I did not know how long I had been cast from the realms of the waking, in fact, I could not decipher whether I was alive or dead. The air around me was thick and warm, but for some reason, my first breath came easy. The sound of hammers and hard labor came to fill my ears. The ballad of high pitched noises caused my head to thrum in pain. At last, my eyes came to open, that is when I saw them. The Katima were at work, building cages of iron and weapons I had never come to witness. They were formed into two factions, the Venamori and the Venora. Each stood unique in their own ways, the Venamori stood tall and muscular. They had once been men of war, berserkers, and marauders. Some joined the fight willingly while others had been claimed in the same fashion as I. Most of them stood over seven feet tall, their fur colored in the ash like hues of timber and coal. Tribal markings adorned them in cerulean stripes that ran from their black noses to the tips of their pointed ears. Venamori were the mighty warriors of the pack. The Venora however, were shorter and more agile in their abilities. The typical height of a Venora was five foot nine, they too held the same markings as their cousin's, but the tattoos sat in a dark hue of cerise. The power they came to possess was utilized in tracking and capturing the Vean'ta.
The two breeds of lycans stood in the likeness of wolves but walked as if human. Defined abdomen's beamed through the tan colored fur that claimed their chests and stomachs. The body of the men they once were, was the only indication of their forgotten heritage. Many dialects came to be shared in the camp, after all, they had all come from various parts of our world. While Aka'gan, the mother tongue of the Taiklo natives was common, Drathellian had become the primary language among them. Our creators had seen to that.
Leather was the main type of clothing they wore. Unlike before their creation, both the Venamori and the Venora clothed themselves in pants. There was little need for armor or boots in their condition, their evolution had provided them with more than enough protection against the elements of nature. I sat up and pressed my hands into the soft soil beneath me. It was then that I realized I no longer held a claim to the simplicity of humanism. Instead, I had awoken as a Venora. My fingers had come to elongate, claws sat at each end of my digits, which were encased in black fur. The sight shocked me. I thought back to the night my life had been taken and wondered where the beast who transformed me could be.
I was left alone, ignorant to the ways of those I now claimed kinship too. I was frightened, hungry and most of all, I had a searing pain running through every fiber of my being. My muscles felt as if they had been set on fire. My skin, now hidden beneath the thick and coarse fur I had grown, felt dry and irritated. I forced myself to stand. The first step was painful and off balance. It was as if I had to learn to walk all over again. I stumbled and fell back into the dirt in frustration. I took a few moments to study my feet. They were gone, replaced by the paws of a wolf. I had developed metatarsals, they were long and strong and led into paws equipped with deadly weapons. The more I came to study my new form, the more I realized how inhuman I had become.
I stood again, this time with the help of a male who had at last recognized my presence. His grip was tight and demanding as he pulled me up onto my feet. I assumed he was the highest in rank among us. His chest held up a necklace of bone and feathers, his wrists and ankles bore jewelry made in similarity to what was around his neck. Out of the others, I had come to witness, he was the tallest and most menacing. His muzzle was ridden with scars, his ears tall and sleek atop his large and streamline profile. Red horns sprang from his skull and wrapped around his ears until they shot forward before his line of vision. A Trivuchion Red Horn had been his creator.
His hand moved to my shoulder as he attempted to aid me. My legs still felt as weak as a newborn colt, my footing unsure, as he pushed me forward. Into the pack we went, some turned to gawk at me while others carried about their duties. I was nothing special, most viewed me as just another child to look after. The alpha male led me to a holding area, that was when I encountered my first Vean'ta. The creature was hideous, its skin was wrinkled and burned into an ebony state. I could see the resemblance of the human it once stood but only in the males face. His eyes were deep set leaving his gaze to be hollow and fog like. The eyes of the beast were stained a pale red, an indication that he had not fed and was near his end. His arms had been reformed into wings, the thin and gray leather stretched from his wrist to the middle of his torso. Small silver horns sprouted from both his temples, while a thin and almost rat-like tail came to grow from the end of his spine.
For a moment, I felt sorry for the Vean'ta until I remembered what had happened to me. The alpha pointed his spear toward the smooth crotch of the vampire. I took a moment to study it, his manhood, all of it, had been cut off leaving nothing more than an oblong scar that was slightly lighter in complexion than the rest of him. I looked down to admire my own nudity, my sexual organs had been left intact, for that, I gave a silent prayer of thanks.
The demons of Drathell did not know what would happen if their creations came to breed. They did not wish that power taken away from them. It was a window of opportunity to be turned on, they had learned their lesson well in the case of Reanon. I felt the warm caress of sunlight begin to climb up my fur. The others of our tribe stopped what they were doing, and turned to face the cage. The vampire became unsettled and rammed against the bars of his iron prison. His tar-like blood came to spray onto the dirt, as the barbs within the holding pen came to impale him. He screeched in pain, his fangs coming to bare at us all in a vengeful show of aggression.
The sunrise rolled over the hills in a slow and comforting display of light. To the tribe of Varon'tae, it was the dawn of a new day, a time of hunting and growth. To their captive, however, it was the sign of death looming in silent moments. His ending was near, and his brethren and masters had left him alone to die. I gave thanks that I had been chosen by what seemed at the time, the stronger of two warring races.
The golden gleam of the morning came to cascade into the sunken hills of the canyon. It slithered forward, consuming the shadows of night that had once hidden the camp. It crept slowly into the cage, and with its warmth, the torture began. The prisoner stepped onto the light of day as he struggled to gain freedom. To his kind, sunlight was fire and death. It consumed him, enveloping his body in a raging inferno of justice. It screamed, and spread its wings to no avail, in the end, the fires turned his flesh and bone into ash in a matter of moments.
I watched the spectacle as the many forces surrounding us began to bay in pride. Was this what I was to become, a hunter of lesser creatures? To me, they seemed defenseless, until I gazed at the male who had led me to the cell. I wondered if his scars had been gifted by the kind he had just condemned to death, or those he called brothers.
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