William completed the reversal and was now on top. If he still maintained any logical processes of being human, he didn’t show it. Instead of applying his weight and pressure to his attacker and trying to get some answers, he flew into an even greater rage. He clamped his legs around the werewolf in a similar fashion, as he was held only a few moments ago, and drove his fists through the werewolf’s face.
Werewolves are naturally tough, and their bodies can withstand a great deal of punishment, but the fury with which William was now attacking the other werewolf was so intense that soon blood was flying with every strike. William should have stopped. In the back of his mind, his logical human self was satisfied that the attacker had been repaid. But his instinctive other self would not stop. William tried to retake control of his body but the cloud of raw emotions that had settled over his mind fogged his reason, and he wasn’t entirely sure he really wanted to stop. How dare this guy attack me for no reason, I’m going to kill him. The thought of killing another werewolf wasn’t in the least bit disturbing and he allowed his other to guide his wrath and his punches.
William jumped up and started kicking the werewolf in the stomach and midsection. His legs produced so much power and force that he was chasing after the almost limp body of his attacker as he almost dribbled him over the forest floor. William realized that the irrational need to tear this guy apart was a dangerous by product of his other and he was desperate to retake control of his body.
The fear of himself that radiated out slowly into his brain seemed to clear the fog that had been produced by his other. The rage in his mind lessened and he was able to stop attacking the werewolf. He watched the limp form of the werewolf on the ground breathe in shallow gasps as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from his body. As the fog of hate and anger lifted from his mind, William flexed and moved his claws and feet and the various muscles of his body. He was aware of how sore his face and chest were and the blood that slowly oozed out from some of those wounds, his blood, as well as the blood that had sprayed him as he had ripped into the other werewolf. I could have killed you just now. I could have done it, but I didn’t.
The werewolf on the ground rolled over and William could see the wrecked tissue of his face. His snout was broken and hung at a disgusting angle. There was a flow of blood that emptied from his nose into his open mouth. The werewolf’s chest was concave, and he knew that if a rib hadn’t punctured a lung, it was a miracle. He knew that the creature in front of him didn’t have a lot of time. He felt the need to cry. How could I have done something like this? Why the hell did you attack me, you idiot? He wanted to scream at the werewolf and shake him. He knew that that wouldn’t do anything except aggravate the injuries that he had already sustained. He knew that if he didn’t do something the werewolf was going to choke on the stream of blood that was flowing into his mouth.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
William rolled the werewolf onto his side. He helped the kid position his legs to prop himself up so that the blood would flow onto the ground and not into his mouth. Once the werewolf was stable, William stood up and ran back into the forest.
The first thought he had was that he had to find Ares. Ares would know where Physis was, and she could heal the guy before he died. He was in a blind panic. He didn’t want to think about the guy dying at all. If the werewolf did die it would be on his hands and for what? The guy had attacked him. He was defending himself. He knew that what he had done was something that no shape shifter in the city could ever forgive him for. The shrinking knotted cord of emotions that receded into the back of his mind sent out a series of ripples that flowed out across his mind. I’m glad you find this to be so funny. We’re going to be executed because of you. Do you even understand the concept of death? The question rang out hollowly across his mind. The only answer William got from it was one final ripple then stillness. His other was safely tucked away in the back of his mind, leaving him to clean up the mess of its actions.
William realized that he was running blindly through the forest. Using what he had learned, he raised his nose to the trees and inhaled. He must have gotten a little messed up too because the only thing he could smell was the thick coppery scent of blood. The forest was painted, in his mind, red. There was no green, no pine needles, no sugary sap, only blood, his blood. He couldn’t control his panic. He forced himself to run faster. Where was Hermes? Where was his teacher? They knew how dangerous he was. Why when he really needed them did they suddenly decide to abandon him?
The smell of blood permeated everything.
He couldn’t see three feet in front of him because of his fear and he ran headlong into a tree that for some reason he thought was just a thick bush. The tree didn’t give an inch and his head exploded in new pain and was filled with darkness and bright flashing lights. He stumbled backwards but he wasn’t able to regain his balance and he sat down on the ground.
He wanted to cry out for somebody to help him. He wanted to see that the guy was ok. He wanted to see Aceso, more than anything though, he wanted to be away from where he was. He wanted to go back to his valley. He had never killed anything without meaning to before. And then he only killed for food. Even the old grey who had attacked him that first night he let live and they had run together many times when the moon was full. He wanted to curl up and die. He couldn’t smell anything except blood and he had no idea where Ares was.