The nights terror had passed, for most. However, it continued to drag on as if the heavens above were determined to put a bow on all transpired events. It took a few hours for the huntress to get everything she wanted, mostly tools for an examination. A freshly killed, now beheaded werewolf lay strewn across a massive oak table with said huntress working to skin its thick black fur free of blood leaking flesh. Taking what was now a blanket of fur, cutting it into long strips, and placing them long ways near the body. One by one, each strip was tested for a reaction. One curious thing she noted, was that after freeing the beast of its mortal coil, its fur went back to acting like very thick and armor-like fure one would typically see on a werewolf. Four hours ago, its pelt would shift into a free-flowing ink-like substance, dripping and swirling about before forming right back into its natural state. The most plausible excuse for this phenomenon is that magic caused it to change, and when not in use, revert back.
"So it's transmutation in the moment instead of being a part of its body," she mumbled, writing her thoughts down on paper. "Can rule out cursed flesh experimentation, definitely magic…which should be impossible."
The creaking sound of a door being opened caused her to derail from that train of thought; looking up caused her unwelcoming frown to deepen. A man strode in, only stopping at the opposite end of her workspace. He carried with him a select few tools; a bone saw, a chisel designed for breaking through a skull, and a pair of cutters specifically created to crack through a rib cage, all procured from the town's physician, who thankfully was still alive.
"We got everything you asked for, miss-" he started.
"Call me Red, only Red, and I also asked for the doctor to come, not just his tools," she interrupted before subjecting this man to her full scrutiny.
This was not the actual town doctor, but Mayor Wood, or rather, that's what Red remembered his name to be. The latter was only necessary because she needed town hall for a big enough table to work on, while the former was tangentially required as an extra set of hands and a secondary opinion on medical knowledge.
"I'm sorry, miss uhm Red, he declined and sent me with his tools” He began before stammering out “Please understand we've all gone through a very traumatic event, and everyone is a bit shaken; we sent word to the nexus order months ago," he tried to explain in the process of doing so betrayed a bit of irritation, possibly at Red, who showed up in the final hour. Fine by her as she could match his irritation with her own annoyance.
"That's what happens when you decide to settle on a back-wood island over two thousand miles away from the nearest piece of civilization! The only person who knows you're here is a ferryman operating so far outside legal trade routes, I had to twist his arm just to get a straight answer. You're lucky this werewolf was so comfortable and sloppy that it didn't bother covering up its tracks!" she hissed, pointing to a now fur-less carcass, causing the mayor to flinch back and look around more from what she said than the body “Don't worry its well and truly after breakfast, and that’s my first time mentioning it anyway.”
So saying, mayor Wood cleared his throat "We founded this town under the banner of our independence from outside interference."
Red stared at him. An icy dismissive look that felt more like she’d been visually degrading him "That's cute, considering you needed outside help to deal with the issue. Well, anyway, if the doctor refuses to come, you'll just have to do."
After quickly inspecting every tool, Red got to work cutting open a now-beheaded monster. The smell of iron and rot permeated town hall; whether by good fortune or planning, it was indeed big enough to contain it. Dissection of a werewolf was a process that promised to be slow and a test of persistence and patience. Lycan physiology guaranteed regeneration on flesh and fur even after death. Trying to slice away large chucks before they could right itself made a truly daunting task, one she would not participate in were it not for extenuating circumstance.
They, or rather, Red, worked well into the night, parting skin from the corpse, cutting it into strips just like the fur, then tested in similar ways. Results were inconclusive or fit in line with what Red already knew. The silence between them dragged on for hours, well past what one would consider awkward. Red didn’t seem to mind working in an absence of sound, but having spent the past few months huddled in silence for fear of death, Mayor Wood's brain raced to find something, anything to break the tension.
“Sooo, I heard werewolves are supposed to change back to human after being slain,” he started after finally pulling his gaze away from the lifeless eyes of a severed head.
“Normally, yes, it is the curse of Lycanism, but this is a natural-born werewolf. He wasn’t a human before, likely fourth or fifth generation. Conceived between two preexisting werewolves.” Her tone was very matter-of-fact, bathed in irritation, and she did not sound like she wanted to answer, but she did, which opened the door for more questions, easing the silence momentarily.
“So if all this is normal, why is there a need for an autopsy?” He continued to press, giving her a hand with peeling the stomach away from its home.
