He awoke to a coughing fit, mouth dry and gritty. Bits of ash and black mucus chunks covered his hand as the coughing finally stopped. There was pain all over and his lungs felt ablaze. Looking around, he tried to remember this location.
Where was he? He tried to remember the last thing he had been doing. Nothing. He tried to remember anything, but not even his name was coming to mind.
Clearing the pile of ash that stretched across his body, he struggled to sit upright, inspecting himself for injuries. His shirt had mostly burned away from pectorals down, and pants barely hanging on. There had been no major injuries, but what he hadn't been able to see was the reddened-skin outline of something on his chest.
He was in what might have been a house, now nearly turned to ash save for a few lower sections of wall. The burned-out carcasses of several other buildings were easily seen as he stood. There was an anvil nearby and what looked to be a strong young man, partially burned away.
He exited the building's remains and began gagging as the scent of more smoldering, charred bodies entered his nose. He headed away from the hellish scene, toward the town square only to see more corpses left to rot on the ground.
Some crows had already begun pecking at several bodies, while many more ruffled their feathers in the surrounding trees above. It felt as though they were all staring right at him. He pushed himself forward past the square.
He was confused, scared, unsure of what to do next. His mind told him he needed food and clothing, but every glance around this rotten charred corpse of a town drove bile deep into his soul.
He recognized the sign for a general store, his hind brain telling him that if any supplies survived, they would be buried in the rubble. Then his mind registered something that set a chill in his bones. The sound of crows cawing slowly stopped. Silence reigned.
A heavy sense of foreboding clashed with his thoughts of getting supplies, something didn't feel right. Without a second thought, he turned toward the nearest forest edge and ran. He hit the edge of the forest and kept running. Branches clawed at his legs and belly, but there was no stopping.
Vision began to falter after a short while, causing him to trip over a branch and roll into a large maple's trunk, knocking the air out of him. A slow sob escaped as he struggled to recover his breathing.
He slapped himself, demanding to wake up. This had to be a nightmare. Survival instincts kicked in, telling him that moving was necessary right now. He stood, found a small game trail, and began to follow it.
He kept searching for any landmarks that would trigger a memory, but he couldn't place anything around him as he moved. Not sure why, but he remembered that moss grew thickest on the north side of rocks and trees.
Not knowing what else to do, he picked north and started trudging along as fast as his tired legs could move.
It had been two days of walking before finally coming to a pond. Kneeling down he lapped up the water, stomach tight with hunger. His companion had at first been only hunger, but recently a slow anger built. The feelings felt tangible enough that he wanted to give them a name.
Each day was becoming a blur of finding shelter at dark, wandering in the daylight, and finding nothing edible around. The weakness had become too much that when his foot struck a root, there was no pain as his face planted into the soil.
He awoke to the light rustling of leaves. Slowly opening his eyes, there was a small white rabbit outlined in the few rays of dusk sunlight visible through the thick foliage, just an arm's length away. He must have been knocked out for hours.
He remained still, avoiding direct eye contact with the creature. There was an odd connection he felt for the rabbit, and it almost looked as if there was a faint red aura around it. There came the sound of quiet, rapid thuds in his ears. He must be going crazy because it sounded like the rabbit's heartbeat.
The bunny moved forward, unaware, into an unlucky position. The boy snatched the rabbit with feline grace and broke its neck. Tears fell as he tore apart the furry flesh. He bit into the exposed muscle, only to retch.
The choice was simple. Eat the rabbit or die. He powered through and consumed what he could. The carcass appeared as though a rabid wolf had chewed it up for fun, the red aura now gone. The boy looked no better, blood dripping from his mouth as though feral himself.
The small meal had slightly rejuvenated his energy, so he began to walk again. The anger inside was growing as he berated himself for getting lost. And anger at the rabbit for being too minor a meal. And the world for whatever hell he had awoken in.
More days had passed, but nobody kept tally. Some days the hunger was intense and never satiated. Some days he was lucky, he would be silently fuming and then his senses would register a vermin he hadn’t originally noticed. The boy had been surviving only on raw meat and occasionally puddles of water.
Having become more familiar with his senses, the boy had even been able to avoid several potentially lethal encounters. He started resting at night in trees in the evening as the dangerous beasts grew more prevalent.
The current day's light was quickly fading, so he climbed the first fairly large oak he came across. The struggle to the first branch was the hardest part, with the climb as easy as stairs once in the tree.
He straddled a large branch that had two armrest like companions, closed his eyes, and leaned back. A dry, odd texture started moving atop his foot and along his leg. His eyes immediately opened and inspected his leg but saw nothing.
