“Even a man who is pure of heart, and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms, and the autumn moon is bright.” - William Claude Raines as John Talbot, The Wolfman (1941)
Forêt de Chaux, Dole, Franche-Comté, France
October 25, 1572
2:30 A.M. GMT+2
High within the clouded night sky, the glistening, golden full moon peered through the misty grey clouds like an all-seeing eye; the lunar light illuminating the auburn autumn forest with a mystical aura. The moonlight pierced through a clearing within the forest like an arrow, revealing a lone red stag grazing upon the grass, adorning a large bony crown of magnificent antlers atop the dome of his skull. The majestic stag was completely oblivious to his surroundings, only caring for the wilting grass that it grazed upon - thus rendering him completely unaware that a pair of starving eyes were locked upon him. Hungry eyes that belonged not to that of a wolf, but of man.
Lurking within the thick foliage, an emaciated dirt-caked man with long, stringy jet black hair peered through his hunting blind of vegetation at the grazing stag, his grip firm upon a crude, makeshift longbow. The weather conditions were ideal; no wind, no rain, and an ambience of cricket chirping muffled the unwanted sounds of twigs or dead leaves crunching beneath his bare, callused feet. It had seemed as if God himself was in his favor. The starving, desperate hermit, now confident with his shot, slowly raised his right arm behind his shoulder in order to equip a stone-tipped arrow from the raggedy leather quiver strapped around his pointed shoulders. Slowly and steadily, he knocked the split wooden neck of the handcrafted arrow onto the fiber bowstring consisting of worn rags, then slowly raised the bow up as he attempted to draw back. Due to his emaciated physical state, the man's strength was lacking, rendering him unable to fully draw back the bowstring. However, his desperation fused with his determination had completely blinded him from realizing his weakness. The man squinted his left eyelid, focusing his right eye on the still-carefree grazing stag, struggling to keep himself steady while aiming due to his weakness caused by weeks of starvation. Soon enough, his fingertips gave in to the struggle as they slipped from the neck and feather fletching of the arrow. The arrow awkwardly wobbled as it whizzed forward, straight into a tree that was not too far ahead. Upon puncturing the tree trunk, the collision emitted a loud crack, fused with a sharp shattering as the stone arrowhead ruptured into tiny shards due to the force of the impact against the solid bark of the tree.
The commotion, of course, had alerted the stag, of which shot his head up from the grass, his black eyes widening and ears perking up as he stared dead-towards the origin of the alarming sound. The now-wary stag brushed his tongue against his black nose, moistening it in order to assist in detecting any unbelonging aroma.
Now fueled with rage upon his failure, the no-longer patient man leapt out from the brush, ushering out a desperate warcry as he charged towards the stag with a crude stone blade in his right hand, raised up in preparation to stab.
His yellow-tinted, jaundiced brown eyes widened like saucers, as if his failure had driven him truly psychotic. Certainly enough, the stag had automatically caught onto the bloodthirsty scheme of the angered wildman, and his natural instinct to flee from danger took over as he swerved to the right and bounded off with incredible speed, outrunning and evading his bipedal attacker, back into the concealed depths of the woods.
The adrenaline-fueled, rage-driven man attempted to chuck his stone blade at the stag like a miniature spear, but as expectedly, his attempt of desperation resulted in another shortfall as the blade bounced and chipped against the ground. As he watched the stag disappear into the woods, the scrawny, starved hermit halted his pursuit, dragging his mud-covered bare feet against the forest floor before falling to his hands and knees, having transgressed from the “anger” to “sorrow” state of grief. The feral-looking hermit proceeded to arch his back and stare blankly at the ground, baring his teeth as he ushered out frustrated growls and angered grunts, balling his right hand into a fist and repetitively punching the ground. He swore like a disgruntled sailor upon each impact of his fist against the ground until his breath ran short and stamina faded.
"One chance… and I blew it…" The hermit muttered out of frustration. "How can I manage to sustain myself and my wife, if I am in no condition to do so?"
The hermit heavily respirated through his clenched teeth, his jaundiced eyes flooding as he once more continued to sulk and swear as he pounded the ground like a territorial silverback gorilla.
