Arman's Story

The beast was making his way towards the warehouse. He could tell that Cass was wearing thin. Within a few weeks, he would have them. He would have them all.

He would have them fulfill his dream. Fresh minds were ripe for illuminating, and his plan was already set in motion. The she-bitch couldn’t keep him away all the time. She was busy reaping supplies. He was better at reaping supplies. Whilst she was away he’d often take the time to share his stories, spread his word: the time of the werewolves has come. Still, his audience was too small. But that could be fixed.

What moved through the ruins of The Phantom Quarter was enough to send a shiver down most people’s spines. A seven foot beast which was mostly furless prowled with ease, sometimes shifting onto all fours to climb effortlessly through hollowed buildings or jump from crumbling wall to rotted house in a clicking of claws. A thick bristle of fur ran from the creature’s head right down into the small of its back, a werewolf dorsal stripe. The hair was black which blended with shadows at it moved through this derelict course. It wasn’t so much the sheer size or horror of the wolfish features which blended so unsettlingly with some human ones which made hearts stutter in terror. Above that long snout which was adorned with a set of slightly decaying, but still sharp teeth, and below those gnarled ears which pointed up either side of the bristle… were a set of yellow eyes which seemed to be designed to conjure screams from anyone who met their gaze.

Half-way through his journey Arman saw something in the mess below his vantage point of a ruined, open-sided building. He crept closer to the edge where brickwork was crumbling and adding to the jumble below. If he hadn’t already saw this figure, he’d have definitely heard it as it started rifling through some trash and making one hell of a noise which was only made louder through his heightened hearing.

He watched for a while, not noticing that he was licking his muzzle with a long, hungry tongue.
She looked tasty.
But of course, he didn’t eat people.
He hadn’t eaten anyone in a while.
No… he just enlightened them.

A low growl rumbled from his chest when he decided that he couldn’t wait any longer, the craze threatened to take over if he didn’t act now, whilst he was still able to hold back some. Arman knew what could happen if he let himself grow too excited for blood: too much blood.

He didn’t need to judge the distance. He just leapt, those insanely muscular legs sending him shooting through the bad air towards the helpless woman.

In a whirl of claws, teeth and manic eyes, Arman the werewolf crashed into her.

Of course, the woman wasn't paying any attention to the surrounding area, or else she probably would have felt the neck hairs rise. She thought it was just a sign that she was getting closer to the treasure. In fact she thought she saw something very shiny in the grime and had tried to dig it out further.

It was only after he had leapt into the air towards her, did she notice movement. She gasped and looked up, straight into the beast's yellow eyes. Those eyes seemed to sear a hole into her very soul and freeze her to that spot. Time seemed to slow down, but she couldn't move. Hell, she couldn't even scream, as it seemed it was stuck in her throat. The fearsome creature had frozen her solid with fear.

She was just barely able to get her arms out in front of her to try to protect herself. He came down on the tiny woman hard, knocking the wind out of her as she hit the ground. Gasping for breath, too much in shock to understand any injuries or pain at that moment, she flailed trying to get from underneath the beast.

The arc that he’d travelled sent him down to the ground with quite a force. His own bones had jarred and probably fractured with his landing, so he couldn’t imagine what had happened to this woman, cursed by her fragility.

Even his scrambling to get into a good position was full of power and grace. He was on her in all of the confusion. His hands, which were mutated - claws, huge and strong - grabbed a hold of the top of her arms and pinned her down. No escaping. Arman executed the action violently, and in the rush, as her arms collided with the rubble which she lay on, he’d brought his face right down to hers. That wet nose touched the tip of the woman's, his breath escaped between those corroded teeth, fanning her with his vile, stale exhalation.

What came next emerged from his chest. It sounded like a chuckle. A distorted laugh, frightening; a humorous rumble.

May as well allow himself a little fun.
Slowly, he began to dig those claws of his into the flesh of the struggling woman’s arms, his actions accompanied by that disturbing noise he was making.

Her heart throbbed in a quickened pace in her ears and she began to tremble in his grasp. She was pretty sure at least one arm was broken now, as it pained her as held it to pin her down. She couldn't look away from those burning yellow eyes, tears falling from her own honey brown hues as they burned from the disgusting heat of his breath.

