Chapter Text
The old earth beneath her paws was a carpet of green and stone, the terrain kissing her dark pads as she traversed through the highlands. Her pointed ears were held up, stood at attention to receive any noise--whether food or threat. Limbs, carved of both woman and beast, rippled musculature on display beneath a thick coat of fur, moved with strength and silence. Though the lands had been ravaged by the wrathful pestilence that overthrew the humans, she was still an apex predator.
Before the outbreak, the lycanthropic curse that had befallen her and her kin for generations was a monstrous scourge. However, in the aftermath, it served as a blessing, granting them higher levels of immunity against the effects of the deadly virus, and greater chances of survival all around. She had been borne at the start of outbreak, at the tipping edge of a world where her kin's existence was often debated or scoffed at. However, in this one, she just existed as what she was. But she moved alone. Food was few and far between over the years. The infected took on more grotesque formations themselves, a select few growing to be nearly twice in size and proving formidable threats against herself. The larger infected--the Tall Ones, as she had named them--commanded the attention of their smaller counterparts, moving like packs throughout the lands. They often competed with her and her kin, clashing in brutal battle over food and territory. Though the lycanthropes could very well hold their own, the Tall Ones would, every now and then, fall upon them and rip their heads clean from their shoulders, with spine to follow; a gruesome sight to behold.
Non-infected humans had become a source of food, every now and then. She had spent such an extent in her wolfskin that she had, at times, forgotten what it was like to walk amongst them, what it was like to pretend to be another human survivor. Their flesh and blood would only satiate her hunger for so long, and it mattered not to her which walk of life they came from--young, old, middle-aged, she was desperate and constantly famished, persistently feeling as though her skin hung from her bones.
Her nostrils flared as she caught the scent of a wild boar. Thick drool seeped from her jaw, coating the sides of her mouth and falling to the ground. Long had it been since she had tasted the particular flesh. Calculated with years of hunting experience, she scaled the hills and the great rocks, her heart pounding in her fur-coated chest with thrill. The scent grew heavier in the air, signaling to her that she was drawing close to the source. The great she-wolf soon came to a halt, and crouched low so the looming grass may offer her cover.
A perfectly rotund, dark brown shape stood a few paces ahead of her, lazily grazing without a second thought. Its ears twitched as the animal let out contented snorts, oblivious to the impending danger stalking from behind. The she-lycanthrope felt her claws sink slightly into the earth as she encroached upon her prey, her tail held out straight and her ears bent forward. Her lupine eyes were trained on the oblivious hog, taking in every movement it made. For a moment, it lifted its head, its beady black eyes scanning it's surroundings. This caused the great wolf to sink lower to the ground, waiting for the right moment to strike with bated breath. The boar returned to its grazing a short while after, tiny hooves taking steps over the rocks and moss. The she-lycanthrope moved forward again, causing a twig to snap against her calculations; and the prey animal surged forward with a surprising readiness in spite of its disposition, fleeing in self-preservation.
An involuntary growl rumbled through her as her instincts drove her to give chase. For what should have been an easy target, the boar managed to dip and twist at the most difficult angles and turns, just out of reach of the wolf's maw. The scarcity of resources and the emptiness in her belly fuelled her to persevere. Her ears twitched when she thought she heard strange whooping and laughter from the hilltops, but whatever the source was, it was of little concern to her at the moment. Her hunger may have nearly clouded her keen senses, but it shouldn't have brought her to the brink of madness where she heard things that weren't there--not yet, at least.
The pursuit shortly then ended when the beast leapt upon the boar, using her forelimbs to hold it down while she sank her teeth into its throat. Fresh blood from the new kill ignited her, sending the she-wolf into a near frenzy. After tearing into the flesh and swallowing a chunk whole, she found herself incredulous when naked bodies puppeteered by rage and instinct came barreling towards her and her slain prey, their screams post-human war cries. Their emergence seemed to come from nearly out of nowhere, which--since she was so caught up in the hunt--they may as well have.