As his tantrum proceeded, the hermit had been unknowing as a thick, eerie white fog rolled in from the shadowy backdrop of the forest. The ambience of crickets chirping had quickly silenced, rendering the white noise of the forest dead silent. As he heard his sulking and swearing reverberate throughout the forest as a loud echo, did he come to the realization that something was off, his awareness rising once more. With a faded, quiet sigh, the man slowly lifted his head up, staring straight ahead of his position in the trees. From the shrouded, foggy darkness, two pairs of gleaming eyes reflected back at him, watching him with intent. Predatory intent. Now he was the stag, and some other unknown predators had become the hunters. Due to the circumstantial changes, the skinny man's instinct to defend himself kicked in as he swiped his cracked rock knife from the wilted grass and jumped back to his feet in defensive stature.
From within the dense forest, a duo of wolves slowly emerged from the trees the moonlit clearing, slowly advancing upon their now-vulnerable bipedal prey. The first to reveal itself was a noticeably large black she-wolf, of which he assumed was the alpha. Following behind her emerged a rusty brown-colored aged male, with visible pink scars all around his snout. The wolf pair slowly approached the man, baring their sharp, stained yellow teeth and snarling intimidatingly in hopes of their two-legged prey fleeing, and thus commencing pursuit. The man, however, stood his ground, refusing to buy into their intimidation tactics as he brandished his stone knife at the approaching canine pair. Another instinctual sensation kicked in as the man checked his flanks. Sure enough, he caught another pair of wolves - both light grey females - attempting to ambush him from the side.
"Stay back!" The man shouted furiously as he taunted the flanking pair by mock-striking towards the direction of the she-wolves, of which didn't even flinch as he did so.
Startlingly, a sharp, piercing pain in his left forearm caught the hermit completely off-guard, forcing out a shriek of pain as he glanced over and noticed a snowy-white male wolf clamping onto his forearm, shaking ruthlessly, blood pooling around the its teeth and gums as it pressurized its grip on his forearm. With desperation and the will to survive still resonating strong within him, the black-haired man tightly clutched the fiber handle of his stone knife with his unsubdued right arm, before delivering a viper-like strike to the white wolf's face. The hermit repetitively struck the male wolf as it whimpered in pain, the sharp tip of the knife easily penetrating through the tight layer of skin around the wolf's muzzle. Blood oozed from every incision caused by his fierce retaliating strikes. Finally, the alabaster wolf gave in, releasing its grasp around the hermit's forearm all while whimpering and retreating back to a safer distance. With no time to inspect his injury, his focus shifted to the incoming wolf pair consisting of the black female alpha and the brown beta male, of which took advantage of their pale packmate's ruse attack, lunged at their bipedal target with their jaws agape. With lightning-quick thoughts and reflexes, the man took advantage of his adrenaline-filled state in order to roll out of the way of the oncoming assault, dodging both wolves at once, causing them to collide with one another as their surprise attack failed, causing both wolves to fumble and skid into the forest floor. The hermit's grasp remained firm upon his bloodstained stone blade as he steadied himself from his evasive roll, securing his feet and hands against the moist, muddy ground. His eyes remained locked upon the pack hierarchy as the alpha and beta wolves swiftly recuperated from their impact. The alpha black she-wolf stumbled as she stood, her black coat sprinkled and stained with mud and tiny pieces or dried leaves. She then let out a series of deep, raspy, and aggressive barks, commanding her subordinates to circle their two-legged target in order to initiate the kill sequence. The hermit glanced into the jade-green eyes of the alpha female as she infuriatingly growled. His soul burned as their eyes remained in contact with one another, feeling as if the she-wolf was telling him "you're gonna pay for that." His ears deafened and rang as he felt himself enter a trance. A trance composed of fear and hopelessness. The will to survive still burnt like a wildfire within him, but the sense of hopelessness was like a heavy rain that slowly began to extinguish that raging storm of flames.
