“Even a man who is pure of heart, and says his prayers by night, may become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms, and the autumn moon is bright.” - William Claude Raines as John Talbot, The Wolfman (1941)

   

    October 25, 1572

    Forêt de Chaux, Dole, Franche-Comté, France

    2:30 A.M.

High within the clouded night sky, the glistening, golden full moon peered through the misty grey clouds like an all-seeing eye; the lunar light illuminating the auburn autumn forest with a mystical aura. The moonlight pierced through an opening within the forest like an arrow, revealing a lone red stag grazing upon the grass, adorning a large bony crown of magnificent antlers atop the dome of its skull. The majestic stag was completely oblivious to its surroundings, only caring for the wilting grass that it grazed upon - thus rendering it completely unaware that a pair of starving eyes were locked upon it. Hungry eyes that belonged not to that of wild predator, but of man.

Lurking within the thick foliage, an emaciated dirt-caked man with long, stringy jet black hair peered through his hunting blind of vegetation at the grazing stag, his grip firm upon a crude, makeshift longbow. The weather conditions were ideal; no wind, no rain, and an ambience of cricket chirping muffled the unwanted sounds of twigs or dead leaves crunching beneath his bare, callused feet. It had seemed as if God himself was in his favor.

The starving, desperate hermit, now confident with his shot, slowly raised his right arm behind his shoulder in order to equip a stone-tipped arrow from the raggedy leather quiver strapped around his pointed shoulders. Slowly and steadily, he knocked the split wooden neck of the handcrafted arrow onto the fiber bowstring consisting of worn rags, then slowly raised the bow up as he attempted to draw back. Due to his emaciated physical state, the man's strength was lacking, rendering him unable to fully draw back the bowstring. However, his desperation fused with his determination had completely blinded him from realizing his weakness. The man squinted his left eyelid, focusing his right eye on the still-carefree grazing stag, struggling to keep himself steady while aiming due to his weakness caused by weeks of starvation. Soon enough, his fingertips gave in to the struggle as they slipped from the neck and feather fletching of the arrow. The arrow awkwardly wobbled as it whizzed forward, straight into a tree that was not too far ahead. Upon impact with the trunk of the tree, the arrow emitted a loud knock, fused with a sharp shattering as the stone arrowhead ruptured into pieces due to the hard impact with the tree. 

The commotion, of course, had alerted the stag, of which shot its head up from the grass, its black eyes widened and ears perked up. The now-wary stag brushed its tongue against its black nose, moistening it in order to assist in detecting any questionable aroma as it lifted its right front leg and stamped it against the forest floor.

Now enraged from his failure, the man burst out from the brush, ushering out a desperate war cry as he charged towards the stag with a crude stone blade in his right hand, raised up in preparation to stab. 

His yellow-tinted, jaundiced eyes widened like empty plates, as if he had become truly psychotic. Unfortunately for him, the stag had immediately caught on to the predicament, and its natural instinct to flee from danger took over as it swerved to the right and bounded off with speed back into the concealed depths of the woods.

The adrenaline and rage-filled man attempted to chuck his stone blade at the stag, but as expectedly, resulted in another shortfall as the blade bounced and chipped against the ground. As he watched the stag disappear into the woods, the scrawny, starved man halted his pursuit, his bare, muddy feet dragging against the forest floor before falling to his hands and knees, having transgressed from the “anger” to “sorrow” state of grief. The feral-looking hermit proceeded to arch his back and stare at the ground, baring his teeth as he ushered out frustrated growls. The man proceeded to growl and yell as he continuously slammed his balled fists against the forest floor.

"One chance… and I blew it…" The hermit muttered with frustration and sorrow. "How can I manage to sustain my wife and myself, if I am in no condition to do so?"

The hermit proceeded to sulk and swear as he pounded the ground like a territorial silverback gorilla. Within his fit of rage, he was completely unaware of his surroundings as a thick, white fog began to roll in as the ambience of crickets chirping died down. Only once he began to hear his sulking echo through the forest did his awareness rise. At a slow pace, he lifted his gaze towards the woods ahead. From the shrouded darkness, two pairs of gleaming eyes reflected back at him, watching him with the intent to kill. Now he was the stag, and some other unknown predators were the hunters. With the abrupt circumstantial changes, his instinct to defend himself kicked in as he grabbed his cracked rock knife from the ground next to him.

From within the dense forest, a pack of wolves slowly emerged into the moonlit clearing, slowly advancing upon the vulnerable man. The first to reveal itself was a noticeably large black she-wolf, presumably the alpha. Following behind her emerged a rusty brown-colored young male. The wolf pair proceeded to slowly approach the man, baring their sharp, yellow teeth and snarling at their prey in order to intimidate the man into fleeing, thus commencing pursuit. However, the man held his position, brandishing his stone knife at the approaching canine duo. An instinctual sensation once more took effect as the man checked his flanks. Sure enough, he caught another pair of wolves - both light grey females -  attempting to ambush him.

