He's Not Normal!
#1 of True Suffering
This is my first Yiffstar story, so I beg of you, please be gentle. And for those of you expecting a ton of yiff, better not read on. It does have it, but it's not dripping with spooge. Those stories come later. ^_^ Also, this is going to be a long one... so I hope you're into dedicated reading. There is a remote
possibility of this story changing and growing over time as more and more of his history becomes clearer to me and more detailed. And for everyone who yaps on Yiffchat and knows Don_Rodriguez, will come to better understand his ways after reading this. I hope.
The entire room was filled with shadows that creeped along the wall with every flash of lightning. The storm outside raged on and on, with no clear end in sight. The wooden planks used to compose the floor of this bedraggled old house were rotted and weak, holes in certain places where people before had stomped through them. Holes in the roof let the water fall through and drip on the floor
, thus accelerating its decay. The entire house was in ruins, barely a roof on the top with doors broken off the hinges and boarded windows instead of glass. Musky furniture littered the yard and the interior, the stench of sweat and rain mixing was putrid enough to ward off the most hardened of explorers.
And yet, through the mud and sludge, through the foulest of stenches, and through the two miles of cobwebs dangling about from the remnents of the shambling ceiling, people had trekked. The sound of the falling rain and thunder made it very difficult to hear anything, let alone the soft sounds of boards
gently creaking under the weight of people's bodies.
Four people were hiding out in this abandoned building, assault rifles on their backs and handguns in their paws. Wearing soaked urban camo, watered down black gloves, and black boots with more brown on them from the mud than black. A fifth member was carried in between two of them, a mortal wound gaping in his stomach, his intestines not falling out because the two carrying him were holding the
wound closed as best they could. By the time they got upstairs and laid him on the bed, the guerilla they were carrying was dead from loss of blood. Two of them holstered their handguns and brought out their assault rifles, one taking a post staring down the stairs, and the other leaned over a gaping hole in the wall, watching the outside for any enemy movements.
The other two began to set up a barricade, moving the body off the now blood soaked bed and turning the furniture on its side. The bed was placed against the door opening, creating a sort of mock bunker so the guerilla guarding the stairwell wasn't completely exposed. The rest of the furniture was moved to further barricade the door opening and provide a little more cover for the marksman peering out the destroyed section of the wall.
One more soldier took up position staring towards the outside area, kneeling down next to the marksman. The last guerilla got out his medkit and while they had a few spare moments before they figured they'd come under fire again, he began to bandage their wounds or give them water or a little bit of food to tide them over till they made their final run.
As the last bandage was wrapped and the last bit of the rations was eaten, the medical soldier put his kit back up and sat down against the wall. His head leaned back and he closed his soft steel blue eyes. Everyone's tails were matted down, their fur soaked to the flesh. They would have to get everything trimmed and dried when and if they got back to their base. Seconds seemed like hours and
minutes seemed like days to these four lone men and their lost companion. Finally, the silence was broken over their com units by the marksman guarding the stairs.
"This should have been an open and shut mission. Invade this territory, kill everyone you saw, and burn the town to the ground. One, two, three... just three steps and it was done. We could've gone home and enjoyed our time off. HQ didn't warn us about their defenses or their military strength. Our entire frontal assault was wiped out, not a single survivor. We stormed the city from the back, occupied it for all of what, ten minutes before an unknown enemy unit forced us into a retreat? Two hundred fine men and women slaughtered one by one. And the last thing I heard over the coms was that only one
enemy unit was doing all the killing. Reports said bullets went right through him, and that he fired two rounds during the entire firefight, the rest of his rampage was done with a horrible looking knife."
The soldier shifted in his position and wiped the rain from his face, "I saw him... no one else says they saw who or what it was... but I saw him guys. He's a monster... something not normal. He sliced Greg's stomach open in one swing... through armor and everything! Cut him practically in half like a knife through soft butter. And when he looked at me... I felt my heart stop, and my lungs quit working... those eyes, those red eyes. They weren't natural... they were glowing guys... and it was like he was trying to eat my soul without touching me. He's not normal Goddamnit!"
The medical officer spoke up this time, "Shhhh... keep your voice down, if anyone's tracking radios they'll hear our chatter. You're being delusional! There's no way one person killed them all so calm down and shut up."
The soldier nodded his head and took a deep breath, exhaling softly. There was a stiffled urking noise over their com units and all the soldiers stiffened looking at each other. The ones holding the guns were fine, but the medical officer had been lifted up and stabbed through the throat with a knife that would've been a sword in a normal furson's hands. The med gurgled and trembled before going limp, his feet dangling above the ground as blood coated the wall behind him and pooled on the rotted wooden floor.
The soldiers stared as if they'd been struck by lightning. Nothing had gotten past them, and with all the weight the med was carrying, someone strong had to lift him up. All the possibilites ran through their heads, but none of them made sense, none of them ended in a loop.
There was a shimmering in the rain right in the middle of the room and two glowing red eyes caught the gaze of the soldier guarding the stairs. The other two turned around and saw his reaction just before two gunshots rang out and their craniums exploded in a mist of blood, brains, and bone fragments.
Frozen in place as his entire team was murdered before him by the creature he'd swore up and down he'd seen but no one else believed, all the man could do was tremble and wait for the end as the eyes got closer and closer to him. The shimmering stopped and the face and body of his attacker came into view slowly. His hair matted to his back, wearing a black skin-tight bodysuit of some sort, a belt around his massive hips, and a large metal shoulder guard on his right arm. A long flowing cloak adorned his back and black gloves that concealed his massive paws except for the claws were worn on his hands.
The giant of a wolf knelt down and looked the soldier in the eyes, and said in a voice that terrified him to his core. "You believed it was only one... you gave me the credit I deserve." And without hesitation or second thought the lupine thrust forward and sank his nightmarish fangs into the soldiers throat and tore it out, backhanding him once and cleanly knocking the rest of the wobbling object off his shoulders. "Thanks..."