Every member of the pack slowly crept around him, as if they were probing for any more weaknesses in order to commence a swift takedown. Each wolf patiently waited for the go-to signal from their dark-colored alpha to deliver the final blow to their human victim; snapping, snarling, and barking in a ruse to disorient the man's focus, causing him to shift direction with a swing of his primitive stone knife, though none of the wolves budged from the mock strikes. They had their victim surrounded in the perfect spot for the kill sequence. Everything was now in their advantage. At last, the hopeless hermit sighed, realizing that there was nothing else left for him to do. It would be futile to even try and fight back. If the wolves didn't finish him off, then starvation would surely get to him, which would be a slower and even more excruciating process than being dismembered by wolves. As there was nothing left for him in life, the hermit slowly loosened the thatch handle of his knife, allowing it to slip from his hand and into the forest floor. He'd then fall onto his knees, glancing at each member of the wolf pack - the black alpha she-wolf, the battle-scarred brown beta, the pearly-white male, and the twin light grey females - as they began to close the gap between them and their prey. At least something would be getting fed, even if he wouldn't provide much of a meal. The hopeless man then glanced up into the cloudy night sky, at the elegance of the full moon that still shined brightly from the Heavens down upon the Earth. He clenched his eyelids shut as he raised his scrawny arms into the air in praise.
"My time has come, my Lord!" He cried out. "I am ready!"
Upon seeing their target at its most vulnerable state, the alpha she-wolf let out a loud bark, the signal to prompt her packmates to commence the assault, as she lunged forward with her maw agape, saliva trailing from the corners of her gums as she charged towards the man.
The black-haired man's eyes remained shut, securing his vision from seeing the jaws of death coming straight at him. As the hungry canines advanced closer and closer by the second, his fear subsided as he began to accept his fate. His entire body numbed up, in preparation for death, as the alpha female came within range to deliver the killing blow.
“Desino.”
A thunderous, yet imperative female voice - sounding much like that of a mother scolding her children - boomed like thunder from all around him. The emaciated hermit felt the sensation of warm blood coursing through his body upon hearing the thunderous voice, of which had silenced the savage snarls and growls of the oncoming canine assailants. The voice couldn't be real. He was already dead. His mind was probably undergoing a lucid postmortem trance.
“No, no… I am deceased. This cannot be real…” The man expressed his skepticism, the sense of fear still present within his tone. He allowed his arms to drop from the air as he cupped his face with his rough, leathery hands. His ears once more proceeded to ring. The forest had become eerily silent, with the exception of the obnoxious raspy mouth breathing of the alpha she-wolf. Steadily, and with caution, the man dragged his hands down his cheeks, opening his eyes to see the alpha she-wolf once more staring dead into his eyes. However, her expression was no longer that of furiation and hunger, but more so that of fear and submission.
“Desino, statim!” The booming voice of a woman thundered once more. The alpha she-wolf lowered her stance in a submissive posture as she whimpered, backing away from the man. The hermit removed his rough, callused hands from his face as he lifted his head. He looked around the circumference of his vicinity, his eyes widening as he was rendered completely dumbfounded. Each wolf was now backing away in cowardice, fearful of an unseen, yet imposing presence. He looked down at the rest of his body, placing his right hand on his heart to check whether or not he still had a heartbeat. Sure enough, he felt the throb of his beating heart coursing into his hand.
"By God, I still live?" He questioned in disbelief. He'd then shift his gaze back towards the wolf pack, of which had regrouped. Each wolf had their attention fixated towards the concealed, fogged woods. He had noticed the fog before during his standoff with the wolves, but he didn't recall the fog having been this thick prior. The hermit's heart sank as his mind attempted to piece together the alien nature of the present situation.
“Hello!?” The hermit gathered the courage to call out into the woods. “Who’s there!? Show yourself!”
His shouts had echoed throughout the dead-silent forest. He could hear no other ambience other than the soft whistle of the breeze that had picked up. Other than that, the forest was as silent as a cemetery.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“If that is what you wish, then it shall be so."
The disembodied womanly voice - now speaking in a soft, soothing tone -disrupted the silence from out of nowhere. Despite her calming tone of voice, the hermit still felt his heart sinking like a rock in the water. Nothing about this was normal. He remained on-guard, scanning all around his position. He knew solidly that whatever was happening was definitely not trickery of the mind.