A hiss was the only warning he had as the snake rapidly began coiling around the boy's legs. The snake boasted too much girth for the boy's hands to properly get ahold of it. Fear gripped him.
Empty orbs for eyes coming closer with each coil as it progressed, opening its maw. The pressure on his legs felt like they would soon crush together and become a single piece. The snake reared its head back with another hiss, ready to engulf him.
As the head approached, the boy's vision went red. His left hand swung wildly at it only to miss, the snake biting down hard on his wrist. His right hand reached out and grabbed the snake, thumb sinking into its eye socket.
His fear transformed into a feeling of anger, the same fermenting anger that had been following him all this time. The biceps and forearm bulged on the boy's arm as his rage overcame him. His left wrist, still trapped in the beast's fangs, pulled one way while his right yanked the opposite, removing a third of the snake's face.
The coils loosened around him, and the jaw had given back his left arm, but the rage continued as he gripped the snake's neck with both hands and began slamming it into the tree. Over and over.
There remained no bark left on that particular spot of tree, and only the body of the snake could be recognized as it lay limply across the boy's legs. He was covered in gore, labored breathing, and his whole body shook. He sat in the silent darkness contemplating the lack of an aura around the snake.
The rage induced strength had surprised him. For those brief moments, he felt as strong as a giant, but also lost nearly all of himself to the overwhelming red visioned anger. He was in control now, but certainly didn't like that feeling of red.
His stomach twisted in pain, bringing him out of his thoughts. He looked down at the snake. Maybe the hunger, at least, could be satiated. He bared his teeth.
……………………………..
Aimlessly wandering, thoughts a blur, and the heavy canopy blotted out the sun, allowing only the barest of light through its gates. The boy had lost all concept of time. His age prevented the telltale signs of a beard and his dirty hair had become matted.
Scratching at scaly, irritated skin, produced marks upon his skin from the overgrowth of his fingernails. A faint acrid smoke smell followed him everywhere. Probably from the almost entirely burned shirt, pants, and singed hair.
Every day that passed, the anger and hunger increasingly consumed him. During the first few nights, he attempted setting traps hoping for a fine breakfast. Soon enough that idea was abandoned as the effort of making the traps wasn’t worth the empty rewards.
A quick exhale revealed his aching, dry throat and forced him to cough, yet with this sudden outburst the forest seemed oddly silent. He had taken a moment of rest in a small clearing, sitting against a large oak tree. As usual, his stomach released a fearsome growl.
To his left came a different growl, almost as if in reply. As he began to stand up, a dark form creeped forward from the shrubbery. After a few more steps, the wolf came into plain view. Its fur bristled, eyes bloodshot, foamy drool dripping from the maw. He could make out the animal's ribs, tight against its mangy skin.
The boy took one foot back, ready to run, but remembered how silent the forest had been. He peered around, listened briefly, but there were no signs of this wolf’s pack. Palpable relief flooded over him. They both were as alone and hungry as the other.
The rage and hunger setting in causing the boy's lips to peel back over his teeth, a powerful growl escaped his throat pushing anger to the front of his mind. Even with his hazy mind, one thing was clear, he was the hunter and not the hunted, and would not be cowed.
Before the thought even fully finished, the wolf started charging and lunged for his face. The boy instinctively dodged to the left while landing a quick strike to its side, throwing the wolf into an acute spin. As the wolf landed it quickly corrected itself and faced off with the boy as they started circling, both growling again.
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The boy hadn’t noticed how feral he had become, the growls flowing as easily as words. Wild he may be, he had only two legs and unfortunately hadn’t seen the root before he was already falling.
The wolf was fast for its condition, lunging again, aiming for the throat as the boy landed. Pain burst through the boy’s forearm, speckles of warmth dotting his face. He was just quick enough to save his throat in exchange for a bit of forearm while his free arm threw unleveraged blows, unable to get any real power in them.
Like a pit-bull with its favorite toy, the wolf shook its head with jaws still viced onto the boy's arm. Soundless tearing of flesh and splattering of blood, the boy howled in pain, the anger welling up inside.
The anger grew so rapidly the boy’s arm lashed out in a wide arch at the wolf’s head, his hand taking the shape of a claw, fingernails sinking into the soft flesh of the wolf’s face. The wolf yelped, releasing the arm, quickly backpedaling.
The pain was tremendous, radiating throughout his body as he slowly stood with a bloody strip of flesh dangling from his forearm. The circular dance began again, animalistic hunger in their eyes. A sudden tickle at the back of his brain, a whisper of a thought telling him this wasn’t normal, wasn’t human.
