by J. K. Jones
CLAW OF EXILE: HE KILLS TO SURVIVE
Published by J.K. Jones
Toronto, Ontario, Canada
Copyright ©2020 J.K. JONES. All rights reserved.
JONES, J.K., Author
CLAW OF EXILE
J.K. JONES
ASIN: B08MZ6XFR5
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems without permission in writing from the publisher/author, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. All images, logos, quotes, and trademarks included in this book are subject to use according to trademark and copyright laws of Canada.
Disclaimer: This is a self-published work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book contains harsh language, scenes of violence, sexuality, sensuality, human trafficking, rape, and other mature subject matter. It is not intended for a younger audience. No part of this book may be reproduced in any or electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval system. Furthermore, it is a work of fiction. We do not condone any form of racism, sexual harassment, incitement, religious hatred, misogyny, child pornography or make light of such grave matters.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
The Filthy Claws
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
The Outlands
Yokohama Japan 21’
Ryu Suzuki is rotten. Like all forbidden fruit, they say, he appears lush with deliciousness, but his insides are the color brown, sodden with the foul stench of bacteria. They are black and blue they say, slimy green, covered with rot and deterioration. It’s disgusting to look at.
The fruit is shriveled up, with pus oozing through the thick skin. On the outside he looks perfectly normal, shining—shimmering in the light, deceiving everyone.
Ryu is the picture of ripening fruit, ample with flavor, ready to be tasted and explored by anyone who dared. Conversely, among other fruits, he would never let on his infectious disease until it was too late, and it spread.
They say Ryu Suzuki is indeed rotten to the core.
His bitter hands grip the headboard as the man above moves forcefully. The durable bend and twists of his hips make him choke violently, back arching off the bed, pale skin shining in the moonlight.
His hair sprawls like a black curtain, long and silky in the sheets. Earlier that day, it had been upon him, the slick and fever of desire, so ripe and deep it made him wrench in anguish.
Ryu found the closest Alpha, decent size, large and empowering, and released his intoxicating scent. No Alpha could ever resist. Ryu lured him into his tiny apartment, no more the size of a small box, with the bathroom and kitchen all being in one spot.
The Alpha didn’t ask questions, he tossed Ryu onto the bed, tearing off his clothes in a deep rage that would later consume him in his rut.
No kisses. No words of any kind.
Just lips, teeth, and skin.
Fuck—the man licks down the pale column of his neck, lapping at the skin, tonguing his glans, causing passion to tear through him.
He comes again for the fifth time that evening, soaking the Alpha and the sheets. This goes on for several more hours. When it’s over, they are both covered in sweat, the stench of sex and freesia filling the room.
The Alphas knot dies down.
And Ryu knows what’s coming next. The Alpha stands, barely letting the air cool around them, throwing on his tight white t-shirt and jeans, his physique muscular, arms rippling and straining against the fabric.
He isn’t bad looking.
Just not at all Ryu’s type.
“You got a mate?” The Alpha asks.
They all did. Ryu ignores the question, lazily stroking his flat stomach, noting the sharp arch of his hip bones. He hasn’t eaten in days.
“Silent type eh?” The Alpha probes. “Look…. I only did this because you seemed desperate.”
That’s what they all say. Ryu wants to crackle in maniacal laughter. He doesn’t though, his eyes watch coolly, like a feline.
“You have a mate,” he continues. “I can tell. Your Māku is strong, very strong. He must be a powerful Alpha. You shouldn’t be wandering around here without him. Whatever happened between you two… it doesn’t matter…the stench of another Alpha on his Omega is enough to drive one mad…”
Isn’t that what Ryu wants? To drive his Alpha mad? He turns his head away dismissively. This conversation is over.
“My name is Fermin,” he says as he puts his shoes on. “I’m from The Impure Canines.” He laughs. “By sword and shield are our words. Just passing through with a few brothers.”
Brothers.
More like a pack of hungry Alphas wanting to pillage their way through the small caverns of the Outlands. This place isn’t for people who belong to packs, it’s for those who do not. Nestled in a small city, it belongs to no-one, all the outcasts come here. They find small accommodations and live out their lives as exiles.
It doesn’t matter, he’s done with this conversation. Ryu stands, limbs both thin and lithe, sharp jaw, angular features, sweat and come drying on his skin.
“Get out.”
Fermin looks taken aback before he snorts loudly. “Whatever. Like I need a whore omega anyways.”
Ryu watches him go, hands toying dangerously with his Katana. It’s time. He gets dressed, throwing on a black leather vest, trench coat, and pants. His combat boots are rough, frayed at the edges. He shoves his Katana, Hikari in the sheath, and leaves the apartment.
It's dark.