The scraggly hermit proceeded to scan his surroundings for the source of the otherworldly voice as the dense, white mist continued to thicken and shroud the forest, as if it were like a great wall closing around him.
The wildman remained perplexed at the unearthly circumstance, as a cloud of fog started swirling like a vortex on the leaf-blanketed ground in front of him, picking up some of the leaves as it spun and rose upwards like a tornado. The hermit kept his eyes locked on the unearthly occurrence, inspecting the swirling fog closely. The swirling mist would rise upwards from the ground as it condensed and shifted. The hermit rubbed his eyes, making sure he was seeing correctly. Certainly enough, his mind wasn't playing tricks on him. The spiraling funnel of fog was condensing and shifting into a feminine humanoid figure right before his very eyes!
As the bizarre sequence extended, he could distinguish more and more feminine attributes to the humanoid figure.
"A spectre?" The hermit questioned silently to himself.
The mist would abruptly drop down like a loose quilt onto the forest floor, unraveling a gorgeous young woman with skin as pale as the winter landscape, and silver hair that shimmered like pristine metal. Her deep blue eyes sparkled like exquisite, flawless sapphires. She wielded a voluptuous physical structure, one that would catch the eye of any man, whether be wed or not. The mysterious woman adorned a revealing white gown that glistened like the moon. The hermit's fear had quickly washed away as an aura of tranquility completely overwhelmed him. The beautiful woman of the forest slowly approached him, walking with feminine grace and elegance as the breeze tugged at the bottom of her gown, fog trailing from her bare feet with each crunchy step as they pressed down against the wilted leaves and dried twigs on the autumn forest floor.. He could hardly usher out any words, as his jaw was limp from disbelief and awe.
"Everything is alright. You have nothing to fear." The woman spoke in a motherly tone of voice as she now hovered right over him.
"Who-... who are you? What do you want with me?" The emaciated man finally mustered up the nerve to speak to the mysterious woman.
"I am your salvation, my poor friend. What do I want? No, what I desire…" The palomino lady paused as she knelt down in front of the man, gently placing her hand on his rough, dirt-mottled cheek. "I can feel the pain you endure as you struggle to sustain yourself and your loved ones. Your soul is shattered, and your willpower is fading. It pains me within my heart to see a poor soul such as yourself lose all sense of hope. That is why I have appeared before you. To make all your burdens disappear."
"How can you provide me with such luxury?" He questioned the woman with a softened, coy tone of voice. Everything she had just said was far from falsehood. It had seemed that circumstances for him were no longer ideal, and that all hope for him was nonexistent. Many attempts to hunt game for himself and his wife proved nothing more than futile. His only success had come from a singular ordeal, purely out of luck, when he had managed to kill a single rabbit by chance upon having it cornered against a cluster of stony crags.
The mysterious, yet kind-hearted woman gently tilted his cheek to the right, towards the direction of the wolf pack, of which were each bedded down on the ground, watching the two closely while showing no indicators of fear. They behaved as if they were domesticated dogs.
"Those wolves…" The woman stated as she pointed her pale finger towards the pack.
"What about them?" The hermit inquired.
"They are masters of stealth. They hunt their prey with great precision. They strategize and coordinate plans in order to bring down even the largest prey."
His attention was fixated on the dark-coated alpha she-wolf, of which not too long ago had been prepared to claim his life within her jaws, now resting on the ground with her head in between her front legs, resembling a patient pup, waiting for food scraps to be distributed.
"What are you trying to say?" The hermit asked, genuinely puzzled as to why she had brought up the wolves. What did the wolves have to do with beridding of his struggles whilst hunting?
"I shall provide you with the ability to hunt with such precision, speed, and strength unbeknownst to yourself and your kind. No longer shall you suffer from starvation and the frustration of failure in your hunts." She then placed her small finger and thumb on the man's chin, gently guiding his face back towards hers. His pupils slightly dilated as their eyes met, truly embracing the beauty of her sapphire-reminiscent eyes.