The thought evaporated in an instant as the wolf aimed its maw for his ankle, but this time he was ready. With a wet, heavy thud, the boy’s boot heel connected with the bloody jaw of the wolf, knocking it back several feet with an unexpected amount of force.
Without pause, like a trained warrior, the boy leapt toward the recovering wolf, swinging clawed hands wildly as it tried to recover. The malnourished wolf attempted to dodge, but the boy landed a swing, leaving deep scratches in its mangy flank.
Continuing its struggle to dodge, the wolf managed to escape the boy’s reach and retreated into the woods. The boy threw his head back, adrenaline pumping, and released a voracious roar. He watched the wolf, no, his dinner, escape with a growl.
He wanted to give chase, but a wave of fatigue washed over him. He felt heavy, the anger fading, and agony crashed into him like a trebuchet stone. Cradling the bleeding, mangled arm, he fell to his knees.
Staring at his arm, it looked strange to him, but his muddled thoughts prevented his understanding of why it looked that way. A few moments passed, staring, alone in the silent forest. Standing up, cradling his arm, he returned to his aimless walking. Each step was agony, each step furthering his path as blood fell to trail him.
……………………………..
The dirt path seemed endless, awkwardly wide, and winded weirdly through the forest. When had he even gotten on this trail? His thoughts were still muddied and slow. Consciousness started to fade in and out, but he kept pushing forward.
One foot in front of the other. Noises came flooding into his ears, breaking the darkness of his thoughts. A quick glance at his surroundings, and it was the flick of the horse's ear catching his attention. He licked his lips, stomach tightening from hunger.
“Blessed Zenut! What happened to you boy!?” The loud shout drew his attention to a bipedal creature sitting upon some contraption connected to the horse. The creature was large, much larger than the boy, and it made his hackles rise.
The boy loosed a growl instinctively. He considered fleeing but he was also extremely hungry, and the horse wasn’t going anywhere fast being attached to the contraption. The bipedal dismounted and began to slowly approach the boy.
“Are you okay son? Let me help you.” The bipedal said. As the bipedal drew closer, the boy lashed out with another growl. “Neptia’s tits!” The creature cursed in pain, taking a step back, face twisted in anger. An emotion the boy recognized all too well.
“Boy, you’re coming with me. We need to get you some help.” Growled the creature as it approached the boy. The boy realized that this creature could be injured and now was the time to strike. The boy looked at the creature and lunged forward, he would teach this...
The darkness took over so quickly, the boy didn’t even feel the pain when the creature’s fast, meaty fist struck like lightning.
……………………………..
Much like recent days, he awoke aching and with a dry throat. A small cough escaped as he struggled to pull his thoughts together. His brain felt like it was dropped into a furnace for the second time in as many days as he could recall. At the corner of his vision something moved toward him, he wasn’t alone.
The boy growled, clenched his hands to strike, but his limbs were trapped. Several droplets dribbled down his bottom lip as a hand held the water dish to his parched lips. The water ran over his lips as he tried to turn away, but thirst won out. The boy drank greedily, coughing from nearly inhaling the last large gulp. The hand thus removed the bowl.
The boy only knew to growl, like a dog protecting his meal. The words came in a gentle but serious tone. “Slowly boy, slowly. You were dehydrated. Your body is in rough shape. Skin burned and your arm badly wounded. More water in a moment, lad.”
The boy’s eyelids peeled open with a feeling of sandpaper on glass, his surroundings coming out of a blur and into focus. The gentle voice came again, “Do you even understand me?” A moment passed, and the voice continued, “Father Borus had said you were feral, and looking at you now, I don’t doubt his words.”
It was slow and churlish, like slogging through a swamp, but the boy’s understanding of the world started coming back to him. The objects in the room were familiar, somehow. Shadows dancing off the walls in this small room, lit by a single candle. There was a short wooden desk, tiny chair, and a completely packed bookshelf. He recognized the shape in front of him was a humanoid, not a strange creature.
Why had the boy thought this was a creature? His benefactor was a small, balding bipedal creature... no, a man. A man with a hooked nose, thick lensed glasses perched atop, but it took only a moment for the boy to realize this man to be Gnomish as his jumbled thoughts began to reorganize. The boy could smell faint mustiness in the air, and the gnome smelled of rancid old farts.
Lost briefly among these thoughts, the boy realized he had heard the words and could in fact understand them. This came with a second realization, he could speak. But why did it feel he had forgotten how to speak? “Please, more” he sputtered. He hardly recognized his own hoarse voice.