Red’s cold blue eyes rolled sighing out “Do you know the differences between witches, wizards, and mages?”
Mayor Woods thought on that question while Red began breaking and removing the rib cage to get at the other organs and better view its body as a whole. He knew there were distinct differences between them, made evident by the fact that finding a mage was exponentially more straightforward than finding a witch or wizard. A school for mages on the easternmost continent to further expand on this fact.
Having no clear answer he chose to give an educated guess “I don’t know the specifics, but I’d say mages must be taught magic, and the others are just born with the gifted aptitude.”
Red stopped what she was doing and looked up at Mayor Wood as if she were seeing him for the first time. Their interactions were previously behind a veil of indifference, but he suddenly became more interesting. Standing slightly more than a foot taller than Red herself, with ashen skin that might have been a peach color in his youth, she had to appraise him again. Not only did he take time to figure out her question, but he’d also offered a well-rounded hypothesis and admitted his own ignorance on the subject. Most would have spat some nonsense or admitted they didn’t know without giving it any thought.
“Hm, well, you’re mostly right, Mages have to be taught to harness natural, free magic around them, but witches and wizards are born with an organ that gives them internal magic; thus, they don’t have to be taught, there are other differences, but for now those are what’s important,” She explained and began to crack the first rib.
“So you’re trying to figure out if this monster was taught or born with the gift, because if it was taught, he has a master?” He spoke louder as to avoid being overridden by the sound of another rib being snapped.
One brow raised as she turned and looked towards him again, this time with a smile, if one could call it that. It looked strange, macabre, out of place even, as if the corners of her lips were never meant to be pulled upward, bringing a disturbing visage to an otherwise attractive face. His hairs stood up as goosebumps ran rampant like a wild animal over his skin. That smile looked like it could scare small children. Another rib cracked free.
Once her face returned to normal, that being a slight frown, she walked to a portion of the table free of pooling blood and gore. Outstretching her left arm, palm down, a faint iridescent glow shown on her upper shoulder, then her palm; Wood recognized that glow from the werewolf fight. During said fight, it signaled for her hatchets to return; only now, thinking about it, they weren’t anywhere to be seen. What was there to be seen was a backpack, shaking of its own accord. Concerning, but it belonged to the huntress, so he watched without a word. Another thing he took note of was that now, blessed with sudden illumination, he got a better look at her, rather a better look at what she wore under that red hood and cloak. A leather tunic sitting over a permissibly black cotton shirt with lace sleeves running to her fingertips.
Lights dimmed, and a book, rather a massive tome appeared; it would have landed in her palm, but because of the orientation of her palm, gravity took hold, pulling it down to the wooden table with a heavy thump. A bright red book embossed with an emblem depicting a howling wolf being engulfed by fire. Mayor Wood stared in wonder; its sheer size made it appear more like someones magnum opus than any regular piece of literature. It boggled his mind to imagine what secrets a book like this must hold for it to not only be this big, but so pristine in its appearance.
“As you probably know, magical aptitude for all mortal races ranges drastically, so much so most don’t bother attempting,” Red explained, flipping from one pact to another, delicate finger tips skating across old pages.
The book completely dwarfed her hand even before she’d pried it open, but thankfully, there was no apparent need to flip far. A massive section dedicated to none other than werewolves appeared on several pages in. It looked to cover all manner of topics, from local habitats, teeth, and social structures down to preferred ways to kill or experiment on, as well as the findings for said experiments likely to avoid redundancy. Whoever documented these findings had to be absolutely obsessed with eradicating werewolves. Whole pages written fanatically to nothing more than sadistic ways to torture them. From abusing their shared regeneration for ‘interrogation purposes’ to creating a calling horn made from their throats to track more.
“This is-” He began with a slight quiver
“Sick? Trust me I know, but crazy or not you’ll want for nothing as far as information is concerned” She ran her finger across each section, skipping over whole chapters of text.
Red pointed at a passage that contained a snippet about werewolf physiology and origins; this section, in particular, talked about their skin and fur, calling it cursed. Taking into account how unhinged the author seemed to be, this term ‘cursed flesh’ could just as readily be a slur, rather than a medical term to describe a condition.
“Is this whole book about werewolves,” he asked with a tremble.
Anyone who took this much pleasure in the murder of another wasn’t all there. He was glad this specific werewolf was dead, but that didn’t mean all of them were as irredeemable. This person went so far as too document different cries between adults and children when put under intense pain.