"I shall provide the ability for you to become like them, yet only when the moons are full."
Upon hearing this, the scrawny hermit felt his heart drop within his chest once more.
"But doing so would be deemed such heresy… a crime against God." The hermit stated softly once more, his gaze drooping back towards the forest floor. The woman let out a slight snicker, before sliding her hands behind his head and resting it against her half-exposed bosoms. Her skin on his cheek felt smooth and relaxing, her large, round breasts feeling like pillows of fine silk against his cheek.
"I am afraid that your God is no longer in your favor, my dear friend." The woman whispered to him in her nurturing tone.
The man would remain silent as he once more felt soothed by the woman's soft, honeyed words and nurturing, tender embrace.
"Then so be it. I accept your offer."
"A wise decision." The woman stated as she lifted herself off the forest floor, breaking away from the embrace as she slid from his grasp. She would then raise her arm upwards towards the night sky, her hand sprawling open as if she were a child awaiting to catch a raindrop during a light storm. The emaciated man gazed up at the woman with curiosity as three strands of mist rolled down from the air like serpents into her sprawled fingers, once more swirling in a spiral within her palm. The woman of the woods started to chant in the same foreign language that she had spoken earlier.
"Cum lumen lunae, et penetrabilior ululate in lupos. Ego hoc providere anima ante me posse trabea, ut callidum animal. Ut suum venatur in aeternum crescite, stomachum suum nunquam inanem, et animam suam aeternae!"
The woman’s voice boomed and echoed like that of a commanding goddess as her metallic silver hair flowed like a river within the cool night breeze. His eyes widened once more as a stone bowl engraved with unfamiliar runes formulated from the fog within her hand. His mind couldn’t seem to fathom the events that were displayed before him. Was she using some type of magic to conjure up the bowl?
Whatever substance that resided within the bowl seemed to reflect moonlight from the night sky back up towards the moon, producing a mystical ray of light that almost seemed holy. The beam of moonlight remained intact as the woman of the woods lowered the engraved bowl before the scrawny wildman. He inspected the contents of the bowl, which consisted of a thick, metallic grey-blue creamy substance that produced a strong, fresh aroma of rainwater within a spring forest. He then observed the inscriptions on the bowl, still unknowing of the meaning behind each series of symbols etched into the circumference of the bowl.
"What is this?" The man asked the spectre.
"An ointment. Adorn it upon your skin and all your troubles shall cease to be." The woman answered with a bright smile spread across her face.
The hesitant, yet desperate man paused for a bit, gazing at his reflection upon the smooth surface of the creamy salve within the bowl. He furled his lips back, emitting a sigh from his nostrils as he dipped his bony fingers into the stone bowl, scooping a sizable glob of the ointment into his hand. He’d glance back up towards the pale lady, of whom nodded in acceptance, before lathering the salve all over his face, arms, legs, and body. The sensation of the ointment upon the surface of his rough skin felt extremely cold, like he was submerged in a frozen pond. However, he could feel some other sensation seeping not just beneath his skin, but into his soul. Not a physical sensation, but one of emotion and instinct. The need to hunt. The desire to kill. Predatory instincts overtook his mind, fueling his willpower to persevere.
In the distance, each member of the wolf pack individually lifted their heads from the ground, their ears perked up in curiosity and intrigue as they also closely inspected the transpiring of events.
"Do you feel it? The call of the wild. The call of the blood?"
"Yes… it calls me. The wilds call me. My prey is waiting for me. I must hunt. I must kill!" The hermit exclaimed as he sprung up from the forest floor, curling his fingers as a flood of bestial desires completely flushed away any sense of regret or failure.
"Then go on. Hunt. Sustain that growing hunger. Your struggles are no more." The woman of the woods imperatively exclaimed before shifting towards the opposite direction and returning to the fog.
As the shape of the pale woman faded into the mist, the fog quickly cleared up, completely dissipating. The ambience of crickets chirping once more filled the forest, as if the ordeal with the woman had never happened. His animalistic needs still flamed on within him as he energetically paced around the clearing.