In total were there ten of them that came at her. Their mouths agape, limbs flailing madly, their bodies driven by the urge to consume the flesh before them. Just because the wolf had killed, it meant not that her meal was secured. Baring her teeth, she charged the infected, using her claws and teeth to rent them to ribbons. One of them had managed to get her from the rear, leaping upon her back and sinking its teeth into her coat while ripping at the dark fur with its hands. The she-beast bellowed and on a whirl smashed her back repeatedly against one of the walls of the gorge, until the being was properly crushed to death and thus shaken from her.
After the last of the group of infected had been slaughtered, the she-lycanthrope panted heavily, exhausted from battle. She shook herself off, red tongue lolling out of her mouth as she trotted back to her rightfully earned kill. With a pointed huff, she fell to her belly and resumed her feast. Flies had already began to buzz around her and the body of the boar, to which she paid no mind. A chunk of flesh sat in her mouth when a noise caused her ears to prick. The she-beast raised her head from her kill, chunks of flesh dangling from her teeth. Amber eyes scanned the surrounding rock walls, trees and foliage for any signs of movement. Though tired, she would still protect her food through her natural weapons, even if it greatly cost her energy. When her sight detected nothing, she resumed her meal, though her hearing stood guarded.
Another distinct noise, like a rock being thrown, caused her to pause her consumption once more. She raised herself from the ground, a low warning growl erupting in her throat for anyone or anything that was within range to heed it. Her tail lashed twice from side to side while her tongue ran over her bloodied maw. A few moments later, a figure emerged from the rock wall overhead, peering down at her. It wore a tracksuit, the color a muted green yet the blonde atop its head stood vibrant. She sniffed the air. Human. Non-infected. Not alone.
The she-wolf shifted her paws when more of the tracksuited humans made their presences known, stepping out from behind rocks and mounds and trees and standing to her left, right, and middle. The colors of their jackets were less saturated than others to her, in her wolf's vision; yet the yellow atop their heads all seemed to glow like halos. They loomed like deathly angels, some weapons drawn while others were displayed strapped to their sides, eager fingers twitching to pull them loose. The she-beast would have to greatly err on the side of caution: dealing with infected was one thing, with her thick coat serving as natural armor on top of a heightened immunity; but these were humans still in possession of their minds. Likely twisted, yet sound enough to wield weapons, and possibly carrying silver--the bane to a were-wolf like her.
She lashed her tail again, her eyes glaring up at the group like twin marsh fires. At the center of them stood a man, his purple clothing more vibrant than typical, and a diadem atop his head commanding authority. He looked down at her, his blonde hair that flowed longer than the rest lifting slightly by the breeze. His expression was that of one who found a deliciously forbidden secret, and intended on harnessing it all for himself...a look that the she-beast was made indignant by. Her lips peeled back to reveal offwhite, yellowed fangs as sharp as daggers--a warning to the man in purple and his fellows to back off. He returned the gesture with a wide, wretched grin of his own, a mixture of green, yellow, and black gleaming down at her. "Seems we've found ourselves a beastie, lads," he spoke, his voice loud and bouncing off the surrounding rocks.
How dare you bare your teeth at me, thought the beast.
With a low rumble in her chest, the she-werewolf rose and stood on her rear legs to her true height. Her swordlike claws flexed at her sides, her face still contorted in a snarl as she stared down her onlookers. Anyone or anything else, with sound mind and high survival instincts, would have taken the hint and retreated over the hills a long time ago. But the tracksuits, whether brave or stupid or mad, did not even so much as flinch. They stood at the ready, waiting for their cue to strike.
They seemed too eager for this confrontation, as though they craved violence. The she-lycanthrope had never dealt with anything like it, and though she were still an apex predator, she felt unease creeping through her veins. If the group of blondes in tracksuits wanted a battle, then she was a force to be reckoned with. An animal is at its most dangerous when cornered.
Diadem twinkling upon his head in the twilight sun, the leader in purple raised his right hand in the air. His pointer, middle, and thumb were extended, while his ring and pinky were folded in. The left arm was held downward, fingers mimicking the gesture on his right. His lips still curled in a malicious grin as he gave commands to his harbingers of destruction.