“No, not even close, but lycanthropes are what we’re looking for, and here’s the information I needed,” Red explained, running a finger across a passage and read aloud “Lycanism, was and still is a disease that began as a curse, those with cursed flesh no matter what generation share the same strengths and weaknesses, one of these weaknesses being abandoned by the first miracle; a worldly phenomenon that allows mortals to harness magic.”
“But thats-”
“Impossible?”
“If it’s impossible, then how? Maybe a wish,”
Red shook her head slightly and tapped a nail on a second passage “Another symptom of cursed flesh, you can’t cure or wish it away, according to my testing this is by all accounts a normal werewolf, so if it isn’t a rare mutation how was it able to acquire and use magic, not just magic mind you, shadow manipulation is something you need a very particular mindset to use,”
“Isn’t this a creature of the forest, maybe it’s been blessed” At this point Mayor Woods was speculating things that just sounded like they made sense, granted if this weren’t a werewolf he might have been onto something.
Shaking her head again Red cut that thread of thought of before it spun a yarn “Half. Lycans are hated by both humanity and their wolf counterparts in equal measures. Likely hood anything on either side took time to bless one is low.”
Audibly Mayor Woods ground his teeth together. His entire town just came across an anomaly among anomalies and lived through what most would consider a historic event “You would think the shamans would have taken care of this before it became a problem then,”
Red’s train of thought halted for the second time that night, this time out of incredulity. A forest guardian being present more than tripled her questions about this situation as a whole. A headache was in her near future. “These woods are ruled by a spirit?”
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Guardians and shamans hated most of mortal kind especially humans and tended to avoid them wherever possible. The thought of one way out here in the boonies wasn’t completely far-fetched, but felt unlikely given how little territory their would be to claim. Maybe a new spirit trying to establish a foot hold?
A large powerful hand raked through graying hair as the Mayor tried to recall “So long ago, I nearly forgot. We only spoke to them once when we first settled, and we were approached by the Mala twins. They demanded we replant what we cut down and not expand beyond a certain point. Naturally, not wanting to call down a god’s wrath, we obliged,”
At that piece of information, Red produced a map from thin air and unrolled it to skim up and down, trying to find their approximate location. Sure enough, this sorry piece of land was technically a part of Daemon Lupus territory; while tangentially, it was owned regardless. Wolves would never give up what’s theirs without heavy restrictions, and they definitely wouldn’t allow werewolves to come sniffing around. Given the nature of guardians, a werewolf wouldn’t have been able to rest for a night, let alone terrorize some village for months.
“Well, that settles what I have to do next,” Red concluded.
Waving her map away into non-existence, then summoning another book, albeit much smaller than the first, with a writing utensil firmly down its round binding coils. After scribbling something in its confines, she dismissed it just like her map then both books until nothing was left except her backpack now being slung around and worn. Every action to summon or dismiss something was heralded by a different glow across her left arm, palm remaining a constant. With that finished, she began packing up what wasn’t hers, including borrowed tools and cleaning up the butcher’s mess that was her test subject. A clinical, detached demeanor settled across her face, handling each organ to shove back into place, then stitching it up, looking down over it as if it were just part of daily chores.
Mayor wood attempted to help, by putting organs, cut apart tissue and hacked off fur back together like some sort of twisted puzzle “How are you planning on contacting them, we only spoke once and it was only after we’d started cutting down trees?”
Red packed everything back into the body and started sewing it closed, nothing fit back properly, such a bulbous mockery of what once was a living thing “I have an idea. Does anyone in this town have a cart to spare? I’d ask to borrow it but you’re more than likely never getting it back, and something to pull it,”
Getting a wagon was surprisingly easy, getting something to pull that wagon, less so. As it turned out most livestock and their work animals were eaten, leaving a lone mule as her only candidate. Deciding beggars can’t be choosers, she led her new mule into the woods, rays of sunshine breaking over the treeline, ushering a new day and an end to suffering. Before she could leave town, villagers gathered around its exit gate to see her off, mostly to exclaim their thanks for saving them. Mayor Woods watched her wave back more as a matter of appearing nice than actually meaning to. She surprised him when she’d stopped for a group of children to produce candy for them; interestingly enough, these pieces of candy were the only things she’d pulled physically from her pockets.
