Interval I: The Deal
#1 of Venator
Disclaimers: This story contains archaic references and a general image that implies the existence of Hell. The Hell in this series is highly modeled from Dante's Classic: The Divine Comedy. Specifically, The Inferno, with a small touch taken from Faust, the making of a pact with the Devil, though in this case, the force of Hell in general. It revolves around Damnation, This is not about Heaven or salvation. The reason for this disclaimer is because of possible offense taken at such a situation. Religion is after all, a sensitive subject. If you do not wish to read anything about such a setting, whether because of preferences or Religious reasons, then please read no further. I am not promoting evil or the like, as this is nothing more than a story meant to be enjoyed. The setting here is used purely for the possibilities it allows, and portrayed purely as a physical reality. This has not been meant to promote any philosophy, theology, or other such views, although symbolism may be present, and the reader is free to make their own philosophical conclusions if they choose so, as the story does contain the elements. Thank you.
- * * Viperidae, Cervidae, Corvidae, Canidae, and Felidae... Death is the price for life bittersweet Tread softly forevermore Once blood and seed meet Track it through Jungle, Sahara, Taiga, and Pine Began with lust and the intimate fear To end in the Alpine Archaic rhyme, to say the least. Aside from being so short and in characteristically poor form, it failed to describe the Wolf's current situation. Volchonik, a great Gray wolf, Canis Lupus, a Predator...now nothing more than a cornered animal like one of the countless he'd finished. Well, not necessarily cornered, there was a way out. For his kind only, there had been a way out, after death. There are no Reapers of souls, no Angels of mother Death. No ghosts, no demons, no monsters. Not yet anyway. Instead, Volchonik had been given a chance at life. His place was now determined, right in the eighth circle of Hell, with the thieves. As according to legend, an eternity among serpents, constantly feeding and tearing, embracing and breaking, taking the blood and liberty from those that stole. Apparently irony permeated Dante's mind, because Hell seems to have a sense of humor. Unlike many, Volchonik was one that stole something more philosophic, though dreadfully obvious; he was a thief of life, courtesy of the chance at life. He'd had two choices: The first was to get flung down into Hell as it was, but serve his sentence as if in Purgatory, a temporary punishment. Hell itself was reserved for the ultimate crimes, a truly eternal punishment, while Purgatory was a temporary punishment, after which the criminal would be released. His second option was a challenge to partake, but he'd have to a pay a heavy price, no matter the outcome. If he succeeded, he'd be granted life again, and not just ordinary life, but one where he could live forever. Not really though, immortality doesn't apply here, not even to the damned. By "live forever", it meant that he'd never die of natural causes. He could still get slaughtered by mobs with torches and axes. If he failed, he'd be condemned to Hell for eternity then and there. But, even if he succeeded and was allowed to live again, once he died, it'd be down to his prison forever, a win-win situation for his eventual tormentors. Succeed, gain a brief reprieve and delay the inevitable imprisonment, or fail, and be bound without the temporary vacation. Needless to say, the vast majority of creatures choose the former option. Better to serve out a temporary punishment then sell your soul for an inevitable eternity. The damned that walk the earth are all vampires, they live on borrowed time, stealing it from others. They can live for millenniums, escaping their murder, but eventually, inevitably, they will succumb, and then it'll be a return meeting with the tail of Minos. Volchonik, such an innocent name, meaning Wolf Cub. He'd branded himself with the latter option. And the Rhyme meant this: he had to find five other species, mate with them whichever way he preferred, and kill them in the midst of their own pleasure. Drinking their blood was a necessity, and devouring them alive meant an added bonus in future capability, a truly Vampiric reward, not only the long life expectancy, but power. The forces of Hell truly never gambled, they bargained. The more pain Volchonik inflicted, the more he raped and violated and clawed and tore, the more power he'd be granted. Strength, speed, reflexes, and the mystic. It was a delightful trade off. The more agony he caused, the longer he'd survive, but with every stroke of pain, and every thrust of violation, he'd further damn himself, heightening the torment of his own future punishment. If he was gentle, if he mated with the willing, his later punishment would be easier to bear, but he'd be merely mortal. If he raped and took the innocent for his own, then he could truly be a leashed God walking the Earth. Five species, anyone he chose, so long as they were of the families Viperidae, Cervidae, Corvidae, Canidae, and Felidae, and in different regions, the Forest, the Desert, the Jungle, the Mountains.... -- Volchonik stood tall on his two legs, his coarse gray fur warming his body in the cold chill. He wore nothing. He was a strong Wolf to be sure, powerful and fluid in life. His muscles were developed from a life-time of hunting for survival, his eyes golden and quick to snap to movement. He was back in the hunt. And it was so nostalgic he was almost salivating with anticipation. The quiet camouflage and stalk, the pumping of epinephrine as he prayed that he wouldn't be seen, and then the sudden rush, the warm feel of flesh in his jaws and scent of blood in his nostrils. The scents of the pine forest fell over him, and he took it all in, the acrid smell of pine needles, the old dirt beneath his paws. The faint smells of musk... Patches of snow lay all around, the forest wet and the air a shadowed dark shade of winter. It was time to get to work.