Lycan Fallout 1: Rise Of The Werewolf

by Mark Tufo

CHAPTER 10 – Xavier’s Past

  Xavier’s story isn’t unique, not the beginning anyway. Lycan, by nature, are not a nurturing race; more than one mating has resulted in bloodshed and occasionally death. Litters are born on blue moons, the second full moon of a calendar month. The rarity of the event and a savage birth are what keep Lycan population low; only one can survive no matter the number born, and sometimes not even the one if he or she suffers grievous enough wounds in the battle. Sometimes siblings will ally if only to defeat a bigger brother or sister. Then, when the common enemy is defeated, they would turn on each other. What results are either the biggest Lycan or the most cunning; and in Xavier’s case…both.

  It was June 1990, the night Xavier and his littermates were born. His exhausted mother crawled out of the cave and into a nearby stream to wash the stink of birth off of her. The scent could instill fierce fighting if it lingered. Many would begin to remember their birth nights and violence could erupt within the encampment. The odor of it was pervasive in the small confines of the cave. Xavier was the first to open his eyes, the pheromone triggering something primal and instinctual in him. His sister lying closest to him was the first to go as he fell over more than lunged. His placenta-covered jaws ripped into her abdomen as she squealed in pain.

  The sound alerted the remaining three. Two of his brothers were able to quickly identify their biggest threat. With nothing more than a weak telepathic signal, they formed a blood bond. Xavier, realizing he was outnumbered, sought out the runt, promising to protect him if he would stand at his side. Lunos knew the lie for what it was; as the runt, he stood very little chance of emerging from the cave. He promised his allegiance only so Xavier would turn his fierce gaze away from him. When his brothers attacked, he pulled himself out of the cave much like his mother had. By the time he reached the mouth, he was standing on shaky legs trying to put as much distance between himself and the cries of pain and demise behind him as possible.

  He knew he couldn’t stay. Just because he had emerged from the cave alive didn’t mean he would stay that way. Xavier would either hunt him down, or a full-grown would toss him back into the mix – or more likely - kill him on the spot for his cowardice. Lunos’ mother snapped at him as he stumbled by; she was too exhausted to pull herself from the water to terminate his existence. Without the pack, his chances of survival were about as good as they were in the cavern.

  When Xavier emerged from the cave, he was covered in the gore and viscera of his dissected and digested kin. He had a glistening wound on his face and leg that would fester for a week, almost completing the job his brothers had started. There was no welcome for him as he emerged – no congratulations, no celebration – just the looks of the pack as they recognized one of their own.

  Xavier picked up the scent of Lunos who had slunk away, and he would have followed if not for the fever that was already running through him and sapping his strength. He lay there for three days; a driving rain had sprung up the second night, making him shiver so hard he had nearly bitten his tongue off. It was the fourth night that he was finally able to stand, and by then, Lunos’ scent had been wiped clean. He thought about those days a lot over the years. It was a failure and a discontentment that he had never truly gotten over. His mother had remained quiet about the escape of one of her children, partly to protect Xavier who might be shunned from his pack, but more so for herself for whelping a traitor to their ways.

  Xavier grew strong quickly; the scar on his face had been a ceaseless source of teasing by some of the older Lycan – but by his tenth year, no one mentioned it again. He had been lurking on the outskirts of the clan as they ate their latest kill waiting his turn to find some leftovers or coughed up morsel to eat when Triblos and Herrin from the previous Blue Moon’s litters located him. They detested the disfigured Xavier.

  “It’s still alive,” Triblos hissed as he came in front of Xavier.

  Herrin slid behind the younger pup. “Not for long, though. I can see his ribs,” he said as he nipped at Xavier’s hindquarters, catching the younger male on the hamstring.

  Xavier did not yelp; he would not give them the satisfaction. The two older Lycan were slowly starving him to death, not allowing him to enter into the feeding circle even after the alphas and the rest of the pack got to eat. Not to suck marrow from an undigested bone, or even to eat the hair, the part that no one wanted (but when you were starving none of that mattered).

  Xavier turned quickly, showing his canines to Herrin who jumped back. Triblos bounded in and pushed Xavier over, sending him sprawling in the dirt. Herrin pounced, his front paws landing on Xavier’s chest, forcing the air from his lungs. Xavier’s eyes were rolling into the back of his head as he struggled to stay conscious. To pass out would be disaster, Lycan detested weakness and would finish him off – it was hardwired into them. Those that could not provide for the pack were not worthy to live in it. That and the two that harassed him were low enough on the food chain that they were only a scrap or two above starving themselves. They would tear him apart and devour him before his heart would know enough to quit beating.