"Hold, now." The she-wolf tilted her head, thick saliva pooling from the sides of her mouth, still emitting warning growls--though they were not going to be heeded. The leader mocked this movement of hers, tipping his head in a mirrored fashion.
"Hold." Her ears pinned back flat against her skull. Fierce amber eyes glared at the group still, falling back to the purple-clad leader, daring any one of them for whatever next move they made. Taking her on meant losing at least one or more of their group. Her blazing stare told them she hoped the loss would be well worth it. The right hand that was raised in the air, adorned with rings on each finger, sharply bent and pointed at the lycanthrope, pointer and middle aimed at her like the barrel of a gun.
"Fucking go."
Tracksuit bodies suddenly flung themselves, springing into the air like coils. The she-wolf was nearly startled, trying to fixate but so many wildly yet calculatedly moving bodies were coming at her at once. They moved, ironically, like a pack of wolves, with a collective end goal of bringing down a larger target: her.
One of the most vibrant figures to her wolfsight, a man in a blue tracksuit, came swinging at her with a golf club when leaping down from a ledge. The metal made contact with the side of her head, earning a sharp yelp from the beast. In retaliation, the she-lycanthrope swiped the man with the back of her monstrous paw. He went flying against one of the rocky walls with an unceremonious grunt and thud, having let go of his weapon in the process. His head bled from the contact of stone on skull, staining blonde with crimson.
She went in to finish him off, teeth bared and ready for the jugular, but something like a plastic bag had been thrust over her head, rendering her momentarily blind. The she-wolf thrashed violently, grabbing at the material and pulling it off before whirling on whoever dared thrust it upon her. Her eyes were met with a long pole that ended in a loop. It was thrown over her before she had much time to react. The cable found her neck and constricted around it like a steel serpent. Though her hide was dense, the force of the noose was still bruising yet.
With a strangled roar, the she-werewolf grabbed a hold of the pole, wrestling for dominance with the perpetrator--a woman, wearing red. The blonde pushed back against her, with surprising strength for a human against a beast.
Amidst the struggle for the noose, the she-wolf felt a sharp sting in her side. She managed against the tight cord to turn and see a man in a black and red tracksuit. His eyes were blue and wild, and his grin sadistic. He'd stuck her in the side with a blade, curved like one of her claws. To her good fortune, it was not made of silver, though caused her great pain nonetheless with the way the man twisted and turned his knife into her flesh.
Her beastly body flailed and thrashed, hoping to throw off either of her assailants. With one paw still wrapped around the pole, she swung her other arm at the man with the knife, in hopes of swatting him away like a measly insect. But this was to no avail when her rear legs were suddenly yanked out from under her. Another two of the group, a blur of white and orange, had thrown a rope around her feet while she was distracted, and pulled taut. An indignant snarl left her as she snapped at whoever was nearest, but the cord around her neck pulled tighter. The man in green, the first of the group that had revealed himself to her, came in with another noose, the force of which constricted her throat as he pulled opposite the woman in red.
Both cables around her neck, dragging tightly from either side of her, was nearly too much to bear. The she-wolf's side felt as though something were carved into it, with how relentless the knife-bearing man came upon her. Her feet ached from the rope biting around her beastly ankles, yanked so tight that the blood circulation was cut off.
When she was still amongst her kin, no one warned her of anything like this. Her packmates never told her of crazed hunters, sadistic for her suffering and capture. We are the dominion, she was told. We may clash with the Tall Ones, but we still rule these lands. They only warned her to beware of silver, as it would sting and burn like the hottest of fires should she come across it. But she feared that she found her undoing in these maddened humans.
