had just landed in the mud beside him. Rising, shaking itself off, coyote watched with a wary eye, still bristling faintly as he regarded the being. It was a wolf, he knew immediately, perhaps around the same age as himself. "I, a wolf?" he snorted in disgust, raising his head high in arrogance toward the creature. This thing didn't know—honestly didn't know what stood before it. Of his beautiful blood and species, but such was to be expected. He would have to show them all, and drive fear into the hearts of the unworthy and the tainted. He knew this. They were all damned fools.
"I am a coyote," he hissed through his teeth, moving quietly toward the dark wolfling. "I am thus better than you." Oh, the arrogance! While he knew he should of been secretive, allowing the time to simply come when the world would be destroyed and he'd sit atop a throne of blood and bones as the true Prince of Fear, but he couldn't help it. Disgust showed on his elegant features, twisting them wickedly into an expression of sheer revulsion. But an idea struck through his brain, and the boy was intriged. How he'd love to know what was inside of these wicked things. An empty hole where the heart should be?
Steeping forward, Samael thrust his muzzle forward, sniffing at the young wolf. Similar they both were in physical frame, and yet so different. So horribly, awefully different. All because of their blood and heritage and the souls trapped within the cage of their chest (or lack therein). Fangs bared, he leapt toward the dark-haired girl, aiming to pin her down and tear her open, seeing what was inside of that hollow, heartless chest. [/html]
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Hooray for references to obscure Norse gods! 
The Prince of Fear and the Monster of Niflheim stood face to face. In their Prose Edda, Asgard considered Hel to be the one who guarded Niflheim, the entrance to the underworld. In her monstrous form, she accepted only those who had died deaths unworthy of Valhalla, Odin's hall. She took in the suicides and the aborted children, the men and women who died of old age and disease, who did not defend their lands for the glory of the gods in Asgard, who did not give themselves as sacrifices to Odin, the Allfather. She was half human and half monster, but the black pup who bore her name was beautiful, thick coat dark as the depths of Niflheim and eyes blue as the deep rivers of the Norse lands. In her litter, she was far more beautiful than her brothers, she was the apple of her father's eye.
This puppy wasn't a wolf. She had been mistaken. He was small, scrawny to her eyes and her mind could not tell her what he was. He did it for her. Coyote. The name meant nothing, except that he was no wolf. Then to her he was just like the omegas of her pack, the ranks of Dvergar, those who were used for menial chores and could not rise above their ranks. And to think he was better? She felt like laughing. Better than she who dealt death upon mortals, who guarded the entrance to the land of mists? Oh, such a fool he was. Better? Than she who rules Niflheim? I think not. Gone was the childish lilt to her voice. No, the Monster of Niflheim wasn't kidding around.
His pounce caught her off guard and she landed on the damp earth, the little coyote on top of her. Hel's eyes blazed. Not only had she been foolish enough to let him get close, she had let him pin her down. Her. The goddess. The creature all mortals feared. The beautiful one who dealt death on every turn. She snarled, baring her teeth. She would show him. He would beg her to stop, beg her to let him go. And one day, when he would be sick and dying, she would come for him, she the princess, the giver of death and eternal unglory.
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