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Artemvian headed south, organizing what he’d learnt so far.

One. This was not his world nor any version of the afterlife that he knew of. He was actually in a different world with its own cultures, customs and people.

Two. People here were unfamiliar with the subject of Monsters. When Artem had briefly glossed over why he suspected that the man named John Doe was a werewolf, he had received blank stares. He had a sinking feeling that the two didn’t believe him at all. Not because Artem was a stranger or untrustworthy individual (the latter of which was impossible). But because the two didn’t believe in Werewolves.

Artem had encountered people like that, usually those that lived in large cities. They dismissed the notion that strayed far from the ‘Mainstream’ Magic Theory. Basically, anything that could be dismissed as folklore, fairy tale or myth. But it wasn’t limited to non-magical folk, this phenomena of disbelief perpetuated itself in High Magic Society as well. Those who believed in the ‘hard’ Arcane Theories often refuted the existence of gods, daemons and faeries.

Funny how people who could shoot fireballs out of their hand didn’t believe in the existence of a horse with a magical horn on its head.

Artemvian continued to walk. Nightfall descended upon Nero City, the darkness stifling out the rays of sunlight. He gazed on in awe as the City itself came to life. A dizzying array of lights lit up the sky, purple, yellow, orange, red and more. Types of people he hadn’t seen during the day made their appearance, crawling out of whatever sewer hole they tucked themselves into when the Sun was out. More piercings. More metal appendages. More… dare he say it? Wild.

Resisting the urge to stay and study this new world, Artemvian continued heading South.

The shadows seemed to stretch longer here, their shapes seemingly sharpened and jagged. There were less passerbys yet Artemvian could feel more stares. Watching his every move. He saw a few people huddled around a trash can, a fire lit within. Outwardly, they pretended to pay him no mind but Artemvian knew that they were keeping an eye on him.

It seemed no matter the era and no matter the world, there was always the ‘bad’ part of town.

A familiar pang of pain shot through him, nothing physical, purely an emotional response at seeing this decrepit place, obviously void of kindness and human warmth.

He grew up in a place not too different from this.

“Yeah yeah, enough sob story.” Artemvian told himself out loud.

Hearing his own voice brought him to the present and out of the melancholy soap drama he had been about to narrate in his own head. No one wanted that, least of all him.

The most pressing concern of finding out what happened to him. To find out what happened to him, he needed money. To get money, he needed jobs and right now, completing this task for the Riley woman seemed to be his best bet for getting a foot in the door.

Artemvian drew a circle in the air with his finger, whispering, “Lupus, Lupus, Lupus.”

His finger emitted mana and as soon as he finished drawing the circle, it shone a dim-blue, like one of those lights he saw in the streets but much more muted. It stretched and formed an oblong shape, like being tugged in a direction.

Smiling, he couldn’t resist saying for added benefit, “And I’ll huff and puff and blow your house down.”

Following the circle that was being ‘tugged’, Artemvian found his target within minutes.

John Doe, the vagabond that was shown in the photo. He had wrapped some cloth around him and was shivering, though the rain had long since stopped and the air had begun to grow warm,

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“John Doe?” Artemvian offered.

The man looked up, his eyes bloodshot.

“Yup. Looks like it.” Artemvian leaned on the wall, his hands in his pockets and stared at the man.

“W-What d-d-do you want?”

“You’re wanted for murder.” Artemvian said blatantly.

The man frowned, barely getting his words out through clattering teeth. “I-I-I don’t know what y-y-you’re t-t-t-talking ab-b-out.”

“And I believe you.” His voice was quiet, sympathetic even.

“I-I don’t understand. I-I-I k-k-keep h-hav-v-ing these b-b-l-l-black o-uts.”

“About a year ago, you were attacked by a mysterious beast? Perhaps lured into an alleyway by a beautiful woman? Or man, I’m not one to judge.” Artem guessed.

The man nodded.

Or started to shake harder. It was hard to differentiate.

“You were bit by a Werewolf. A real one, not one of those men cursed to turn into a wolf at the drop of a hat or a Skinwalker posing as one. A Veritas Lycan, a True Werewolf with the blood of the Original running through its veins.” Artem explained.