As the twin nooses dug into her throat, and her legs were bound to uselessness, the she-lycanthrope struggled to hold herself up with her forepaws. Her belly was sinking into the earth with every twist and pull, bring her into submission. With the fleeting strength she had, she attempted to uphold herself while letting out the best howl she could muster: a call for help. The sound was at most pathetic, the asphyxiation stifling the were-wolf's cry. If there were any of her kin within range, it would not have reached their ears. Wicked laughter resonated amongst the hellish warriors, mocking the beast's broken effort. Some of them even taunted the she-wolf by exaggeratedly replicating the noise she made, which left her feeling angered yet hopeless.
The leader in purple clapped, his dark chuckle reverberating amongst the walls of stone. He began to move down from his perch; a timid-looking woman in blue, who had not yet attacked the were-wolf, assisted him by holding out the club dropped by her comrade early on in battle. When leveled, he strode over to the beast, his movements casual, playful even.
"Nae so mighty an' terrifyin' noe, are ye beastie?" he cooed at her, his grin etched wide and terrible. The lycanthrope replied with a snarl and snap of her jaws, at which the two nooses pulled even tighter across her throat, subduing her further. The man made a gesture of pretend fear, holding his hand over his chest while his brows raised and his mouth formed a pursed circle.
He stepped closer to her until he crowded the she-beast's space completely. The stench of his rotten breath invaded her wolfish senses, bile threatening to rise in her throat. Taking notice of the subtle reaction, he laughed at her expense. Raising his right hand in the same gesture as before, he held it towards her snout. "Open," he spoke, a simple yet authoritative request. The other tracksuits glanced amongst themselves, momentarily unsure of their leader's actions. When they took notice of him clearing his throat and his ice cold glare that could kill them ten times over, they straightened themselves out, staring expectantly at the were-wolf.
Her fiery lupine eyes stared at the outstretched hand, flicking to meet the crowned man's face. Her snout was still curved with indignance, the threat of completely severing her oppressor's hand from his arm looming dense in the air. But there was something in that chilled stare of his that greatly uneased her. It was disarming on a near-supernatural level.
When she did not open her jaws as instructed, the man nodded to the fellow in black and red. Gleefully retracting his knife from the beast's side, he wiped the blade on his pant leg before skipping over to the front of the beast. He clamped a hand over her flared nostrils, which earned a reflex of her open mouth. The man in the diadem then proceeded to shove his hand inside, the silver of his rings scorching hot. She yelped and jerked, her teeth moments from closing down on his flesh. "Donnae even think o' bitin' me, beastie," he snarled through gritted teeth as he maintained his malicious grin. "We'll skin yeh alive, an' we be sure to make yeh feel every fookin' second." The younger subordinate who had grasped her nose giddily added that it wouldn't have been his first time flaying a dog.
Though the inside of her mouth burned from the silver contact, the were-wolf forced herself to not bite, trembling in place. Tears of pain brimmed in the corners of her eyes. Saliva involuntarily coated the crowned man's hand as he added pressure on her tongue, pressing his fingers down on the wet muscle. He traced the insides of her fangs, committing their pointed shapes to memory as though he were studying ancient text. A soft, satisfied hum left him then, his eyes boring into hers.
"Yeh will nae bite me noe, I know it," he breathed, leaning his head forward, his long golden hair brushing the sides of the she-lycanthrope's face. "I am man an' God an' Devil. I hold dominion over beasts like yerself. Ye will submit. Ye will be meh dog." Despite the pain, despite the automatic shakes from the scorch of silver in her mouth rendering her tongue and roof raw, she obeyed. This was signaled by a slight nod of her great wolf head. Everything that was transpiring felt deeply unnatural. The man whose hand lay in her jaws had seemingly unpenetrable manipulation.
"Yehr doin' so well, holdin' meh hand in yer mouth like a good lass," the man continued, a perverse twinkle in his gaze. He leaned impossibly closer until their brows were nearly touching. "An' I know yer a lass. I see it in yer soul through yer beastly eyes. There's no foolin' meh." She shifted in place, her lupine stare widening. His words left her feeling unusually vulnerable, an alien sensation to everything she had ever known. It felt...human.