  Triblos came closer…waiting…expectant, great swaths of drool dripping from his mouth as he watched Xavier’s eyes fluttering. “Pounce on him again,” Triblos said excitedly.

  Herrin raised up high. Xavier pulled in ragged breathes of air, he sat up quickly his jaw coming into contact with the underside of Triblos neck. He latched on, Triblos yelped in rage and pain, standing quickly. Xavier bit down deeper, he was holding on with a vise-like grip. He draped his front paws over Triblos shoulders as the much bigger opponent tried to push him away. Herrin watched in horror, too shocked to react. Triblos eyes grew wide as Xavier cut off his air supply, closing the windpipe to a quarter of its normal diameter. Blood began to flow from around Xavier’s mouth as he punctured through the tough hide. He shook his head back and forth violently. Shock was beginning to set in as Triblos’ struggles became less furtive.

  Triblos fell over on to his back, with Xavier still clutching his throat. Xavier almost lost his balance as he pulled a piece of Triblos’ neck away. The bigger Lycan sucked in a wet breath, and Xavier dove back in taking a bigger bite this time. He held on as Triblos bucked wildly about fighting for elusive air. When the animal finally died, Xavier began to burrow through his comparatively soft belly and to the nutrient-rich internal organs for which he was starving. Herrin moved in to share in the kill.

  Xavier turned and displayed his crimson-coated teeth. “Mine, unless you want to join him,” he snarled. Herrin bounded off. From that point on, Xavier jumped forward in the pecking order. It was still the less desirable scraps he feasted on, but no longer did the pangs of hunger dominate his entire being. It was a year after he had taken out Triblos that Xavier had been able to get Herrin into an advantageous spot. Herrin still outweighed Xavier by at least fifty pounds but he now wanted nothing to do with the more aggressive youth.

  It was a moon-less night, and Herrin had gone to the stream in an attempt to catch some fish. This was considered below a Lycan’s station, but hunger possesses its own power. Xavier had followed Herrin, always keeping the wind to his front so as not to give himself away. Xavier crept to the shore and hid under the brush as he watched Herrin wade into the water. Herrin looked about, when he was confident no one was looking, he started studying the water for signs of watery travelers.

  Xavier hated him more for this, even when he was crippled with the void in his stomach he would not come to the stream for anything other than release. Herrin pounced, the second time coming up with a small fish, which he ate greedily. Xavier knew Herrin had been doing this for a while, his movements were too practiced and his success rate too great. Xavier crawled out from his cover, darkness, and the angle that he approached, keeping him concealed. Herrin kept constantly looking around for any signs that he was being watched. Xavier began to lope on the shore of the stream gaining speed, when he was certain he had enough momentum, he leapt. Herrin look
ed up, aware that something was not right. He noticed the smaller Lycan in flight towards him and turned to avoid the collision. Xavier was flying past when he snapped down, grabbing hold of Herrin’s left ear. He ripped the large appendage clean off as he landed on the other side of the stream. Cries of pain mewled forth from Herrin’s mouth as he turned to face the threat.

  “You should have just killed me,” Xavier said as he paced the side of the stream.

  “I should have killed the bitch that littered you.” Herrin said, puffing his chest out in an attempt to gain size and intimidate the younger, smaller Lycan.

  “What do you think the tribe will say when I tell them that you are fishing?” Xavier asked menacingly.

  Herrin growled. “I will finish what Triblos should have,” Herrin said as he launched himself at Xavier. “I will feast on your bones tonight!”

  Xavier ducked back under the brush, confident that Herrin would not be able to follow as quickly. He had almost misjudged Herrin’s desire to hide his secret. The larger animal came away with a significant tuft of fur from Xavier’s hindquarters, prompting him to redouble his efforts. Herrin was snapping branches as he chased after his darting prey.

  “You’d better taste better than you look,” Herrin said from behind him.

  Xavier was running out of traversable real estate. The thickets were doing what they do, thickening, Herrin had fallen back a few paces but was now quickly gaining as Xavier was slowing down. Xavier could feel the hot breath of Herrin on his rear quarters. He was waiting for the needle-sharp pierce of pain as he was about to be bitten. He had turned his head slightly to see how close Herrin had come, and when he turned back around, he almost impaled himself on the branch of an oak tree. He pushed off to the right, his shoulder taking the brunt as he slammed into the trunk of the tree. A loud yelp came from Herrin who had not been quick enough to realize the danger.

