CHPT 549: Reborn and Readjusted

Tuesday Morning, March 30th, 2241. Location, Alphas Tower…..

No, Claude's Tower.

Their previous leader, only known as his position over them, Alpha, was no more. No more than a half baked Skeletal corpse in the shadows of the upper floor. In the shadow of their new Alphas sleeping frame.

He stood. The whole afternoon and night. Muscles still flexed. Transformation held strong even under the sun. Hounds on guard.

And as the Towers new Alpha, he set the precedent. So, everyone was sleeping. Kneeling, holding strong in unison with him. He must've known how calming it was to be under order once more. To be put to work and given purpose even in sleep.

Don hadn't slept so good in ages. Even as beads of sweat rolled down his back and his left knee and right fist burned against the floor. It was wonderful.

Dreams as vivid as reality swallowed him. Color— more vibrant than a rainbow marred his eyes. Smell so varied it left him in a euphoric mental state of exhaustion. Sounds beyond simple metallic clanging and ocean war.

To think he was simply walking up a mountain….

That's how long he'd been in the Tower. So long something as mundane and commonly occurring as a mountain wowed him to no end. The sky traveled so far. It wasn't contained in steel walls. Drowned in heat. There wasn't a Silver Cursed for as far as his Wolven eyes could see. Just, land and sky….. forever. Unknown. Forever…

His heart skipped a beat as he traveled. His breaths shortened. His short legs trembled.

In all the beauty there was a genuine horror. Where did it end? Who was near?

Don's gleeful jog became a wary sprint. He pushed his limbs, climbed rocks, digging his claws deep into boulders taller than tower walls until he tripped and fell down a cliff side, getting swallowed up in a waterfall felt as painful as it was refreshing. The downward pressure ripped open the skin on his back and shattered his leg, twisting it around the knee a dozen times.

He screamed beneath the waves knowing that even when the water stilled he was done for. WereWolves weren't good swimmers. Even in his human form of a boy no older than ten, his muscle and bone was twice as dense as his human counterpart.

Even so he reached out for walls. Rocky slopes and river edges until he found purchase in the form of a steel rod. Its cold perfect sleekness calmed him as he pulled.

Solid ground met him and his coughing face harshly.

The sound of the rushing river rattled his ears. But beneath it he could hear a heavy metal banging.

It reminded him of the Tower.

Just like the steel weaponry sticking out of the ground bordering the river.

Unlike the massive stone hall at the apex of the waterfall. At the top of the mountain even. Buildings and spires infected the natural shape but somehow blended well. Like the top— the focal point of the mountains was those buildings. Glowing figures stood at its edges watching. Lightning split the clouds and illuminated the shadowy corridors.

He picked up a sword and headed east of the river. His inner wolf needed forestry just as he needed steel. As he ran he urinated on instinct, marking the grounds as his to stop the figures from following. To let them know what was inside.

Miles separated him from the mountainous fortress of figures and left him entering a cave. A cave where the smell of fire and the clang of metal was deafening. Comforting.

He delved deeper. He touched the walls. Felt his sweat.

Embers danced as winds swirled inside unfurling from a hallway of sorts off to his left.

He sniffed and ingested smoke and flame. Coughing as he rounded the corner and found a monster at work.

Skin as black as smoke with eyes like burning coals.

His hair was a bubbling batch of fire and lava that hung down around his shoulder in a superheated mane. With arms as big as treetrunks he lifted his mallet and hauled away at a RuneWritten sword.

With every hit, lava spilled from the volcano jutting from his back and leaked down his malformed leg.

"A Wolf raised the leading men of a land we once called home."

Don didn't speak.

"How's the back?… and the leg? I know a thing or two about those injuries."

Don looked down at himself realizing they shared similar wound location. Usually when weird coincidental stuff happened back home it was because a Bruja was near. But he was a man. And much more powerful. Too powerful.

He turned and aimed his fiery eyes as Don.

"Do you not know me?!" The flames on his head went black and thunderous. The cracks in his skin heated and steamed. "I am VULCAN! King of the Forge. I cast interest on you and all you manage is a stare? What are you a deaf dog?"

"No."

"Then you're just a disrespectful one. That's fine. Imperfections must be beat out. In steel and in man." Vulcan turned back to his forge and got to work.

"What is it you want from me, Vulcan."

Vulcan stopped an inch from banging away at the sword once more.

"You have a gift. In a world of gifts you have a particularly rare one. Your work— your time spent around the metal has grown into a skill. A touch not many have. You control the metals, child. As a Lycanthrope that makes you exponentially more deadly than your fellows. And more akin to me. You could be so strong in my name! All I need from you is one thing."

Don's hackles raised in his soul where the wolf resided.

"Kill your new Alpha."