The curled corners of his lips twitched when he nodded at her again, another request ready. "Yeh will show us who ye are noe," the crowned man spoke. "Show us the soul behind the monster." The were-wolf's blood froze, her beastly body shaking in place. She couldn't recall the last time she walked as a human, and was not entirely sure she would be able to change back upon command. "Go on, lass," the man in the purple tracksuit cooed, encouragement intertwined with menace. "Yeh can do it, I know yeh can. Dunnae act like yeh aren't able."
With a shaky exhale, the beast began to revert. Bones crackled and bent as her giant form shrunk in upon itself. Dark fur fell off of her in chunks, cascading to the ground like old rags and revealing soft, smooth skin. Her clawed hands and feet contorted and retracted, replaced with human appendages. What was once a horrific beast had shriveled down into a young woman, the nooses loose around her neck and the rope around her legs slacked, no longer designed to hold down a great wolf. The only wolflike quality of her left was lengthy wild hair.
She knelt before the man and his blonde warriors, her hands held over her face and her elbows covering her chest. For arguably the first time in her life, she felt shame. Raw, merciless, unforgiving shame. Her side from the curved knife was already beginning to heal, though it was accompanied with a dull, persistent pain. Her neck was sore from the relentless yanking cords, bruises forming in their wake. The most agony she felt was the inside of her mouth, scorched by the deadly silver of the terrible man's rings. Those wounds would undoubtedly take the most time to heal.
Grinning, the leading man's eyes rose to meet the rest of the group, their own faces painted with satisfied and victorious smiles. He gestured with his right hand for the nooses to be lifted from her, and for the rope to be released. His silent command was met with enthusiastic obedience. He adopted a funny stature, shouting a "howzat?" to his followers. They responded with the same gesture and reverberations, the group unabashedly proud of their victory.
The man in the diadem returned his cruel, dominant gaze to the defeated woman, satisfied that she was no longer armed with her wolfskin, bent to his will. He knelt to her level, his voice mocking gentleness. "Nae need to cover yerself, lass," he sneered. "Put those arms down, or I'll do it mehself." The wolf-woman peered at him from behind her fingers, her eyes no longer blazing amber, but soft and wet from the humiliation she underwent.
Timidly, she obeyed him, slowly lowering her arms to her sides. Her breasts were now fully exposed to him, the buds hardening in the cold air. A dirty laugh escaped him at the sight. "Good girl, that." The purple-clad ruler wrapped a ringed hand around her throat, the silver material burning the sides of her neck as he forced her to her feet for a better gander.
The way he looked at her naked form was hungry and filthy. She dared to meet his gaze, and she could practically see all the dirty things he thought of inflicting upon her in his intense icy stare. This is what she despised most about humans: their disgusting greed. The wolf-woman forced herself not to flinch when the man's tongue emerged from his mouth, running lustily over his lips. Her eyes darted to the ground, naked body quaking and cheeks moist from tears.
"Do ye remember what yer called?" the man inquired, after what felt like an eternity of perverse leering. Eyes locked on her human feet, she gave the man in purple her name. She also couldn't recall the last time she had ever given it to someone, and it felt as though she were trading her soul, giving him the last crumb of what identified her. A breathy laugh left him as he repeated it, taking his fingers and tucking her unkempt strands behind her ears. He wrapped his arms around the woman and pulled her close in an embrace, satisfied that he could intimately feel her at her most powerless through his tracksuit.
"My name is Jimmy," spoke the crowned man, his lips grinning at the shell of her ear. She flinched, absorbing and running his name through her feeble mind. Jimmy pulled back just enough to take her chin in his hand and force her eyes to his, silver stinging her human skin. The woman whimpered in response, struggling in his grasp. She nearly forgot that they were surrounded by his followers until her ears picked up on indistinct chatter amongst them, a mixture of crude remarks and mean laughter.
Caressing her jaw with the poisonous metal, Jimmy smirked cruelly as he spoke again. "No more runnin' as a free lone wolf," he chuckled, rotten teeth on full display as he said her name. "Yeh noe are mine. An' we'll make proper use of yeh."