  Herrin had also pushed off to his right, but the branch caught him underneath his left front paw and punctured deep between his third and fourth rib. A barb at the end of the branch was scraping against the lining of his left lung as he panted in pain, each breath sending the sharp wood, just a little deeper, like rubbing a pin along the outside of a balloon. When his lung finally collapsed, he sagged on the supportive branch.

  “I hate you,” Herrin said with his final words.

  “There is no hate in Lycan only fear and death, and tonight you will suffer both,” Xavier said as he tore into Herrin.

  Five years later he was allowed on the hunts a full ten years before most. Even in his youth he was nearly the size of the elders and almost as smart. The winters where the pack lived were severe; it was not uncommon for temperatures to reach forty below, but no one groused. First off, because it wasn’t in their nature; and secondly, they didn’t know another way. That was the way it had always been.

  Two separate events would shape Xavier. He was in his twentieth season, leading a hunting expedition; something that was normally reserved for someone much older. There was a village fifty miles to the south, normally the hunters would wait until a group of men separated from the larger village, going out on their own hunts, usually for seals and fish. At some point, man would separate from the group and the Lycan would take him down. If they were lucky, they may be able to get two without getting discovered.

  For three days, Xavier and his pack lurked around the shadows of the community waiting for someone to depart. By the fourth night, he became too impatient to wait any longer; he warily walked onto the snow-lined streets.

  “This is not how it is done, Xavier,” Guerros, his second-in-command, said.

  “Should we wait another Moon Day while our clan starves, Guerros? I don’t like hiding from these inferior creatures. We are their masters, not the other way around.”

  “Man is dangerous,” Guerros said.

  Xavier pinned him up against a structure. “I AM DANGEROUS!” he commanded.

  Guerros deferred. Xavier’s mouth began to water as he smelled the sizzling of rending fat in one of the wooden huts. He smashed the door open with his head, an Inuit boy of about seven stared back at him, dropping his fried blubber onto the floor. Xavier tore him in two with one bite. The boy’s mother came out from behind her counter, filet knife in hand. She had not been expecting to see an animal nearly thrice her size. Xavier grunted as he charged, the blade striking off the top of his shoulder. He crushed her spine as he pushed her into a wooden post.

  Guerros was next in, and any issue he had with this type of hunt were lost as soon as the blood lust struck his nose. He tore through the house and found a girl of middling years hiding under her bed. She screamed as he slammed the structure out of the way. That was quickly cut short as he bit through her skull. The small band grabbed their kills and raced home. The feast had been of near mythical proportions as, two other hunting parties had also succeeded; the clan would eat well.

  Yutu the Claw, came home to a community in mourning. He was the leader of his village; it was his house that Xavier and his hunting party had sacked. He had cried even as he prepared to follow after the savage animals that had done this. Almost all of the men that were of age joined him for the hunt. Xavier had made great time getting home, but the weather was not on his side, with no wind or fresh snow to cover his tracks, he gave the hunters a perfect trail to follow. With dreaded determination Yutu urged the dog sled teams on.

  When the Inuit’s began to notice more tracks than the four sets they had been ruthlessly pursuing, they knew they were getting close. They put up the sleds, tied the dogs down and advanced slowly on foot. Within an hour they heard the noises of a great many guttural beasts. They swung to the left to ensure their scents would not be picked up. They crawled up a small incline that overlooked the encampment. None of them had been prepared to witness what they saw. They had believed they were chasing large timber wolves. A blind man at night would have a difficult time not knowing the two animals were different. Human carcasses littered the ground and clothes were strewn about. Heated conversations and arguments erupted over various morsels of meat.

  Xavier looked up when he heard the first of many metallic sounds. Men were priming their weapons, not that he knew the sound at that time, it just sounded foreign and dangerous. He saw the wisps of smoke a split second before he heard the loud percussion of bullets being expended. And still he did not know the danger; at least until he saw the head of the elder next to him mushroom out as it absorbed a bullet. The exit wound splashed onto the side of his face as Zugrut fell to the ground in an awkward, splayed out position. His pack was bounding around, unsure of what to do next. Xavier knew where the threat was coming from and was attempting to circle around when a bullet caught him in the hindquarters. He had never before in his life felt the extreme pain like that which was coursing up his side. It tore at him every time he moved, but to stay motionless meant death. He headed towards the stream. The loud sounds that hurt his ears continued on for many more minutes.