"Stay back!" The man furiously yelled out as he taunted the flanking pair by motioning a jab towards the she-wolves, of which did not even flinch at the taunt attempt. 

Unexpectedly, the man felt a sharp, piercing pain in his left forearm, forcing him to shriek out in pain as he glanced over and noticed a white-colored male wolf clamping onto his forearm with its jaws, his own blood pooling around the wolf's gums as it proceeded to pressurize its grip on his forearm. Now fueled with adrenaline and the will to survive, the man struck the white wolf in the snout with the rock knife, the sharp tip of the blade piercing into the muzzle with each strike, causing blood to ooze down from the deep incisions left by his strikes. The white wolf let out pained whimpers upon impact of each strike, before releasing his arm from its jaws and recoiling back. Before he could inspect the injury inflicted onto his forearm, his attention shifted to the incoming wolf pair consisting of the black female alpha and the brown beta male, of which lunged at him with their jaws agape. Thinking quickly, the man used his state of adrenaline to roll out of the way of the oncoming assault, dodging both wolves, of which collided with each other as their surprise attack failed, causing both wolves to fumble into the forest floor. The hermit, still keeping his now badly-cracked, bloodstained stone blade firm in his grasp, was quick to get back onto his feet, pacing backwards away from the pack hierarchy. As the alpha and beta wolves recuperated from their impact with the forest floor, the black she-wolf let out multiple barks, communicating with her other pack members to circle their soon-to-be meal in order to initiate the kill sequence. The man's ears began to ring as he entered a trance. A trance composed of fear and hopelessness, but even then, the will to stay alive burnt like a raging wildfire within him. He could hear each of his heartbeats. This was his final stand. He knew it would end here, but he wouldn't go down without a fight.

Each pack member crept slowly around him, patiently waiting for the call from the alpha to deliver the final blow to their two-legged prey. Each wolf snapped and barked at different times, causing the man to shift direction in preparation of a sudden attack. The man gave out a sigh, coming to the realization that there was no hope left for him. Even if the wolves didn't finish him off, starvation would surely get to him, and that would be a slow and painful death. He figured that being torn apart by the wolves would be a quick and easy way out. In his hopelessness, the hermit raised his arms in praise, releasing the handcrafted stone knife from his grasp as he let himself fall to his knees.

"I am ready, my Lord!" He cried out. "I am ready!"

Now seeing that their bipedal victim had given up, the alpha wolf let out a ferocious bark, prompting her packmates to attack as she lunged forward with gaping jaws, saliva trailing from the sides of her gums as she charged towards the man.

The hermit closed his eyes, accepting his impending doom at the maws of the incoming hungry canines. He felt his entire body go completely numb as he awaited his certain death.

“Desino.”

A thunderous, yet imperative female voice - sounding much like that of a mother scolding her children - boomed like thunder from all around his proximity. The hermit thought that he was experiencing a lucid postmortem trance.

“No, no… I am deceased. This cannot be real…” The skeptical man said aloud, covering his face with his rough, leathery hands. Once more, his ears rang. The forest was eerily quiet, though he could hear the deep, raspy growls of the she-wolf in front of him. Slowly and cautiously, the man dragged his hands down his cheeks, opening his eyes to see the alpha she-wolf staring at him dead in his eyes, her ears slightly perked back as if she were nervous.

“Desino, statim!” The booming voice of a woman echoed once more. The alpha she-wolf lowered her stance in a submissive posture as she let out a few whimpers, backing away from the man. The hermit lifted his head, his eyes gaping and jaw hanging open in pure disbelief as he looked around the circumference of his vicinity. Each wolf was now backing away in cowardice, fearful of an unseen, yet imposing presence.

“Hello!?” The hermit called out into the woods. “Who’s there!? Show yourself!”

His shouts echoed throughout the forest, but there was no response. Only the dead silence of the forest.

“If that is what you wish, then it shall be so."

The womanly voice disrupted the silence, speaking now in a soothing tone. Despite her tone, the feral-looking man still felt his heart sinking like a rock in the water. He remained alert, scanning all around his position, prepared for any incoming attack.

The thick fog abruptly began to condense and swirl like a vortex on the leaf-blanketed ground in front of him, picking up some of the leaves as it spun and rose upwards like a tornado. The hermit kept his eyes locked on the alien occurrence, inspecting closely as the tornado-like swirling fog began to shape itself into a feminine humanoid figure.