“Your blackouts happen once a month. You have a fever because your body is not human anymore, not entirely. Higher body temperature, higher metabolism and an onset of fever as the change continues to take place. If you had been taken care of by a tribe, the change would have been quicker. They have herbs for that, I believe.”

“A-Are y-y-you some kind of d-d-octor? C,c,c-an you fix me?”

“No one can fix you now. It’s too late.” He pushed off of the wall then looked at the sky. “You’ve killed too much. Tasted blood before you could learn to control your wolf form. It is practically a separate entity at this point, a split personality even. You won’t be able to control its urges, the bloodthirst and its rabid disposition.” Artemvian shook his head. “The murders are proof of that.”

A full moon hidden by the clouds which were being pushed away by unknown winds and soon, like a curtain being lifted from a dancer, the Moon would reveal herself.

Artemvian pointed a finger at the man. “...I have a feeling if I brought you in alive, I’d be doing you a disservice.”

The world wasn’t kind to people like John Doe. If he was captured alive, he’d be experimented on, kept in a cage and be treated as nothing more than a labrat for the rest of his life.

Of this, Artemvian was sure. The world might be different but humans would never change.

He remembered Riley telling him that the reward for bringing in John Doe alive was almost double for killing him.

Well, Artemvian would make do.

Right as Artemvian flicked his finger the man took out a strange object from beneath his cloak and caused the mage to freeze instinctively.

And it saved his life.

The object fired once, then twice more within the span of a second. A flash from the muzzle of the object nearly blinded Artemvian and the accompanying bark was deafening, ringing in Artemvian’s ears.

The mage stared at the three metal objects embedded into the air in front of him, having nearly penetrated the Mana Shield he put up instinctively. They were no larger than his pinky finger but pointed and had managed to pierce through his shield halfway, causing cracks like spiderwebs to splinter across the shield. All of that in a span of one second.

Immediately, Artemvian revised his assessment of this world.

This place was much more dangerous than he thought.

And in that moment the space between the two lit up with Moonlight.

The man turned within seconds.

His jaw elongated, much too long to be a human but much too wide to belong to an actual wolf. Gangly fur and hair sprouted from the man’s skin and he screamed, a horrible sound that was halfway between a throaty growl and a soul-splitting howl. John Doe grabbed his head as his eyes yellowed, his body turning larger, his nails turning to claws and teeth turning to fangs. Leaner. More dangerous.

Deadly.

A creature meant to kill, designed by the gods themselves.

“Werewolves look the same in this world as mine.” Artemvian muttered, assessing the creature. “So I can’t be too far from home.”

The creature shook its head, plagued by memories of its human-self and the pain from the transformation. It spun like a spooked animal, drawn to Artemvian’s direction by his voice. It growled and began to lumber towards the mage.

Artemvian put out a hand. “Down, boy.” He ordered.

And a mage shield slammed down into the creature like a meteor, flattening it against the ground.

Artemvian strode forward, staying just out of reach and studying the creature.

The werewolf-turned-John-Doe snapped and spat, snarling and spitting, hateful eyes fixed on its captor. Yup. Exactly the same werewolf that he was used to. Whatever this place was, his knowledge and power were still relevant.

“...When I was younger, this was my job.”

“Finding people like you who were just unlucky enough to have a taste of the other side. People who had been tricked, coerced and had no other option left.” Artemvian shook his head, the taste of something bitter in his mouth. “I want you to know, nothing personal.”

Realizing that he was stalling, Artemvian summoned up fire in his hands. “I’ll remember your name, John Doe.”

The fire streaked forward, hot enough to be tinged with blue and pierced through the Werewolf’s head, leaving a smoldering, smoking hole in the lump of meat.

It was done.

Artemvian picked up the strange object that John Doe had fired with, pocketing it.

“Brant, was it? I know you’re there.”

Brant came into the clearing, his eyes wary. “I wasn’t trying to-”

“I need help bringing this body back.” Artem gestured at himself. “You’re not going to make an old man –er, one man do this by himself are you?”

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