There was a subtle sensation of an itch within his throat. The scraggly hermit thought little of it, until he noticed the severity of the itch rapidly increase and expand throughout his throat. He’d begin to cough violently, wheezing like a smoker as spittle and phlegm spewed out from his mouth. His throat and chest quaked and ached as his hacking fit forced him back to the ground, holding himself up with his knuckles as he felt like one of his coughs would force up what little resided within his stomach - or blood from his lungs - at any second.
As quickly as it had started, his coughing fit ceased, his dry, hoarse throat no longer itching. He’d remain on the forest floor with his knuckles nestled into the mud as the aftershock of his coughing fit vibrated within his throat. He hoped that whatever altercation was stirring up within his body had finished, but a gut sensation told him that the unrelenting cough was just the beginning.
And sure enough, a tense, splitting headache suddenly overwhelmed him, feeling as if his head were being smashed repeatedly against the pointy edge of a crag. The hermit groaned in agony, tightly gripping his face as he collapsed against the forest floor, kicking and thrashing his legs as the pain worsened and became unbearable. The moonlight illuminated upon him from above as the clouds that concealed the moon had dispersed. Even the dim hue of the moonlight felt like a blinding light as he removed his hands from his face in order to gaze up at the moon. The full moon glared down at him, as if it were anticipating the coming course of events. The splitting headache had numbed up as the influence of the full moon burrowed into his head, rendering him insane with carnivorous thoughts.
"Hunt… kill… must hunt. Must kill!" The hermit grumbled audibly with a sense of aggression.
Out of absolutely nowhere, there was a piercing pain in both of his hands and feet, as if they were being punctured by thousands of red hot iron spikes. The emaciated man released an agonized shriek as he raised up his hands in order to inspect what was going on with them. To his complete and utter shock, they were extending; stretching out in length as muscles and bone continuously ripped and mended. The cracking of bone and tearing of flesh were audible beneath his skin. Alongside the pain, his skin had started to dullen in coloration where the pain followed, his skin tone shifting from a pale tan to a dark grey. He grumbled, clenching his teeth as spittle and mucus spewed from his face as he tried his best to muffle any screams. Unfortunately, he could only tolerate so much for such a period of time, and thus released the need to scream as the pain progressively worsened. As he gripped his forehead, his fingernails gave off a sharp, prickly pain. As he jolted his hands forward to observe his hands, he noticed that his fingernails had elongated, thickened, and blackened into sharp, wolf-like claws.
An extreme pain originated within his legs as the hermit attempted to hold himself up with his hands. He’d attempt to scream once more, but his lungs were completely winded. He’d glance over his shoulder to see his legs snap back into an L-formation, causing him to wince and cringe from both the sight and the intense pain.
The hermit ushered out a slow, pained scream once more as his entire body felt as if it were being stretched apart. He cringed upon hearing his bones crackle and his muscles expand and rip as his entire body had begun to reshape its entire structure. He clenched his face firmly as his upper body was forced to fall forward towards the ground due to the unbearable, excruciating pain. As he caught himself on the ground, he noticed his hands had elongated and completely greyed-up. Tears, mucus, and spittle streamed down his face like small waterfalls as he then inspected his arms, which were almost completely covered with dark grey fur-like hair. As his legs started to bend, break, and reform, the man winced and sobbed as he weakly crawled towards a nearby puddle of rainwater. He observed his reflection within the puddle, seeing that his face had extended outwards, vaguely resembling that of a wolf’s. His irises were dimly glowing, having changed color from their normal shade of brown to a deep, piercing amber. His teeth had sharpened, looking now as if they belonged to a wild canine. His frayed, black hair had noticeably lengthened and coiled around his neck like the mane of a lion. The transformation process was just about over. He was about to fully become a monster. A mythical beast from fairy tales and legends. He’d slowly glance up towards the full moon as he noticed the intensity of the pain simmer down.
“Li-ar…” The hermit angrily grumbled through his agony in an inhumanly-deep voice.
“You… damned… WITCH! CURSED DEMON! HELLISH WHORE! GO BACK TO HE-...”
A deep, chiming howl echoed throughout the night sky.