Once Red managed to successfully break free, eventually pushing forward deep into the forest proper, exasperation started to bear its ugly head. For one, there was no trail anywhere, most likely due to whatever pact Mayor Woods made with the Mala twins concerning the inevitable expansion of a village. Guardians and shamans alike hate the ‘civilized’ world and don’t typically trust mortals, even though shamans are mortals themselves.
Knowing this wasn’t just some random patch of greenery made every move sound so much louder. Every leaf stepped on sounded like squeaking floorboards loudly announcing an intruder breaking into an unsuspecting home. The wagon wheels having to bump and climb across every upturned root sounding like explosions, sending Red’s survival instincts flaring. Usually, she wouldn’t be so on edge, protected or not. Red knew her way around woods and could navigate them without rousing attention from its protector, but she wanted their attention; in fact, every sound would help do precisely that. In this situation, the only thing guaranteed a modicum of protection was the damned mule; being an animal forced to carry a human’s burden would garner sympathy points. Unfortunately for the mule, being in a predator’s territory meant sympathy points were meaningless to an empty stomach or urge for a snack.
“It just HAD to be me to deal with this nonsense didn’t it, couldn’t have been Hansel, or that know-it-all and her hairy pet” Red mumbled, cursing her misfortune “Every. Single. Time theirs a problem with a werewolf, it’s always, send Red Riding Hood they always know how to deal with them; YEAH WE DO, its called CHOPPING their damned heads off! Oh, but it couldn’t be as simple as that. Today, this one just has to know magic because WHY NOT, like I’ve got nothing better going on, now I have to figure out why,”
Pulling a piece of chocolate out from her pockets she sat it on her tongue and let the rich, intense, and slightly bitter taste cool her foul mood. Left pocket sweets, right pocket waste. Rolling the confection from one corner to another, it melted all over, filling her mouth with such sweet satisfaction.
Red stopped the mule in a clearing and decided she’d gotten a reasonable distance that wouldn’t harm the village if something unexpected happened. Patting the animal for a job well done, the huntswoman walked to her cart to yank its tarp away, revealing the beheaded carcass, detached tattered fur sandwiching its body like a gory blanket. After unhooking her service animal, allowing it to roam where it may, she surveyed the area, a lovely clearing complete with a small stream that ran across it, likely an offshoot from the surrounding ocean. So tranquil. Peaceful. Dead quiet.
“No wonder I didn’t realize this was a protected forest. It’s dead, no tracks, no dens, no animals; I don’t think I’ve even seen an insect crawling,” Red remarked, thinking back to her walk here.
At first, she’d just attributed it to over-hunting by settlers, which wasn’t uncommon. No werewolf could devour everything, no matter how famished. Knowing this place exists as territory for a daemon, somethings gone wrong or had been going wrong for a long time now.
“No point in wasting time, I suppose,” she sighed and began to prepare for what was assuredly going to be a trying situation.
Breaking down the cart’s wheels was a task in and of itself, even before having to surround it with rocks. From there, it was a simple matter of starting a fire using the fur and cursed flesh as kindling. Fire being just as much a purifying agent as silver, flames naturally gravitate to it and latch on without needing to be stoked or coaxed. Within seconds, a good, proper bonfire built up high, burning a sickly blight that brought a detestable bubbling to one’s stomach, a side effect of cursed flesh. A smell most odious erupted within an instant, but that was the plan. Creating a signal fire of taint would surely draw the ire of a garden or shaman.
Her hand went spelunking once again into her left pocket to produce a large sucker wrapped in paper. Flammable waste tossed to feed the fire along with all other wrappers that once contained sugary treats, accumulated over the past few days. Humming happily on a strawberry-flavored creation, a little bit of chocolate from earlier lingered half-melted, giving it another dimension of flavor, further lifting her spirits. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much time to savor her sugary wonder before a strong gust of wind ripped through the trees; it whistled and howled like a pack of angry wolves so strong even her sizable pyre blew out. Several minutes of gale winds caused an uproar before, all was still, sending the woods back into an unnatural silence. Two glowing silhouettes stood hand in hand across the clearing.
“Hm, well now, they really are guardians now.”