She was afraid. She couldn't recall a time she was in fear of her life. She had always been able to take care of herself. But not against this beast.

She finally found her voice but couldn't seem to get it above a whisper. "P-please... "L-let me go.." She pleaded with him, her accent thick and hard to understand with her trembling.

As his claws sank into her flesh, she struggled harder to get away from the discomfort, but it most likely caused more harm than good, causing him to rip her skin. She choked out a loud sobbing scream in her fear, her pain and frustration. Today was suppose to be the day she found something to make her not poor, not be eaten!

Jesse was kneeling on the floor of a decrepit building examining a cut on a young girls arm while she sat in her father's lap. The cut was festering and the skin around it was inflamed and red with infection.

He wasn't licensed as a doctor anymore, but that had done little to dissuade him from his chosen profession. The people out here in the Phantom Quarter hadn't the money to go to a hospital, or even a family doctor, and they were grateful of the help he offered. Not a one had any thoughts of turning him in to the police for practicing unlicensed.

He finished with disinfecting and cleaning out the wound and dressed it in clean bandages before ruffling her hair.

"There see? That wasn't so bad," he told her. "Go on, I need to talk to your father."

She hopped down from the fathers lap, gave Jesse a hug around his waist and ran off. She had an energy about her that children often have, and a light in her eyes that even squalor couldn't diminish. Children where resilient though, and had a way of finding joy even under such conditions as these slums.

"I'm going to leave you some stuff to dress the wound yourself, but she needs antibiotics. I'll see if I can get my hands on some, and bring them by next time," he told the father.

"Thank you, it means a lot to us," the man said as he stood up and offered Jesse a hand.

Jesse took the offered hand and after some idle small talk and instructions on how to keep the wound cleaned, Jesse was on his way.

---

Jesse was nearing the outskirts of the Phantom Quarter when he heard the scream, and it gave him a start. It wasn't in the direction he was headed, and he could just keep walking. People get mugged, raped and murdered out here all the time and he was well aware of it. Many of his patients where victims of the violence spurred by desperation.

He hadn't a gun with him, a knife, or any means of weaponry. It wasn't who he was. But neither was walking away from someone who was hurt.

With his mind made up he moved quickly, stripping his clothes and leaving them with his bag behind a dumpster where they hopefully wouldn't be stolen.

He doubled over then and his hand grabbed the side of the dumpster as if he might be ill as fur sprouted along the length of his arm. Once the transformation was complete, Jesse shook himself off and headed towards the source of the scream at a swift run.

He wasn't a particularly large wolf, and in fact could easily have been mistaken as an ordinary wild wolf or large dog.

The animalistic chuckling stopped when he noticed she was crying, but he did not loosen his grip.

She didn’t understand that he was helping her. She could help seize their time, rule their time, make their time last forever. Their spell was approaching, and he was doing her the kindness of involving her in their rise.

As she began to whimper he let out a booming roar to drown out her pathetic, hushed pleads. The sound carried far. But that didn’t matter, his job would be over soon, and then he’d be off before they stumbled upon this woman. And he hoped that they did. She needed to survive.

Her wriggling and writhing was growing more frantic so he called play time over. Arman snuffled his muzzle down to stop at the bend of her neck, leading into the straight plane of her shoulder, breathing in her scent as he did so. The wetness of his nose left a trail which chilled in the breeze as he prepared to strike.
His jaw opened. His terrible head jerked. His jaw closed.

Blood gushed into his mouth as he chomped into the soft flesh. His teeth caught her collar bone, digging into her neck and shoulder, cutting painfully through skin and muscle until he was certain he’d define it as a good bite.

Then he drew away – with some difficulty – and left the woman in her world of pain as he shot off into the night. A dark dart against an even darker backdrop.

He didn’t quite understand why people were so against his scheme. Some died. But an equal amount rose as something more, something better, something heavenly… Looking up as he fled the scene, Arman took in the moon and the stars, the witnesses to his sincerity. His powerful limbs took him away from the crime he had committed in good faith. The night rushed with him and he was engulfed by a sense of greater duty.

If only they could all feel like this.

She continued to sob even as his chuckling stopped. She thought maybe, just maybe she had finally won over the human side of this beast.