All the creatures of the night have come out, while everyone else huddles in the safety of their homes. There are rumors of a darkness brewing, a sickness within the wolves that are causing chaos and disruption between the most prominent clans.
Ryu is aware of this.
A disease turning regular, unsuspecting wolves into powerful deranged Lycans, a fierce amalgamation of half-man and half-beast. These creatures are not of this world and once the disease spreads, they become insatiable in their killings.
Now they move in packs.
A group of Lycans is
not easy to kill. All the clans have started to grow weary and after centuries of war with each other, there are talks of banding together.
Ryu cares for none of that.
He has a mission. One he must complete no matter what.
Chapter 2
In the fog, the city blurs like water over streaming lights. The buildings and the Japanese cherry trees are silhouetted black, two-dimensional. The streets wane and yawn in every direction, streetlamps cause sturdy breaks between sky-high buildings. It stinks. The smell burns like vinegar and sits like acid on his tongue.
The fumes of heavy traffic and carbon dioxide.
Ryu melts into the darkness. He doesn’t plan on coming back.
He leaves just as swiftly as he came.
Ryu walks amongst the shadows until he reaches the edge of the Outlands, he doesn’t stop, crossing easily into the forest. The world stills around him as he picks up the trail again.
He’s been hunting them for days.
The disease is ripe, and Ryu knows he will have to act fast, swiftly killing them where they stand. Ryu is no stranger to killing.
He’s killed his whole life.
This is no different. He follows them methodically, noticing their movements have slowed and then diminished; they jump from town to town, almost as if they are searching for something. Whatever it is, they will never find it.
The closer he gets, the more his uneasiness grows. To create such a disease, this being must be exceptionally evil. That thought alone unsettles him.
As the hour grows late, he stops to rest. His stomach growls insistently for food. Ryu ignores it, knowing that once this is over, he will have his full. The half-moon shone cascading upon the forest, illuminating it.
Ryu's breath hitches, noticing the landscapes have changed.
For each clan had their lands, each of them contoured and sloped to symbolize their standings. The richest clans had vast fields, various areas for running while shifting, and imposing skyscrapers like a ladder towards the Gods. While the poorest remain in the slums, gutter alleyways, and decaying buildings.
His stomach coils again, this time it has nothing to do with hunger.
He needs to catch them quickly before they get too close to the capital. Ryu stalks quietly, his feet as light as a feather as he watches them closely.
They enter the outskirts of the city and he corners them in an alleyway. Ryu withdraws his Katana, Hikari gleams in the moonlight, mist, and fog gather around him, as unspeakable evil draws near.
He slashes right, narrowly missing the snarl of the Lycan.
It stands nearly ten feet, foaming at the mouth, large canines sharp as knives, claws razors as they dip forward.
There are five of them.
Some scaling the walls, others crowding the alleyway entrance. There—far in the back where the garbage bags are there is a soft cry. A baby—the father and mother are disheveled and anxious. The man holds a worn-down pipe, while the mother cradles the baby to her chest. Ryu steps forward, Katana lustrous and deadly.
The Lycans turn to him, brazenly ignoring the family. Good, he thinks. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any fun.
Ryu darts forward, the swing of his sword clean and lethal, laced with wolfsbane he cuts the nearest snarling beast in half.
The poison seeps into their bloodstream, causing the wounds to burn like acid, sizzle, and emit a green glowing smoke.
Another beast swipes forward, its vicious claws catching the hem of his jacket, shredding it. Ryu frowns in annoyance, picking up momentum, he hacks it, cutting them down swiftly and efficiently.
Don’t lose sight of your goal. He won’t.
Ryu weaves, flips and kicks, dodging their wayward swipes and snapping of teeth. It’s a dance, one that he’s used to, with speed and agility he can evade them easily.
Until there is only one left.
The leader is larger than the rest, eyes glowing red, body twisting in strange unnatural angles. After wolves turn into Lycans there is nothing left of their consciousness. Where there was once reason and discernment, there is nothing but rabid irreverent and contemptuous anger, a disintegration.
A mindless beast.
Ryu is arrogant, too busy carelessly flaunting the kill of the other dead Lycans that he misses it. The slow arch of his body, red glowing eyes turning walleyed, as if he’s looking in every direction at once.
Oh no—the family.
The beast roars, silver teeth sharp as blades, and swings towards the family. Ryu takes off, moving at lightning speed against the concrete. He intercepts but hasn’t thought things through beyond that.
The Lycan fakes left, his arm like a hammer fist, hitting him hard.
Ryu slams back against the wall, his head making a sickening crack. His vision blurs and his stomach clenches painfully.
What was that? These things—these creatures cannot think for themselves. However, this one does. It outmaneuvered him and even planned a counterattack.
