Sunday, December 13, 2009

A new threat

Matheus scratched his shoulder absentmindedly. The punctures in his shirt and skin were a sharp reminded of what had just occured.

He was still in shock.

Sweat dripped down his face, despite the snow that blanketed the ground. The world around him was blinding. His breathing was getting heavy. He felt an indescribable pressure building in his ribs. He clutched his chest as he stumbled into the quiet town. His vision was becoming blurry now, the buildings in front of him were spinning in a white haze.

"HELP!" He was screaming at the top of his lungs, "HEEEEEEELLLPPPP MEEEEE, SOMEBODY HELP!" His throat was burning from the cold, his mouth growing dry. He took a wrong step and fell to his knees.

Matheus looked down at the snow as best he could. Whipping his head back, the momentum brought him crashing down onto his back, knees still folded. He was tearing at his shirt, digging into his chest.

Veins were throbbing in his neck, his skin tone fading, almost matching the snow around him. He let out a blood-curdling wail, his nails piercing his skin.

People of all ages rushed out of their homes to see what had caused such an inhuman cry of pain.

Matheus dragged his nails, still deep within his skin, across his chest. The
familiar crimson of blood stained the snow. Shriveled clumps of skin filled his hands and he threw it to the floor, writhing in agony and howling in torturous pain. He scratched and scraped, deeper and farther across his skin, scooping the organ from his body like fondant from a cake.

The townspeople watched, crying from a distance as the nightmare unfolded in front of them. No one had ever seen anything like it. They had never heard cries of pain like the ones he uttered.

As Matheus kept digging, no one believed what they were seeing; tufts of silver fur, covered in blood, beneath his skin. Suddenly things grew worse. The sound of bones shattering resonated through the stone streets of the little village. His body was convulsing, the remains of his skin seemingly boiling, warping around what was becoming a monster.

Matheus opened his eyes, his skull widened, the skin tearing under the stress. His arms grew long and thin. His face stretched forward into a thick, muzzle-like form. His kneecaps exploded under his skin, his feet, now long and slender, grew thick talons on every toe. Women and children escaped inside, hoping to hide from the hellish creature that was evolving on their innocent city street

His skin, a seemingly molted flesh, lay in taters around him. His wails of bone-chilling pain grew deeper, intermittent snarls punctuating the silence between howls.

The stranger the townspeople witnessed entering their village had disappeared. In his place, a titan of primal power stood, brooding at the world before him. He took deep breaths, drool flying from his mouth and explosions of hot air accompanying every exhale.

The entire village was silent, save for the howling wind. No one dared be the first to move.
But no one needed to.

The beast had already bolted towards a man who stood with a pitchfork in his hands. Leaping at his prey, the beast landed on the innocent man, toppling him backwards and into the snow. The nightmarish creature slashed away at his face twice before lunging in with his massive canines, tearing off a chunk of the man's cheek.

It was the dawn of a new terror.

The age of the Werewolf.

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