He greeted consciousness with howling and gnashing teeth. Sinew, muscle, bone all became a mass of frenzied rage. The world around him succumbed to a shattering roar of a fiery cyclone that spit frost-crusted boulders and a river of molten metal. Every element that could be bound and released in fury erupted across the plane, scarring and searing the otherwise unblemished heavenly gates that bore the sigil of the golden kingfisher. The creature’s form swelled in size, towering into infinity, roiling like a storm with ever-crackling intensity. He would tear it all apart, he would make them pay, he would leave no stone unturned. As a wolf he would hunt them, as a monster he would destroy them. Caine would be first, Caine would be last.
At the thought of this prey his mind broke down into a fresh raving, slavering, frothing bellow of unadulterated madness. Jaws clamped and unhinged over and over, inexorably spasming to snap fangs against each other in a grinding that sounded like thunder. His nostrils worked like a tornado of his breath, pumping his lungs full of oxygen so he could let it all out into a feral scream again. Satori’s home was soon nothing more than a smoldering pile of refuse, and the titanic elemental would be away from it before long. The beast took in another shuddering breath, trying to collect himself.
An audible snap of one finger against a thumb echoed across time and space, and it was all undone. There was not even a rolling back of materials - the massive werewolf was simply now in an office whose size was commensurate to his own. No matter how he strained his gaze or craned his neck he could neither look down nor up at the well-appointed desk or comfortable chairs near it. It was as if he could only look across the room as an equal despite his power and ferocity, in spite of his own spiraling emotions. He could only take in all of the kingfisher motifs, the black cushions with gold trim, the silver trinkets sitting atop sheafs of papers. His feet dug into a lush silver carpet, and candles flickered gently to provide them with a warming light.
There was a woman in the room with them, something familiar about the way she smelled and looked, but his eyes were only for the man seated on the other side of the desk, the man who regarded him with an eerie sense of calm confidence. His face was somehow a steady blur, no feature discernible as unique - he had eyes, a nose, a mouth. Now it was from that mouth that words sprang, and at last he recognized Virgil Satori in all his pretentious eloquence.
“I hope you’ve had enough of that for now. We didn’t want to try to stop you, it’s very understandable why you’d be in this state.”
Anger welled up inside him, feeding him more strength. He could cross the desk easily, rip out his throat. Something suddenly felt wrong about that, though. Virgil’s lips curled upward slightly, though there was a rueful catch in his tone when he spoke again.
“Yes, I think you’re beginning to reckon with what’s happened. I am seated where Gaia once was. I’m handling things differently, though.”
A growl rose in his throat, and Satori laughed.
“No, I can believe your skepticism. I won’t compel you, but I can’t undo what’s part of your nature. Crystal put you back together pretty faithfully, after all.”
He snorted, and sharply turned his eyes to where he thought she was. Nothing there. No matter, it was all well and good. He had begun to dwindle in size, muzzle receding into something more manageable. Words rolled off of his own tongue, coming out as barely more than a snarl.
“So you’ve brought me back but you can’t fix me?”
Virgil leaned across the desk suddenly, steepling his fingers in front of him, and the werewolf found himself flinching under the weight of that stern countenance.
“We both know if you are to seek that, you must seek it for yourself.”
The statement hung in the air between them for a few seconds, and at last the ruler of all sat back in his chair with a more languid posture.
“No, I’m here to offer you a job.”
===================================================================
Of course he accepted. The terms were favorable enough, and he would be able to exist again outside of annihilation. Perhaps Satori even knew that he would judge him for how he was handling things,’ and provided that he would wrest himself free from his bindings as had been suggested he would be all too willing to mete out justice if he found the Kingfisher’s work to be lacking.
Now he stood before a mirror, gazing at his ghastly form with the turquoise eyes of a sane man rather than a mad beast. All he could see was a creature whose body had been sculpted into the expression of killing rage. Every muscle, every taloned finger and toe, every sharpened tooth, all the way down to his bristling brown fur was soaked in bloodlust. This was the second time he had died, and the betrayal stung deeper than any of the wounds he had suffered in the battle. He snorted, and the mirror steamed with the expulsion of hot air from him. He focused on the form once more - bipedal, unmistakably canine in facial features - and remembered his name.