Until the booming roar that deafened her.

Her trembling became more violent as he bent closer to her neck and she tried to stop herself from crying out. Perhaps that was what was upsetting him? Soft whimpers came unbidden though, as she was not able to stop the sound now that she wanted to be silent. But that did not stop the werewolf's mission, it seemed.

Pain. Blinding pain shot stars in her eyes and she felt the guttural cry of agony wrench from her throat as Arman ripped through her flesh like a fresh butcher's knife. Eternity passed, but even as he let her go, the pain did not recede. Darkness surrounded the edges of her vision as she laid limp in the trash heap.

'I don't want to die..' She thought to herself. "H-help.." She choked out in a whimper.

Jesse caught a glimpse of Arman, but only just barely as he took off into the night, and his first impulse was to give chase, but the choked whimper of the woman drew him back. He hesitated as he looked in the direction that Arman had gone, and then back to the woman. Identifying her attacker would be a step in preventing this from happening to others, but likely at the cost of this one's life.

He mentally cursed himself as he wheeled back towards Re'Altarm.

Given the circumstances, the last thing she probably wanted to see was the face of a wolf pressed up against her own, but that's exactly what she got. Jesse sniffed at the wound with a low whine.

The bite was deep.

After laying low for a few days, Arman decided that it was safe to resurface. The Phantom Quarter was known for its shady happenings, and ‘random’ werewolf attacks had been occurring for years, he wasn’t expecting any surprises. It was mostly overlooked as a place for the damned and worthless. Who cared? Perhaps the authorities would change their mind if they were to catch on that it was mainly one hunter behind the attacks…

He was making for the warehouse. He’d missed Cass. He’d been on his way to finish her off that night he’d attacked the scavenging woman. He was sure she’d have crumpled since their last fight had only been the day before. But now, she’d had time to heal up some and so total victory this night seemed unlikely. If only the others saw things his way, if only they would see the truth in his words, if only they would support him instead of the useless, misguided woman who knew next to nothing about real werewolves. They had a werecat, for fuck’s sake. What a state that scraggly band was. And Arman knew that he could fix them.

His human form was nowhere near as daunting as his wolf one. He was on the short side, 5’8”, but heavy built. And dirty, unshaven and unkempt. He was wearing little more than rags. His hardened bare feet carried him through the dirt, weaving through ruins, jumping low piles of rubble and finding paths when they could.

The padding of light footfalls on the rooftop above Arman would likely be the first that he knew of Seri's presence. It was likely that if the raggedly dressed werecat had wanted to remain undetected he could have, but he seemed to be making no effort to hide himself. The yellow-eyed boy peered down at the heavier-set man with a grin. "What do we have heeeere then?" he purred mockingly, "Looks to me like someone's been a bad, bad dog again, haven't they?"

Seri hopped from the rooftop to the fire escape below nimbly, balancing precariously upon a guard-rail with seemingly no trouble at all. "Can't contain yourself for a few measly days? Tut tut. Anyone might think the puppy was rabid. Is that it, Arman? Are you foaming at the mouth like a dumb animal, a slaaave to your instincts?"

"Hello Kitten"

As much as he wanted to despise the odd little creature, he really didn't. Seri was an unusual thing -a freak. That's why he belonged. Sharp of tongue, claws and teeth; there was no use in getting stirred up and striking out at his wind up games. Not if you didn't want to make a fool of yourself. Arman had learnt so. Besides, he was weirdly charming; in a way that made you want to tie him up in a bag and dump him in a trash can.

Despite being rash and often brutal, Arman was not hateful, not towards pack members, and neither was he that easily angered. There might have been some malice to Seri's words and his regard for Arman. But the werewolf took it all as friendly jibes, as he usually did when he was met with hostility within the pack. He remained happily in his sphere of social ineptness.

He gave the werecat only one glance before fixing his eyes forwards and on his way.

"Big bad dog? Sure you got a word wrong there.
I'll have you know I have a good hold on my instincts. If I didn't... don't you know what dogs do to cats?"

Letting that hang for a while, he then let out a small, barking laugh. It was lost of humour.

