A werewolf—me? No… wait. The original Dylan was no such creature. This must be the bite I received yesterday—the curse of the wolf, now coursing through my veins.
So this is the taint… wolf’s venom.
Glenn deduced the truth swiftly, his lips curling into a bitter, self-deprecating smile. Fortune or calamity—who could truly tell?
His inherited memories made one fact stark: lycanthropes, vampires, demons—these abominations were reviled across every kingdom, hunted without mercy by knightly orders, holy temples, and arcane leagues alike. To bear such a curse was to walk forever on the razor’s edge of peril.
Very well… one step at a time. Perhaps the situation is not as dire as it appears.He forced a cold calm into his mind and turned his gaze upon the beast cowering beneath his claws.
Had another werewolf beheld this scene, disbelief would have seized them—for the cursed kin, once transformed, surrendered their reason to the beast, becoming thralls to mindless slaughter. Even the most gifted lycanthrope could retain only a fragile thread of sanity after years of arduous mental conditioning. Yet here Glenn stood, in the throes of his very first metamorphosis, his mind as sharp as tempered steel. A miracle; an aberration.
But how could they comprehend the torment of his past life’s training—the brutal forging of will that had driven him to the brink of human endurance and back again? The bloodlust gnawed ceaselessly at his reason, demanding violence, yet he held it in an iron grip.
The beast had wholly yielded, crushed beneath a single hand, docile as a hound trembling at its master’s feet.
Glenn raised his claw, intent on severing its spine, but hesitated. Not out of mercy, but calculation. Something in his blood whispered to him:this creature is yours to command.Was it a gift of the lycanthrope’s bloodline—or some peculiarity of the beast itself?
To slay it offered little gain. To tame it… he could use it as fodder, a scout, a shield of flesh. The decision came swiftly. He released his grip.
At once, an invisible tether coiled between them, allowing Glenn to shape his will into a silent command.
How strange…He meant to whisper in wonder, but only a guttural, vibrating snarl rumbled forth.
So… speech eludes me.He touched his throat, mentally wrestling the venom back within his veins. His vocal cords shifted, grinding like stones, until at last a voice—demonic, rough, and layered with resonance—slipped out:
“It works.”
The beast pressed its belly to the earth, trembling, awaiting his decree.
Closing his eyes, Glenn delved into the sensations of his altered flesh. In this form, the venom was not merely a contaminant; it was a living tide, surging through his veins, forcing evolution, flooding more and more of his biology.
In his human guise, the venom tainted perhaps a seventh of his blood. Transformed, it swelled to nearly a sixth. And he could feel it—an innate ability to manipulate the venom’s saturation. He could purge it entirely, should he choose, or…
“Do all werewolves wield this power… or is it mine alone?”
If the venom could reshape the body thus, what might happen were he to let it flood every vessel? The thought kindled a spark of reckless curiosity.
After a long hesitation, he dared.
With a silent command, the venom stirred, raging forth into every unopened channel like a dam breaking.
The beast at his feet shuddered violently, burying its head in the soil in sheer terror of the aura radiating from its master.
Glenn’s frame expanded, muscles swelling with sickening cracks and pops. Black vapors coiled thick about his fangs and claws like a shroud. A storm of feral malice burst outward, yet he held the reins of sanity tight.
His viewpoint climbed higher and higher. His senses sharpened to an impossible keenness—he felt he could track the heartbeat of a mouse a hundred paces away.
At last, the venom saturated two-fifths of his blood—the absolute limit his will could endure. He towered six meters tall, a titan of darkness cloaked in dread miasma. His breath seared with heat, each exhalation like the sigh of a demon descending to earth.
A mere sweep of his fist shattered a nearby tree, the wind pressure alone uprooting the trunk.
But the price was immediate. The hunger returned, not as a pang, but as a devouring void. His body began to consume itself, gnawed hollow from within to fuel this monstrous form. With immense effort, he drew the venom back, forcing his frame to shrink.
And when he stood once more as a man, he was stark naked, his stomach growling like a thunderstorm.
“Powerful, yes… but ruinous on clothing,” he muttered, his lips twisting wryly at his bare state.
“Fetch me food.” His guttural command sent the quivering beast bounding into the woods.
Glenn flexed his arms, astonished. Even returned to human guise, his frame retained a portion of the strength from his transformation. The trial had wrought permanent change. Such was the blessing—or the curse—of lycanthropic flesh. A brief set of martial forms confirmed his suspicion; his movements were faster, harder.
Seated naked upon a carpet of dead leaves, his ear caught a subtle rustle. Turning, he spied a one-eyed rat gnawing on scraps of flesh left from the earlier battle. Its stench was identical to the beast he had just subdued.
So… that hound was once such a vermin, twisted and enlarged by the venom’s bite?
At that very moment, inBayek, within a three-story brick manse on the town square, a shadowed figure stirred upon a dust-cloaked bed. Its lashes quivered, nearly parting—then stilled, sinking once more into the silence of a coma.
Hours later, the beast returned, a wild boar clamped in its jaws. Glenn, half-crazed with hunger, tore the carcass away and struck a fire to roast the flesh.
His body might endure raw meat, but his soul rebelled. He would not descend to absolute savagery.
Soon, the fragrance of roasting pork curled through the forest. The beast drooled rivers at his side, its nose twitching in ravenous delight, but it dared not move. Among wolves, the alpha eats first. And Glenn had proven himself far more than a mere alpha.
One haunch was enough to sate him in human guise. Were he transformed, he could have devoured the entire animal—but to waste such energy now was folly. Tossing the beast a single leg, he left the rest for it to claim—or to hunt anew.
When it finished, he ordered it back to his dwelling to fetch him clothes, his intent conveyed as clearly as speech through their psychic bond.
The remaining meat he stored at home; the garments he donned. Then Glenn set out once more toward the town, his coin purse thin but not yet empty.
With time, perhaps, I will even buy a cart.The practical thought lingered as he strode down the road, a monster in human skin walking back into the world of men.