  He could not move, so he let the water clean and numb the wound. When he was finally able to venture out, the men and their weapons were gone. Fully two-thirds of his clan had been destroyed; the rest scattered as they ran to save themselves. Xavier sniffed at the wounds the weapons caused, the smell of burnt flesh sticking in his nose as he did so. He looked up towards the small ridge and limped towards it. He sniffed around when one scent in particular caught his attention. It was a familiar scent, smelling much like the boy he had eaten. He had brought this death upon his people. For the first time in his life he howled in pain, not an external, but rather an internal one that could not be assuaged.

  Hunters were fair game when they went out into the wilds. The unspoken rule Xavier had broken was attacking a family at home, and his clan had paid dearly for his transgression. It took Xavier a full week to heal from the leaden bullet. When he was ready, he followed the diminishing scent of The Destroyer. For two weeks he prowled around the edges of the human habitation waiting for
a chance. He watched as the people had their strange custom of burying their dead; which he found amusing since most of the dead were in and out of his belly by this time.

  It was the fifteenth night when people finally stopped showing up at the hunter’s house. Xavier hated what he was to do now – and as of yet had never done it. His body lanced with pain as he forced it into change. His entire body began to shrink, feet, hands, snout, everything.

  “At least that has stayed the same,” he said with a snarl as he looked down. It was long moments before he felt he could move; and even then he looked to have the drunken gait of a sailor on shore leave.

  “I feel weak,” he mumbled. He had observed enough of the human customs to do what needed to be done to gain entry. He knocked heavily on the door, rattling it within its frame.

  “Come in,” A voice drifted out.

  Xavier pushed against the door. It moved slightly, but did not budge.

  “It’s unlocked.”

  Xavier growled, his hand came in contact with the doorknob. He fumbled with it until it turned and the door swung open.

  The hunter’s eyes grew wide for a moment in surprise then returned to their saddened state. “I had heard rumors of shape-shifters. I always thought it was tales to tease the children.” A smile creased the hunter’s face. “I was wondering when you would come. Next time you may want to consider bringing clothes with you. Not too many people, even the hardy Inuit walk around in the snow without clothes.”

  Xavier looked down at his body, where he was used to seeing dense fur he saw only a light sprinkling of hair.

  “And your ears, they are much too large to be considered human.” Yutu said, tipping a bottle of something into a glass. The smell of it was very astringent to Xavier’s nose. “Care for a drink?” he asked, showing Xavier the bottle.

  Xavier spoke the human words, something he had been taught in his younger years. At first it sounded like he was dragging them through weed-choked mud. Finally he lost his throat clapping tones and moved to more of the soft lilt of human speech. “Are you not afraid of me?” Xavier asked.

  “Petrified,” the man replied. “But I am also ready to be reunited with my family.”

  Xavier thought the human was crazy. How did he plan on doing that? “After I eat you, should I shit in the same place I deposited your son? Is this the reunification that you speak?”

  Yutu’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I figured a savage animal such as you would not understand a higher power. But then again, why would you? You have no soul…there will be no ascension for you. When death finds you that will be the end. Blackness.” He slammed down the drink he had poured for himself and quickly refilled the glass. “You sure?” he asked again, showing the bottle.

  Xavier took a step closer.

  “Hold on,” Yutu said. He pulled a large rifle up from under the table. “I want you to know that I could have killed you at any time since you walked in that door…even sooner. I’ve smelled your funk for more than a week. Out there slinking around like a common coyote.”

  Xavier snarled.

  “I didn’t kill your entire clan because I had hoped for this meeting. If I had the courage to kill myself, I’d kill you first. Come here and do what you intended, my family awaits,” Yutu said as he once again quickly drank his whiskey. He leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Xavier was turning back into his true form as he approached. His less-than-Lycan teeth ripped into Yutu’s neck. He did not eat the man in the off chance that by somehow eating him he would allow the man to reunite with his kin.

  “I am no coyote,” he said as he pushed the man over. Blood ran freely from the hole in Yutu’s neck.

  A smile formed on Yutu’s lips. “Epnic? Braytura? It is good to see you again.”

  Xavier looked about wildly for intruders. “There is no one here,” he said to the hunter, but the man would not be saying anything again, not in this lifetime. Xavier walked out the door and ran into the night.

  When he returned, what remained of his clan had come back to the killing grounds. Most wandered around, without a leader they were unsure of what to do next. With so many lost at once, the ordering within the pack had been lost, Xavier came in and quickly placed himself amid the top of the tribe despite being too young. The others followed because it helped to restore order into their worlds.

  Some of the elders that still lived protested mildly, but they were in no position physically to vie for the role. Xavier decided that eating the boy had been the best thing he’d ever done, the loss of his mother in the subsequent revenge hunt meant nothing to him. There were not families in the pack, only individuals with three common goals: eat, survive, and procreate.