"Did she survive?" He asked, interested as he strolled trying not to be put off by the feline manner in which Seri moved. It made him a little uncomfortable. Arman assumed Seri knew what had come of the attack, since he knew about it in the first place.

Seri nodded his head absent-mindedly, as though he hadn't really thought about it. "Found by one of Baron's wolves, taken away to a hospital. Lucky girl. Not so lucky for us, though. Baron won't be happy... won't like humans getting attacked on his doorstep, I'll bet. He's got a fondness for them, can't imagine why. Nasty hateful things that they are."

He stretched out on his perch, yawning, before stalking after Arman along the railing. "If you don't start being more careful, one of these days somebody's going to come to put the rabid wolf down." he said, voice laced with snide disapproval. "Church, Ardelean, Baron... doesn't matter. We're gonna get caught in the crossfire." The werecat slipped from the fire escape onto the top of a half-ruined wall, bare feet padding across the brick.

"Lucky girl. That's good. Really good. I'm glad." In support of this, he smiled in a nastily toothy way.

"Hm" he continued, scratching the tangle that was his dirty beard in a worried way at the mention of Baron. "Not so lucky. Don't worry your strange self, nothing'll happen to the pack. I'll make sure of it. And especially not you. I've never met anyone better to wriggle out of things. I have everything under control. Everything will be ready-" he cut off, a menace eclipsed the previously buoyant glaze.

"Maybe it's time to expand our territory, Kitten..."
In fact, he had a few things in mind that Baron would like even less.

They were heading towards a row of ruined houses, their insides gutted, making a good, covered pathway. The warehouse was located at the other end. As Arman passed beneath the first roof from a gaping hole in the side of the house, he started to hum, which lightened him up some. The sound would ricochet, an eerie echo ensued which matched the scene of rot perfectly. There were signs of recent life lined along the walls, mouldy blankets, cheap wine bottles; the smell of urine was particularly potent.

"So, have you all missed me? I'm certain Cass has." He was only half joking. Arman was under the illusion that quite a lot of the pack members actually liked him, rather than that they were too scared to be outwardly belligerent.

"There's murmurs in the pack that you go too far, you know. I'm sure you hear them, you have good ears, yes?" Seri murmured, shaking his head. "Expand our territory... and then what, hmm?" he hissed in a breath through his teeth. "Then we're out from under the feet of the bastards who tread on us? For a whiiiile, at least. But then? Then the boot would come down harder. Splat. Bye bye, us."

The warehouse was fast approaching at the end of the street. Seri deftly ascended the side of the building, still looking down at Arman below. "There's a reason you haven't already taken charge, rabid wolf. Cass keeps us safe. You put us in danger. Not everyone's as... ambitious as you. Keep that in mind." he purred, before slipping inside through a hole in the roof, choosing not to take the door with Arman.

A black sedan rolled by ever so slowly. It paused briefly outside of the warehouse before moving on. Most of the street lights here didn't work so the only light on the road had come from the car. It was not often that a vehicle came down this way.

Almost immediately behind the sedan was a truck. The occupants of the truck seemed to pay no heed to the Sedan, though, as it too crept by the warehouse.

"This place gives me the creeps." Cally said as she turned to Arren, while he was driving.

"Yeah, stinks like shit too." He commented, pointing the spotlight up at the dilapidated buildings. "I don't know if this place will even be worth the investment... I'll pull up here and we can get some photographs of the place.."

Headlights sent forbidding shadows stretching through the warehouse. Through the badly patched up walls, light spilled in, slicing past rafters and rubbish to make clumsy, constantly shifting patterns across the floor. Even Arman, who had just barged in with an over-enthusiastic “I’m home” – met with a very unenthusiastic response – had hushed and froze.

He watched the pack as the cars came and went, how they sheepishly shrank into shadows, some even ducking out whilst the youngest held their breaths, terrified. Cass had moved to peer through a hole in the ruins, after giving Arman a cold glare. Her eyes had roamed from his head to his toes, noting that he had nothing useful on him; no food, no clothes, no medicine. He was here to start a fight.

When the cars had moved off, silence reigned for another few minutes.