The man he once was.
The fur matted, then melted away in a passing of seconds. The snout fully receded. The hulking frame dwindled down. What was left behind was a shadow of that man, nothing more than an echo of an old tale of a dead world. He was well-built, sporting carefully toned muscles that betrayed the lifestyle of an athlete or martial artist, and a tan that spoke of a lifetime outdoors. Atop his head a great mane of brown hair sprouted, and the mouth that frowned back at him did so through a full, thick beard.
He had a name that meant something to some people, but these remaining few were not his friends. The name of that clan of wardens and the name that they had given him rang hollow, and in that moment he realized he had never had a period to grieve what he had lost. Better to cloak that name, then, to give them all the silence they were due. He would honor them in mourning, and take on a simpler title while on his pilgrimage - for now, he would merely be “Garou.”
===================================================================
“Fuck, that’s a mess.”
Garou stood some distance away from Titanis, observing the violent lightning that wove itself around a smog-fogged mountain. Out of amusement he had dressed for hiking in colder climes, bearing a long sleeved red and black checkered flannel shirt, dark blue jeans, and feet shod in heavy brown boots. They were entirely there for show, of course, as he could easily endure extreme temperatures. However, he was not particularly interested in testing his limits on that cloud of chaos. Even from here he could feel the corrupted magic leaking out. This was clearly going to become a bigger problem if left unchecked, and was exactly the kind of work Virgil had “hired” him to do.
Soon he was small and lithe and brown-furred, his clothes caught in the space in between spaces as he dashed on all four paws. The wolf would find the heart of this place, cleanse it, and put it back together. It was one of the first most sacred duties of the warden clan, long before combat became commonplace. There was a feeling of joy that he felt in his chest as he ran towards this goal. It set his steps soaring at a pace that caused the terrain around to pass in little more than a blur. Garou could not help himself and let loose a long, furious howl that ripped through the chambers carved by the wind.
Indeed, it was such a cry that it cut through the very wind itself, and he followed in the wake of it, tongue lolling out, causing enough noise to be confused with a whole pack rather than just the sole.
At the thought of this prey his mind broke down into a fresh raving, slavering, frothing bellow of unadulterated madness. Jaws clamped and unhinged over and over, inexorably spasming to snap fangs against each other in a grinding that sounded like thunder. His nostrils worked like a tornado of his breath, pumping his lungs full of oxygen so he could let it all out into a feral scream again. Satori’s home was soon nothing more than a smoldering pile of refuse, and the titanic elemental would be away from it before long. The beast took in another shuddering breath, trying to collect himself.
An audible snap of one finger against a thumb echoed across time and space, and it was all undone. There was not even a rolling back of materials - the massive werewolf was simply now in an office whose size was commensurate to his own. No matter how he strained his gaze or craned his neck he could neither look down nor up at the well-appointed desk or comfortable chairs near it. It was as if he could only look across the room as an equal despite his power and ferocity, in spite of his own spiraling emotions. He could only take in all of the kingfisher motifs, the black cushions with gold trim, the silver trinkets sitting atop sheafs of papers. His feet dug into a lush silver carpet, and candles flickered gently to provide them with a warming light.
There was a woman in the room with them, something familiar about the way she smelled and looked, but his eyes were only for the man seated on the other side of the desk, the man who regarded him with an eerie sense of calm confidence. His face was somehow a steady blur, no feature discernible as unique - he had eyes, a nose, a mouth. Now it was from that mouth that words sprang, and at last he recognized Virgil Satori in all his pretentious eloquence.
“I hope you’ve had enough of that for now. We didn’t want to try to stop you, it’s very understandable why you’d be in this state.”