“Where...” the boy began, clearing his now moistened throat, “am I?” cracked the boy. The gnome stared at him for a silent moment, to the point the boy felt uncomfortable.
“Ah, so you can speak.” The gnome gently raised the bowl to the boy’s mouth so he could take in a small bit more water. “You’re at a monastery, at the base of the Giantback Mountains.”
That sounded like a long way from home, but then again, he wasn’t sure anymore where home was. The gnome seemed to be studying him before speaking, “I can’t tell if your mind is broken, or you truly can snap from beast to human so quickly.”
The boy sat in stunned silence. He decided to ignore whatever the gnome was getting at. “How did I get here?” the boy finally managed to ask.
Before answering the gnome took a moment to consider the question. “You were dying at the edge of the woods. Luckily Father Borus was on his way back from the market with our monthly supply run and decided to assist the bedraggled excuse of a human child he found on the road.”
The humor in the gnome's tone voice was completely lost on the boy. “I am master Hemi.” he said as he passed the bowl back to the boy and watched as the boy drank greedily, happy to have a moment more to gather his own thoughts.
“How... how long have I been out?” asked the boy.
Hemi Regarded him closely, “By the count of when you were found, is has been nearly a week past.” Hemi reached down and touched his forearm. “We thought we had to take your arm. I even found a broken tooth in your wrist.” Hemi glanced at him markedly. “But surprisingly it has healed rather well.” a bit of curiosity tinging his voice.
Until now, the boy had forgotten his injury, the pain was gone. The boy tried to sit up and struggle his way out of bed, but the gnome had put an oddly strong hand on his chest, holding the boy down. “You need to rest. There is nowhere for you to go right now. If you could get a hold of yourself, I will untie the restraints.”
The boy could feel it, but just for a moment, as the anger rose toward the pompous gnome's tone. “What’s your name, boy?” The gnome's voice much gentler. The boy had felt ready to strike the old gnome, but in that moment, he felt the dam break as his anger flushed away. “I... don’t remember,” the boy quietly replied.
……………………………..
Another week had passed and all the while the boy was kept in the small room. He quickly discovered the room was locked as he had attempted to escape several times. Thankfully, they continued to bring him food even through their surprise at the quantity he consumed. They reasoned that he should stay put “for his own safety”, which made his anger bubble.
With great effort, the boy tried to keep a tamper on his fickle anger, as it was his assumed reason for his lockdown. Today was slightly different as Master Hemi came in with another individual in a robe. The man was human, just over six feet tall, neatly trimmed black beard, tan skin, and almond eyes. Regardless of this welcome change, the boy thought he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of reacting first.
The boy sat at the edge of the bed, staring intently at them. As they approached the bed, he was watching them and waiting. “Are you sure he’s ready?” rumbled the human.
“He will need to be watched, but I think it best he be put back out with people. Keeping him isolated here could further damage his mind,” Hemi replied.
“Do not speak of me as if I were not right here,” growled the boy, his anger briefly overriding his common sense.
Both men studied him for a moment. The human spoke again, “You will need to learn to calm your anger. Anger without restraint is quite dangerous.”
The boy scoffed, “I’ll try not to hurt anyone.”
The man looked at him dismissively, “It’s not us that I’m worried about.” The man nodded once to Hemi, then turned to walk out. “Come child.”
Having been confined to such a small room, the boy was quite surprised by how massive the complex was. It turned out the monastery was quite large and housed over a hundred individuals. He wasn’t allowed to go upon the walls to look out, but as they passed the central gates, he caught a glimpse of the vast forest beyond the steppes.
The boy’s guide walked with graceful, even steps, never stopping or changing pace. As he peered through the open gate, his animalistic instincts screamed at him to run, but this was challenged by his sensical side reminding him he had nowhere to go. They continued their pace toward an area that was very noisy compared to the rest of the monastery.
“I’m Master Xian. What do you wish to be called, boy?” The man said. The boy’s anger rose yet again at being called “boy” as he fought to keep it in check. He couldn’t stomach going back to that small, damned room. He scoured his thoughts before he decided, “Wolf, you may call me Wolf.”
Xian grunted noncommittally as they walked into a massive training yard. The men and women in the yard were training a spectrum of martial arts. As he peered around the area, he noted there were some his age and those that appeared much older.
He could see several groups, some punching and kicking, others using wooden staves, and a few that looked to be slowly walking through the steps of a dance. Wolf had no idea what to make of it, but something in him agreed with what he was seeing. This was the hunter's path and his animalistic instincts felt harmonized with it.
Then Xian spoke, interrupting Wolf’s thoughts. “Well Wolf, what do you know of the art of cultivation?”