Cass was tired. Tired of this.
The newest attack was a worry for them all. Arman’s latest victim had been found by a member of the Bloodstone pack, a prestigious, organised urban pack from Vargeras. It wouldn’t go unseen to. And as far as Cass was concerned, that was the last straw. This insane, reckless werewolf had been causing them far too much trouble. But this, this was the epitome of his thoughtlessness. Sometimes, he’d bring the bitten straight to her, unless for some reason he was compromised. But now, with the warehouse becoming overcrowded and Cass’s patience teetering, lately he’d simply been leaving them to their fate. She thought she understood his motives at their very basis but Arman was still a mystery to her. He needed to go. Yet, how? It unsettled her when she caught herself idly plotting his murder. However, options were few. He was strong, so much so that Cass could never keep him away for more than a few days, even when some of the older members of the pack would provide backup. And she was not about to risk the safety of the youngsters.

The silence was broke by a heave and a splatter of vomit on concrete as Michel, a pack member in his teens, was violently sick. The boy’s looting earlier in the day had rewarded him with a bottle of fancy liquor which he had taken the liberty of drinking all by himself. Cass had found it hard to muster up some sympathy as she’d spent the last two hours dealing with him as he rambled and threw up.

Arman, still stood near the entrance, acted as though it hadn’t even happened.
“We should go after them” he said, sounding important. “Whoever it was isn’t aware that they’re in our territory now.”

Cass snorted. Territory.

Seri watched the cars go by from his perch up on a stack of rusted shipping crates, above which was the hole in the roof he had entered by. The werecat grimaced, waiting until they had passed before descending nimbly, dropping from one crate to the next before landing finally atop the crate at the bottom. “Go after them?” Seri rolled his eyes, “To what, punish them for trespassing? Tsk.” He seated himself with his legs hanging over the edge of his perch and stretched out lazily. “Sounds like a lot of effort just to make a point. You don’t see the otherrr packs getting all worked up over people passing through their territory.” He purred, shaking his head.

He wrinkled his nose and spared Michel a derisive glance, “You smell like a brewery, Michel. A brewery full of hobos. It’s repulsive.”

Finally, Seri turned his attention to Cass. He unhooked a small bag from his hip and tossed it across the warehouse to her. Inside was a bundle of pill-boxes, bottles of medicine, a roll of bandages and – interestingly enough, some contact lenses. It was exactly what you might have expected to find in an average person’s medicine cabinet – likely because Seri had simply swept his arm across the shelf without paying attention to what he was taking. Thankfully, all of it was labelled. “I ... found this, while I was out.” He remarked with a coy grin.

Nobody wanted to cross an enraged werewolf. Especially not an enraged Arman.
His anger was disconcerting. Outwardly, he seemed calm, collected, there was a look of concentration on his features as he moved across the rooftops of Vargeras, searching for an opportunity. His run-in with Cass had only confirmed that she was incapable of running a werewolf pack. Werewolves. That was what they were. She didn’t understand that.

But he was over his initial irritation, his stalking through the night had cleared his head some and he was able to calculate his next move.

It was time to step this up a notch. He’d been working on his plan for years now with no real results. He scolded himself for his nervousness in involving other packs, enlightening them, because he was scared; scared of being stopped before everything was neatly put in motion, and more recently, scared of losing the pack to them before he was able to take control. But he thought that time was close now. It was time to widen his audience.
They would hear him.

He’d began his journey in human form, but shifted into his wolf one as he began to travel via the rooftops. Stunted Vargeras lay before him. So many werewolves, and yet, so many pathetic humans.

Arman had passed into a reasonably pleasant part of town. Still, nothing like the grand structures of Luskonios. He recognised this; but compared to how he lived, the homes here would probably be perceived as palaces by those back at the warehouse.

He found what he was looking for with a sharp scent upon the light breeze, followed by an agitated sigh and some words which his heightened hearing picked up from down below. Someone was outside. Arman’s form loomed atop a house, he’d been stalking along the centre of the width of the particular row, but now he had crept to the edge to take a look at his victim. The moonlight etched his silhouette as he crouched, claws clutching onto the guttering as he peered out, sizing up the figure which was wandering the street with his dog.

A dog. His oncoming would probably be noticed by the animal. But no matter. It'd still be too late.