They’re evolving.
No time to think—the beast crashes into him, throwing all its weight onto Ryu. The blow sends them both through a concrete brick wall, Ryu cries out in agony, shoulder pinned beneath the creature and the ground.
Fuck—he spits blood, nearly gagging at the stench of the creature. Focus. He jams his free hand into his jacket and pulls out a dagger. It’s long and pointed, he stabs the creature in the eye, the beast howls, and claws his chest.
Ryu takes the dagger out and stabs it again and again and again.
Blood rushes to his ears, he hears nothing and sees nothing, the world narrows to a single center point of the deadly monster on top of him.
The creature's tongue comes out, it’s long, almost like a snake, slithering towards him, slick with salvia. As it inches near, Ryu feels panic swell. If it touches him, he will be infected.
However, his dagger is stuck, impeded in Lycans head, wedged between bone and brain. His other hand, uselessly pinned, is nearly crushed by the weight of the bricks.
Shit—the tongue inches closer and Ryu recoils when he notices it’s not a tongue at all, at the tip, there is a shape of a human. A man more specifically. Probably the Alpha that was overtaken by the disease.
He moans, almost looking like he’s crying as the Lycan forces his tongue towards Ryu’s face.
Focus. Ryu exhales sharply, gripping the dagger tightly he rips it from the Lycan’s skull. He cuts the tongue off, relishing when it goes flying.
Lycan collapses dead on top of him.
Ryu pants breathlessly, pain torching his insides. He needs to move fast, more will follow. He crawls out from under the creature, the body feels heavy with sweat and blood.
He’s out of time. Ryu stumbles, arm hanging listlessly at his side. His Katana is lying several feet away, Ryu bends to pick it up and the world nearly tips over.
No time. he staggers, his feet weighty and vision fading in and out. The family is still there, the father looking aghast
“Are you okay? Sir, are you okay?” He rushes forward. “Why did you not shift?”
How can he?
Exiles cannot shift. After they are banished the Gods take away their wolf, leaving them with supernatural speed and healing, but beyond that they are nothing. Less than nothing.
Ryu clenches his jaw; blood now trickles from his hairline into his eyes.
“My name is Filcher and this is my wife Zaya,” he says frantically. “We must go. Our clan isn’t far away.”
No, he has a mission he must complete. Ryu's vision blurs again, this time he can do nothing to stop it. The world turns and suddenly the ground is rushing up to meet him.
Chapter 3
Silvercrest Howlers Clan
Hiratsuka 21'
Ryu wakes in a dungeon cell. He gasps, his thoughts in disarray as he frantically looks around. The place isn’t what dungeon cells usually look like. Although the bars are worn and thick, pure iron and inescapable, the décor is light and welcoming.
>
There is a nice carpet on the floor as well as a small wooden table filled lavishly with food. His Katana rests near his bedside, and Ryu eyes everything suspiciously.
Who would give a prisoner their weapon?
He gets up slowly, and groans from the ache in his shoulder. His healing was slower this time, probably due to his lack of food. Ryu thinks back to the night before, wondering how he got here. All he remembers is defending the family against the Lycans. After that, he comes up with nothing.
Even before that he cannot remember.
What was he doing there? Why was he defending the family anyway? He doesn’t know. All he recalls is that he was supposed to do something important—but what? At this time, he couldn’t say. Ryu touches his forehead, noticing the small bruises there.
He eyes the food suspiciously, but his stomach gives a pitiful growl, so he lurches forward, stuffing his face violently with fruits and apples. His intuition tells him this clan means him no harm, but still, he needs to be on his guard.
After he’s eaten, he readjusts his leather vest, making sure the weapons he still has hidden are intact. He crosses his legs, sits in the Lotus position, trying to calm his mind and center his being.
The door opens.
Ryu's heart lurches.
White sage—his stomach turns violently. All the food he ate earlier he wants to throw up. He suddenly remembers that the man he saved said his clan was nearby.
Ryu should have known.
He tries to calm down, however, his heart is racing, thoughts jumping all over the place because fuck—he never expected he would be back here. Not ever again. Their footsteps are heavy, their stomps making the earth tremble and shake.
Ryu counts five of them, all their scents familiar and rushing at him.
He’s crawled into a new kind of hell.
“Ryu.”
That voice is a deep rumble, sending slow shivers up his spine. Dear God—how long has it been? Months? Years? And suddenly he’s sixteen again. Ryu’s heart fills with explosive bitter rage.
Damn him.
Ryu smiles for the first time in weeks. It’s bleak, twisted—sardonic.
“Byakuren.” He opens his eyes, blazing at the Alpha he’s known all his life.
