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Survivor00
Star
- Joined
- Jan 9, 2009
The layer of snow crumped beneath Curtis Whittaker's bare feet as he stumbled through the winter forest, his mind half-crazed from the unnatural pain that moved through him. His skin felt as though it had been lit aflame, while his body churned inside. He could feel things popping and moving, things that shouldn't be. He felt all of it. He heard all of it. It was as though his senses had become elevated to a level than no man should be able to have. The smell, the sight, the smell... it overwhelmed him. He barked up a foamy mess of phlegm, leaning against a tree for a moment, before lunging off into the woods again.
The stench of blood covered him, blood that was no his own. His family...slain by uncontrollable urges... Their blood stained his clothes in muddy crimson, it covered his hands, his soul...
The snow swirled around him, cold, fresh from the ashen-gray skies. He clenched his arm, his own blood oozing from beneath his fingertips â?? boiling hot. It would not heal. The other wounds...the cuts and scrapes he had endured from fleeing...healed only seconds after being gouged from his flesh. But this wound...the bite, it would not stop bleeding. The muscle snapped taut beneath his grasp, his hand clenching into a painful fist. He snarled in pain, spittle flying from his lips as he collapsed to his knees.
He was turning into one of those Devil Wolves...
He was 21 years of age, and once the son of the woodsman Artemis Whittaker. He had spent his youth learning these forests, learning to be a hunter like his father. He had two beautiful sisters, and a loving mother. But those thoughts already grew distant and meaningless now. He had been bitten by a Devil Wolf, their curse now flowing through his veins. A quick death would have been a mercy, but alas, he lacked no silver for which to taint his blood against it.
He was scared...
The pain wracked his body again, his fingers digging furrows in the ground. His bones creaked beneath his skin, popping and shifting, muscle fibers tearing and reattaching themselves. Curtis frothed at the mouth, his eyes rolling back until they were almost white, as his body was shredded by pain, being rebuilt in the form of his new life. Muscles snapped and twisted beneath his flesh, which was quickly growing a coarse layer of fur. He could not suck air into his lungs, as his body felt as though it were being torn apart by the demons of Hell. His jaw cracked, a searing impact to his skull, as he felt his face lengthening, his teeth aching as they grew sharp.
The pain and shock soon overwhelmed his human mind, and Curtis disappeared into the mind of the beast that he had become. The maddened creature's body continued to churn, feet lengthening into beast-like paws, tipped with sharp claws. Muscles rippled beneath the skin, as a wolven tail stretched out behind him. Staggering to its feet, the creature stood, snuffling at the woods, the tattered remains of Curtis' clothes clinging to its frame.
Canine eyes affixed in the direction of the village, it could smell the scents of fresh meat from here. It howled, the sound echoing through the forest for miles.
A werewolf had been born tonight...
The stench of blood covered him, blood that was no his own. His family...slain by uncontrollable urges... Their blood stained his clothes in muddy crimson, it covered his hands, his soul...
The snow swirled around him, cold, fresh from the ashen-gray skies. He clenched his arm, his own blood oozing from beneath his fingertips â?? boiling hot. It would not heal. The other wounds...the cuts and scrapes he had endured from fleeing...healed only seconds after being gouged from his flesh. But this wound...the bite, it would not stop bleeding. The muscle snapped taut beneath his grasp, his hand clenching into a painful fist. He snarled in pain, spittle flying from his lips as he collapsed to his knees.
He was turning into one of those Devil Wolves...
He was 21 years of age, and once the son of the woodsman Artemis Whittaker. He had spent his youth learning these forests, learning to be a hunter like his father. He had two beautiful sisters, and a loving mother. But those thoughts already grew distant and meaningless now. He had been bitten by a Devil Wolf, their curse now flowing through his veins. A quick death would have been a mercy, but alas, he lacked no silver for which to taint his blood against it.
He was scared...
The pain wracked his body again, his fingers digging furrows in the ground. His bones creaked beneath his skin, popping and shifting, muscle fibers tearing and reattaching themselves. Curtis frothed at the mouth, his eyes rolling back until they were almost white, as his body was shredded by pain, being rebuilt in the form of his new life. Muscles snapped and twisted beneath his flesh, which was quickly growing a coarse layer of fur. He could not suck air into his lungs, as his body felt as though it were being torn apart by the demons of Hell. His jaw cracked, a searing impact to his skull, as he felt his face lengthening, his teeth aching as they grew sharp.
The pain and shock soon overwhelmed his human mind, and Curtis disappeared into the mind of the beast that he had become. The maddened creature's body continued to churn, feet lengthening into beast-like paws, tipped with sharp claws. Muscles rippled beneath the skin, as a wolven tail stretched out behind him. Staggering to its feet, the creature stood, snuffling at the woods, the tattered remains of Curtis' clothes clinging to its frame.
Canine eyes affixed in the direction of the village, it could smell the scents of fresh meat from here. It howled, the sound echoing through the forest for miles.
A werewolf had been born tonight...