Arman had dropped into an alleyway between houses stealthily and started for the main street, his bulk barely fitting between the two houses which towered up either side of him but still didn’t quite manage to dwarf him.

He emerged not ten feet from the roaming boy and his dog. His particularly unpleasant, wolfish smile was illuminated by the half-hearted haze of the streetlight whose path he’d just willingly stepped into to face down his prey who he towered above in his brutal bipedal form. And those eyes, those yellow eyes...

With a growl, he leapt.

The dog sensed the presence of the danger before the boy did, and he started straining on his leash as he paced back and forth restlessly. He whined and barked, pulling against the leash as Ivon tried to get him back under control.

"Gus, what has gotten into you?" he asked.

He saw it then. Yellow eyes.

Gus's ears dropped and he whined plaintively, and as Ivon dropped the leash in surprise Gus turned tail and ran down the street for home. Ivon though couldn't tear his eyes from those of the wolf. Its muscles tensed as it coiled to pounce and the boys instincts took hold as he turned to run after Gus.

His footsteps pounded against pavement and his heart lurched into his chest. Terror filled him, and he could feel its icy fingers grip his heart within their grasp.

"Hey, man, Arman. You gotta stop soundin' so fuckin' serious 'n creepy shit. Like a fuckin' old guy from the dark ages. We're in a shit hole but we've got light bulbs, y'know, pal? Just... lighten up or somethin'."

Walking past Arman was the tall, and hardly intimidating Hubert. Chubby and never without a grin, most didn't take the man seriously. He wore plaid shirts and washed out jeans nearly every day if he wasn't working at the restaurant. He liked to laugh. He liked to joke. Acted like nothing was ever meant to be grim and dark. Trying to be the one big joke in a city filled with drags.

Between the fingers of one hand was a sprite and water, in the other, a box of crackers. He boxed Michael over the head with the crackers and chuckled. "Hit the bottle like a champ, yeah? Hahaha! When you're done blowin' yer shit outta your mouth I got somethin' for you to eat. If you don't lose your stomach somewhere there. Yeuch."

He nodded up to Seri and Cass, giving them both a phony salute with the bottles. "'ello, 'ello. Whassat you got? Done stole'd some goods?"

Arman watched as the child raced off. It wouldn't be much of a race.

He was on him in a mere few strides, his powerful forearms slamming into his shoulders to knock him to the ground. There was less time for play in the streets. And so Arman set to work immediately. There was no frenzy to his actions as there sometimes could be, when he roughly tossed the boy's body over, he restrained quite a bit when digging his teeth into his neck. Humans were fragile things, children even more so. But they were even more so malleable.

He retracted, his teeth were now stained by blood. Starting to set himself upright, he swept the area, he wasn't used to the risk which this attack presented and as he perched above the body of his victim, here, his position so very vulnerable, Arman was able to feel some regret.

Too soon. Too rash.
But he was confident that this would produce the desired effect. It had to be done.

Ivon's breath went out of him as the werebeast slammed into him, and he went down hard. The asphalt dug into his skin, shredding and bloodying his palms and knees. He screamed them, feeling the weight of it on his back. He tried to find it off with his hands when it rolled him over, but it did little to stop it from its chosen course of action.

Fangs tore into his shoulder and neck, missing vital arteries by scant centimeters, and he screamed until he hadn't the breath to scream anymore.

His vision swam and his screams turned to a mewling whimper as his head rolled to the side and the boy lost consciousness.

Meanwhile up and down the street lights where turning on. The boys shouts had drawn the attention of the neighborhood residents.

The crack of a gunshot split the air as Arman stood over the unconscious form of the child - its source an elderly man standing upon his porch with a rifle in hand as he lined up for a second shot.

He was right to have been wary.
The inevitable scream brought out an unlikely would-be-saviour. Arman had been momentarily worried over the boy's quick loss of consciousness, but the gunshot brought him out of that stupor.

And straight into one of pain.

A bullet had found its way through his shoulder, inducing a rage-filled roar from Arman which then descended into a low howl. If the neighbourhood hadn't been woken up by the shot, then that would have done it.

It took him only a few seconds of scrambling to gather himself and split off down the street on all fours, surely to be seen by many, and off towards his repulsive hideout.