As the bizarre sequence came to a finish, the fog, like a blanket, dropped down onto the forest floor like a blanket, revealing a gorgeous young woman with skin as pale as the winter landscape, and silver hair that shimmered like pristine metal. Her deep blue eyes sparkled like exquisite, flawless sapphires. She had a voluptuous physical structure, one that would catch the eye of any man, whether be wed or not. The mysterious woman adorned a revealing white gown that gleamed like the full moon. The hermit felt his fear completely wash away as the beautiful woman slowly approached him, fog trailing her bare feet as they crunched the dried, wilted leaves on the ground. He could hardly usher out any words as his jaw remained limp.

"Everything is alright. You have nothing to fear." The woman spoke in a motherly tone of voice.

"Wh-... what do you want with me?" The emaciated man finally responded.

"What do I want? No… what I desire…" The woman paused as she knelt down in front of the man, gently placing her hand on his rough, dirt-mottled cheek. "I can feel the pain you endure as you struggle to sustain yourself and your loved one. Your soul is shattered, and your willpower is fading. It pains me within my heart to see a poor soul such as yourself lose all sense of hope. That is why I have arrived to make all your burdens disappear."

"How can you provide me with such luxury?" He questioned the woman with a softened voice. Everything she had just said was far from falsehood. It had seemed that circumstances for him were no longer ideal, and that all hope for him was nonexistent. 

The strange, yet all-so kind woman gently pushed his cheek, facing his direction towards the wolf pack, of which were each bedded down on the forest floor, observing the two closely, showing no indicators of fear. They behaved as if they were domesticated dogs. "They are expert hunters. Masters of stealth, masters of ambush, and most of all, masters at making the kill. They strategize and coordinate plans in order to bring down even the largest of prey."

His attention was fixated on the alpha she-wolf, of which not too long ago had been prepared to claim his life within her jaws, now resting on the ground with her head in between her front legs, resembling a patient pup, waiting for food scraps. "What are you trying to say?" The hermit asked.

"I can provide you with the ability to hunt with such precision, speed, and strength unbeknownst to yourself. No longer shall you suffer from starvation and the frustration of failure in your hunts." She then placed her small finger and thumb on the man's chin, gently guiding his face back towards hers. His pupils slightly dilated as their eyes met, truly embracing the beauty of her jewel-like eyes.

"I shall provide you with the ability to shapeshift into a wolf, yet only under the influence of the full moon."

Once more, the man's heart sank. "You mean, like a loup-garou? One of the devil's hounds?"

The woman nodded. "Indeed, my child. You indeed wield the correct idea. Perhaps our minds - and are souls - are more connected than I believed…"

"But becoming a loup-garou would be deemed such heresy… a crime against God." The hermit stated softly once more, his gaze drooping back towards the forest floor. The woman let out a slight snicker, before sliding her hands behind his head and resting it against her bosoms. Her skin on his cheek felt smooth and relaxing, her breasts feeling like pillows of fine silk against his cheek.

"I'm afraid that your God is no longer in your favor, my child. On the contrary, I am." The woman whispered to him in her nurturing tone.

The man would remain silent as he once more was soothed by the woman. "Very well, then. I accept your offer."

"A wise decision." The woman stated as she lifted herself off the forest floor, sliding away from the embrace with the scrawny hermit. She would then raise her arm upwards towards the night sky, her hand sprawled as if she were a child awaiting to catch a raindrop. The man gazed up at the woman with curiosity as he noticed the fog around her travel towards her hand and once more swirling in a spiral formation within her palm. The mysterious woman of the woods then began to chant in the same foreign language that she had spoken in earlier.

"Cum lumen lunae, et penetrabilior ululate in lupos. Ego hoc providere anima ante me posse trabea, ut callidum animal. Ut suum venatur in aeternum crescite, stomachum suum nunquam inanem, et animam suam aeternae!"

The woman's booming voice sounded as if it were doubled, like a clone of her was speaking simultaneously. His eyes started to widen as the fog within her palm formed into an engraved stone bowl. Whatever substance within the bowl seemed to reflect moonlight back towards the moon, the connection of light remaining intact as she lowered the bowl in front of the hermit. He inspected the contents of the bowl, which consisted of a thick, metallic grey-blue creamy substance that had a strong aroma of rainwater.

"What is this?" The man asked.

"An ointment. Adorn it upon your skin and your salvation from all your struggles shall cease to be." The woman answered with a smile. 