The twins shone in a magnificent holy brilliance, an obnoxious party trick anyone visiting was forced to witness, a guardian letting you know they were in charge. From what Red could recall, both were adopted by the Daemon Lupus tribe or Wolf Gods in plain English. It wasn’t just some fancy name; all daemons were gods in some capacity, ascended nature spirits that held dominion over a majority of forests, mountains, and seas. When she’d first met them, the twins sported a similar build of lean musculature, jet black hair, and skin that reminded her of decedent melted dark chocolate. Guardians and shamans shared a similarity of being painted with red markings to depict loyalty to a chosen daemon. Now ghostly white hair flowed around as if to halo their faces, red markings painted on as lipstick, eyeliner, and blush gently moving about as if alive up and down through stark white locks.
“Annah Mala, Kennah Mala, good to see you again, congratulations on the promotion from Shaman to Guardian, how was the whole…dying process” Red began. Since she actually knew them in life, it might do to try honey rather than vinegar; even going so far as to pull down the red hood.
“Why did you bring this trash into my domain” a combined voice rumbled, conjuring wind to whip in all directions
So much for honey over vinegar. Red clicked her tongue pulling out the sucker she’d been nursing and pointed it back towards a now smoldering wreck that had once been a cart. “Right, to business then. That was a werewolf that terrorized a village you permitted to settle here”
“What business is that to we,” They barked in unison.
“You two let them settle here under the condition they wouldn’t expand. Contracts and terms no matter if verbal, made between mortal and shaman / guardian, extends to protection as long as mortals in question haven’t broken a prior agreement. That’s natural law set forth by all Daemons as well as enforced by Nexus which extends to me.” Red countered smacking an open palm with her other hand in a chopping motion several times to accentuate her point.
“And what does a Red know of natural law, your kith and kin are forbidden from setting foot in ANY wolf sanctuary, or are you not aware!” Hearing voice speak in unison was both annoying and disturbing on a fundamental level.
Returning her candy to her mouth she nursed from it more as a means of cooling off. They were starting to make her blood boil. An obvious deflection to avoid her accusation and questioning, obvious or not, it still burned. “Look, this is a current issue happening right now, not some grudge from before any of us were born” Red hissed back her teeth grinding over her sucker.
“The first Red’s crimes can never be forgiven!”
Her anger starting boiling over, she’d need much more candy and sweets later “And I’m the hundredth. Its been well over a millennium. Don’t use that as an excuse to dodge the issue at hand, why did you allow tainted flesh to not only wander your so-called domain, but also haunt a town YOU gave protection to,”
The twins simply shrugged “No such protection was promised, the terms were: they get to keep their lives, if they keep to their boundaries. It is no consequence to us if they died due to their own misfortune, the forest is safe.”
A debate was in full swing in a dying or already dead forest, one one side a huntress arguing on behalf a village, the other side two guardian twins who seemed to forget what their jobs were supposed to be “Safe is an interesting choice of words considering a werewolf with magic may have inflicted a curse. Look at this place! Barren with no wildlife in sight, where's your precious circle of life?”
The twins made a show of looking around “We see nothing wrong here, grass and trees still grow,”
Her teeth were currently trying to bite into the still-hard sucker; she had to pull it out or risk chipping a tooth. A simple meet and greet with some straightforward questions turned into a lot of finger-pointing. All Red wanted was information. Instead, counter-accusations based on family crimes committed so long ago they couldn’t be taught in history classes due to being closer to myth in this day and age. That was normal; every Red Riding Hood got this type of ire out the homelands, it came with the hood. Her problem was that she’d known the Mala twins in life, extraneous, of course, but they weren’t like this.
It took a considerable amount of willpower, but eventually, an intelligent woman has to know when she’s beaten. Deciding not to waste more time, Red turned and walked away. “If you’re not going to help, I’ll be going,” leaving the cart, the mule, and the charred remains of a foul-smelling werewolf.
“Forgiveness is something beyond what you and yours deserve, Red Riding Hood. See that you do not darken our lands a second time.”
Indignation wrapped itself around Red’s psyche, leaving her face a mask of simmering frustration. Being slapped with rudeness, disrespect, and general unhelpfulness back to back could make anyone’s blood boil. There was nothing to be done about it. Of course, using force could always be an answer, but it wouldn’t get her an answer that mattered. In fact, it could and would just lead to more problems. In this specific instance it was best let sleeping dogs lie until an opportunity presents itself. Red decided to put a nice, pretty bow on this whole ordeal and begin her trip back to Nexus headquarters. Her goal: to inform its leaders personally that the situation has been handled, more or less; second, to remind them she is a part-timer at best and isn’t beholden to their orders.