Anger welled up inside him, feeding him more strength. He could cross the desk easily, rip out his throat. Something suddenly felt wrong about that, though. Virgil’s lips curled upward slightly, though there was a rueful catch in his tone when he spoke again.
“Yes, I think you’re beginning to reckon with what’s happened. I am seated where Gaia once was. I’m handling things differently, though.”
A growl rose in his throat, and Satori laughed.
“No, I can believe your skepticism. I won’t compel you, but I can’t undo what’s part of your nature. Crystal put you back together pretty faithfully, after all.”
He snorted, and sharply turned his eyes to where he thought she was. Nothing there. No matter, it was all well and good. He had begun to dwindle in size, muzzle receding into something more manageable. Words rolled off of his own tongue, coming out as barely more than a snarl.
“So you’ve brought me back but you can’t fix me?”
Virgil leaned across the desk suddenly, steepling his fingers in front of him, and the werewolf found himself flinching under the weight of that stern countenance.
“We both know if you are to seek that, you must seek it for yourself.”
The statement hung in the air between them for a few seconds, and at last the ruler of all sat back in his chair with a more languid posture.
“No, I’m here to offer you a job.”
===================================================================
Of course he accepted. The terms were favorable enough, and he would be able to exist again outside of annihilation. Perhaps Satori even knew that he would judge him for how he was handling things,’ and provided that he would wrest himself free from his bindings as had been suggested he would be all too willing to mete out justice if he found the Kingfisher’s work to be lacking.
Now he stood before a mirror, gazing at his ghastly form with the turquoise eyes of a sane man rather than a mad beast. All he could see was a creature whose body had been sculpted into the expression of killing rage. Every muscle, every taloned finger and toe, every sharpened tooth, all the way down to his bristling brown fur was soaked in bloodlust. This was the second time he had died, and the betrayal stung deeper than any of the wounds he had suffered in the battle. He snorted, and the mirror steamed with the expulsion of hot air from him. He focused on the form once more - bipedal, unmistakably canine in facial features - and remembered his name.
The man he once was.
The fur matted, then melted away in a passing of seconds. The snout fully receded. The hulking frame dwindled down. What was left behind was a shadow of that man, nothing more than an echo of an old tale of a dead world. He was well-built, sporting carefully toned muscles that betrayed the lifestyle of an athlete or martial artist, and a tan that spoke of a lifetime outdoors. Atop his head a great mane of brown hair sprouted, and the mouth that frowned back at him did so through a full, thick beard.
He had a name that meant something to some people, but these remaining few were not his friends. The name of that clan of wardens and the name that they had given him rang hollow, and in that moment he realized he had never had a period to grieve what he had lost. Better to cloak that name, then, to give them all the silence they were due. He would honor them in mourning, and take on a simpler title while on his pilgrimage - for now, he would merely be “Garou.”
===================================================================
“Fuck, that’s a mess.”
Garou stood some distance away from Titanis, observing the violent lightning that wove itself around a smog-fogged mountain. Out of amusement he had dressed for hiking in colder climes, bearing a long sleeved red and black checkered flannel shirt, dark blue jeans, and feet shod in heavy brown boots. They were entirely there for show, of course, as he could easily endure extreme temperatures. However, he was not particularly interested in testing his limits on that cloud of chaos. Even from here he could feel the corrupted magic leaking out. This was clearly going to become a bigger problem if left unchecked, and was exactly the kind of work Virgil had “hired” him to do.
Soon he was small and lithe and brown-furred, his clothes caught in the space in between spaces as he dashed on all four paws. The wolf would find the heart of this place, cleanse it, and put it back together. It was one of the first most sacred duties of the warden clan, long before combat became commonplace. There was a feeling of joy that he felt in his chest as he ran towards this goal. It set his steps soaring at a pace that caused the terrain around to pass in little more than a blur. Garou could not help himself and let loose a long, furious howl that ripped through the chambers carved by the wind.
Indeed, it was such a cry that it cut through the very wind itself, and he followed in the wake of it, tongue lolling out, causing enough noise to be confused with a whole pack rather than just the sole.