The hesitant, yet desperate man paused for a bit, staring at his reflection upon the smooth surface of the salve within the bowl. He curled his lips back, releasing a sigh from his nostrils, before dipping his bony fingers into the bowl, collecting as much of the ointment as his hands could contain, before smearing it all over his face, arms, legs, and as much of his torso as he could get. The salve felt very chilled upon the surface of his rough skin, as if his skin were frosting up, though he could feel some other sensation creeping into his skin. Not a physical sensation, but one of instinct and emotions. The instinct to hunt. The desire to kill. Bestial instincts overtaking his mind, fueling his willpower. In the distance, he noticed as each member of the wolf pack lifted their heads individually, their ears perked up in curiosity as they also closely inspected the transpiring of events.

"Do you feel it? The predatory urges, the call of the wild. The call of the blood?"

"Yes… it calls me. The wilds call me. I must hunt. My hunger is too great!" The hermit exclaimed as he sprung up from the forest floor, curling his fingers as he felt a flood of predatory desires overcome him.

"Then go on. Hunt, sustain that hunger, and forever be free of starvation!" The woman of the woods exclaimed, before disappearing into the fog, which began to subside back into the woods.

The hermit, now puzzled, observed his darkened surroundings. The sensation of the need to hunt had suddenly dissipated. As if the ordeal with the ominous woman had never happened. He shifted his focus to the wolf pack, of which were still laying on the ground with curiosity. Why were they not attempting to attack him? Why were they just sitting there as if the events that had just transpired never happened? How come he felt no different than before the encounter with the woman of the woods?

He then noticed a severe itch in his throat that had appeared without trace like a thief in the night. The hermit then began to cough violently, his throat quaking and chest aching with each cough. Any second, he felt like one of his coughs would force up what little resided within his stomach, or that he would cough up blood. His coughing fit proceeded until once more, he was back tk his hands and knees. All of a sudden, there was a sharp pain in his head, as if his head were being smashed repeatedly against the sharp edge of a rock. He let out a pained groan, gripping his face with his hands as he proceeded his coughing, of which was now combined with an extremely agonizing and pounding headache. It was only then did he realize that the starting symptoms were just the beginning of what was about to happen to his body. The moonlight illuminated upon him once more, catching his attention as his gaze slowly turned towards the moon, of which stared down at him in the sense that it was anticipating what was about to happen. And the hermit knew it, too, as his bestial, carnivorous desires once more rushed back into his thoughts.

"Hunt… kill… must hunt. Must kill!" He grumbled audibly with a sense of aggression.

Out of absolutely nowhere, there was a piercing pain in both of his hands and feet, as if they were being punctured by thousands of red hot iron spikes. The man released an agonized shriek while he observed his hands and feet, which were beginning to stretch and extend. As if it couldn't get bad enough, he could feel as the same pain slowly traveled up his arms and legs. Going hand-in-hand with the pain, his skin had started to dullen, greying in coloration where the pain followed, his skin tone shifting from a pale tan to a dark grey/ He grumbled, clenching his teeth as spittle and mucus spewed from his face as he tried his best to muffle any screams. Unfortunately, he could only tolerate so much for such a period of time, and thus released the need to scream as the pain progressively worsened. As he gripped his forehead, his fingernails gave off a sharp, prickly pain. As he jolted his hands forward to observe his hands, he noticed that his fingernails had elongated, thickened, and blackened into sharp, wolf-like claws. As if the pain couldn’t get any worse… it did. The hermit ushered out a slow, pained scream once more as his entire body felt as if it were being stretched apart by a sawmill. He heard his bones audibly crack and his muscles rip and stretch as his entire body had begun to reshape itself. The leather quiver affixed around his shoulders had torn apart, the strap snapping as his shoulders shifted and bulked. He grumbled and grunted as the top half of his body fell forward towards the ground, to which he caught himself with his now-elongated, grey hands. Tears, mucus, and spit streamed down his face like small waterfalls as he inspected his arms, which were now almost completely covered with dark grey fur-like hair. As his legs started to bend, break, and reform, the man winced and sobbed as he crawled towards a nearby puddle of rainwater. He observed his reflection within the puddle, see that his irises had dilated, and were now a shade of amber that glowed brightly within the darkness, as opposed to his normal shade of light brown eyes. Not only that, but to follow his face had extended outwards, having stretched forward. His teeth were now sharper, and looked much like that of a wolf’s. His frayed, black hair had grown and draped around his neck like the mane of a lion. Upon seeing his hideous, monstrous features, he opened his mouth and released a deepened-toned scream of shock and fear, before turning his attention to the sky, spewing curses towards the mysterious lady of the woods in an unnaturally deep tone of voice, while he slowly felt his humanity slip away.

“You… damned… WITCH!"

The woods fell silent once more, as if absolutely nothing had happened. It was at peace once more. And then there was a howl. A deep, chiming howl that pierced through the night and echoed throughout the sky.