I'm a werewolf!? Wait… no.
Dylan wasn't one. This happened because that werewolf bit me yesterday.
So I got infected… Lycanthropy?
Glen pieced it together instantly. A bitter smile twisted his lips.
Is this a curse… or a twisted blessing?
Memories flooded him: werewolves, vampires, demons—all branded "Abominations" by human kingdoms. Hunted relentlessly by the Knightly Orders, Mage Confederacies…
Survival just got exponentially harder.
Whatever. One step at a time. Manageable.
He forced calm onto his churning thoughts and looked down at the pinned beast.
Any other werewolf witnessing this would've gaped in disbelief.
Most newly transformed werewolves drowned in bloodlust, becoming mindless slaughter-beasts.
Even the strongest needed brutal training to retain slivers of sanity.
For Glen to achieve full control on his first transformation? Unheard of.
But this world knew nothing of the hellish training Glen endured in his past life—training that forged willpower beyond human limits.
The hunger to rend and kill still scraped at his mind, but its claws found no purchase.
Steel holds.
True, this world had its share of strong-willed souls.
They simply didn't end up as werewolves.
Lycanthropes were rare now, hunted to the brink.
Even those still lurking in shadows were no match for the major powers.
The beast beneath his claw whimpered, utterly broken. Submissive as a beaten hound.
Glen raised his taloned hand to end it… then paused.
Not mercy. Calculation.
A primal instinct whispered: This one is yours to command.
Was it a werewolf gift? Or something unique to this creature?
Killing it gained nothing. Keeping it… cannon fodder has uses.
Decision made. He released the beast.
A connection snapped into place—invisible, instinctual. Glen could project commands.
Fascinating…
The thought emerged as a guttural, animalistic growl.
Can't speak?
He touched his throat, concentrating. The lycanthropic virus within his veins writhed, retreated.
His vocal cords shifted, vibrating.
A voice like grinding stones emerged:
"Done."
The beast pressed itself into the dirt at Glen's feet, trembling, awaiting orders.
Glen closed his eyes, probing his transformed body.
The lycanthropy virus pulsed with dark energy, reshaping flesh, flooding dormant blood vessels.
Untransformed, it lay dormant. Transformed, it spread like ink in water.
Crucially, he felt absolute control. He could expel it entirely if he chose.
"Do all werewolves have this… or just me?"
The gravelly words hung in the air.
If the virus reshaped him by filling vessels… what happened if he forced it to fill all of them?
Curiosity burned.
After a long hesitation, he yielded to it.
With a mental command, the virus surged. It tore into untouched capillaries, veins, arteries—
Below him, the beast froze. A whimper died in its throat. It buried its snout deeper into the earth as primal terror radiated from Glen.
His body exploded outward.
Muscles knotted like ancient oak roots. Bone cracked and reforged.
His height surged—three meters… four… five…
Six meters.
Ebony fur bristled. Talons lengthened, dripping shadows that coiled like smoke.
Razor fangs gleamed under a miasma of palpable menace.
Raw, annihilating fury crashed against his mind—a tsunami of blood-hunger.
Still… he held.
His perspective vaulted upwards. Senses sharpened to impossible levels.
He could track the wing-beat of a gnat a hundred meters away.
Power plateaued at the absolute limit his will could contain.
Yet the virus had saturated barely half his vascular network.
He stood: a six-meter titan wreathed in terror. The beast resembled a quivering kitten before him.
His exhales scorched the air like forge-bellows.
A demon given flesh.
Glen threw a casual punch.
WHOOSH—CRACK!
Air compressed. Three thick trees shattered mid-trunk.
Not just strength. It harnessed the atmosphere itself.
His monstrous stomach growled. The form devoured energy.
He willed the virus back.
Muscles shrank. Bones retracted. Fur vanished.
Human Glen stood naked, ravenous.
"Powerful... but hell on wardrobe expenses."
He glanced down at his bare body, grimacing.
"Get food."
He nudged the still-trembling beast with his foot.
It scrambled into the undergrowth like a shot.
Glen flexed. His human physique now mirrored his initial werewolf strength.
Lasting enhancement. The virus permanently altered him.
He ran through a combat kata—fluid, powerful.
So this is why werewolves outclass humans.
Sitting naked on leaf litter, a tiny movement caught his eye.
A one-eyed rat nibbled on gory scraps nearby.
Its scent… familiar. Echoes of the beast he'd dominated.
A theory crystallized.
That monster… was it once a rat, warped by the same virus?
Minutes earlier—
In a dust-choked bedroom atop a three-story brick house in Byrek's centre—
A figure buried in mildewed blankets stirred. Eyelids fluttered.
Sensed the surge of primordial power radiating from the woods…
Then settled back into uneasy stillness.
Hours later, the beast returned, dragging a wild boar. Glen snatched it, impatient.
Finding a clearing, he built a fire. Roasted the meat.
He could eat it raw now.
But I am still human. I refuse to live like an animal.
Rich, fatty smoke curled through the trees. The beast drooled rivers, nose twitching frantically.
Glen ignored it. He ate an entire haunch, his hunger finally easing.
In the pack, the alpha eats first. The beast understood. It dared not challenge the titan who'd briefly blotted out the sun.
His human stomach filled quickly. He could've transformed to eat more—but why waste energy?
He tossed the beast a single hind leg.
"Hunt your own next time."
After the beast devoured its share, Glen sent it on a new mission:
"Fetch clothes. From my home."
The mental image of trousers and a shirt flashed through their link. Simple.
Storing leftover meat in his ramshackle house, Glen headed back into Byrek. His dwindling coins needed to buy bread, vegetables.
Need a cart soon… maybe even a wagon.
The thought accompanied him down the barren road.