The Wolf Warlock: 'Asura'
The Wolf Warlock
http://www.weasyl.com/~iscin
THE WOLF WARLOCK
by Iscin
This is a work of graphic fiction. All characters portrayed within are 18 years of age or over. All rights reserved © 2015.
CHAPTER TWO Asura
The Creche of the Asuras is shrouded in dense foliage of every kind of wild shoot and shrub. Old yet solid trees serve as natural barrier, walling off the entire area inside the Creche. Some might think that this place is at the very centre of the forest. In actuality it is something more like an entirely different forest altogether. A supernatural place, separate and adjacent to the natural one that serves as a preamble to it. In the middle of the clearing the Creche itself is comprised of several moss covered stones which rise up out of the ground as if reaching for the stars above. Each one contains carvings of symbols, runes to be exact, that do not have names to them but are nevertheless imbued with powerful meaning. The path to this place has only ever been known to a few throughout all of recorded history. Those who made the sojourn here then knew great power, beyond what any mortal is supposed to know. At least they knew it for a time, before that very same power consumed them; some losing their minds, others losing far more.
As Rashawn nears the runic stones he nearly stumbles over a slab of sheared rock. Looking down he can see that there are, or were, some kind of paving stones that have become overgrown wild flora and uneven to walk upon. He starts to pick his feet up more as he navigates them, changing his focus from the ground to what is in immediate proximity around him now and then. There is the feeling of being watched, of presences unseen yet nevertheless there accompanying him in this place of solitude. As the small young man reaches the centre of the arrangement of stones he looks up at the moonlit sky and back down to reach into his satchel and procure the tome of Tiamat which Cailey was surprisingly willing to let him take out from the library. The leather binding on the book is worn and the pages are dry and cracked as he opens it up. He has to kneel on one leg, whilst laying the book out on the other; there is the fear that the binding might snap but the archaic text is tougher than it looks.
His heart is beginning to race. It feels like a caged animal, desperately unsure of its surroundings as the warlock flicks through the pages finding his bookmark. Even whilst keeping his conscious mind focused upon his task long since committed to, there is that unconscious element that is uncertain, anxious and outright terrified of what he is about to do. He will not be the first to crave or even acquire the power that this place offers, and Tiamat's incantations deliver. However the price of such power is something that is unfixed, that is altered according to the individual and their own innermost thoughts. Magic as strong as this has a way of coiling around the user's soul. To figuratively constrict and warp the figurative heart, though the ultimate master of the creature that comes out of the other end of the process is never certain.
No turning back now as Rashawn comes across the particular passage he needs. His eyes scan across the first couple of lines before he looks up and around at the pillars. Despite being inanimate, the monolithic artefacts feel as though they have an energy, a vibrating essence all of their own. Each one of them gathered around the young warlock sit in judgement of him, or is it expectation? He can feel the burden of what he intends to do before he is about to even do it. Rashawn's lips part, his tongue waggles and all that comes out is a squeak as air passes out from his mouth. The warlock shuts his eyes and grimaces, his fingers curling around the edges of the book in his hands. Even now, even after having come so far, and surrounded by so much, he falters.
Rashawn takes a deep breath. He clears his throat. Swallows. Looks back down at the page. Finally he starts reading aloud.
'Is it a new one? After so long?' Asks the first asura. Its non-corporeal attention drawn to the Creche where there is a human performing the ritual.
Rashawn is experiencing a rush not unlike a sudden injection of adrenaline. What was merely the nervous heightened beating of his heart has become a race born of phantom animal instinct. He drops the book and places both hands on his face. It feels as though there are things, like insects, running all over his skin. He has the self-awareness to know that it is only his nervous system going into a kind of shock, overwhelmed by the rush of magic seeping into his flesh, and sinking into bone marrow. The first stage of this endeavour he has undertaken involves a great deal of magical essence being stored inside of him. Assuming his body can withstand this first taxing step, the rest will only grow worse from here.
'You are right.. It appears young. But not the youngest. I think.' The second asura replies in slow, methodically picked words. 'Is there an offering?'
Burning heat emanates from within him. The warlock can feel the perspiration trickling running down the back of his neck, legs and arms even before his brain is registering the temperature. Internal organs risk failing, but for now all he can manage is to keep his eyes and mouth open as his legs grow so weak that he slumps down. Prostrate on the ground Rashawn starts panting hard, hoping to regulate some of his automotive functions. He wishes he had paid more attention when being taught the meditation exercises. At least the grass and moss covered stone are cool to the touch, although the dichotomy is risking a different reaction altogether. Right now the only battle to be fought is keeping his eyelids from closing, not matter how heavy they seem to weigh.
'No. No offering this time friend. We're dealing with a truly selfish soul down there.' The first answers. 'In another that might be a mark of stupidity.'
The next phase of the process comes with a sharp pain shooting all the way along Rashawn's back. The youth screams in pain, but the blackness of the night offers no soothing. This pain terminates at the base of his spine, radiating in a sphere of aching pain across his lower back; it is reaching into his gut and even his loins aching. He grinds his teeth, trying to hold back the temptation to express himself as the assault on his senses only continues. Now something not unlike a burning experience starts to ripple across his skin. Rashawn's arms and legs cramp up even as some measure of strength returns to him. Unconsciousness is no longer beckoning, which right now seems almost desirable.
'He will suffer. He will desire death. However, he will survive.' The taciturn asura comments whilst continuing to observe.
Something is happening inside of him. The warlock can feel movement, like there are tiny things inside of him like beetles, with sufficient strength to rearrange whole organs. For a moment though he goes numb and confusion takes hold. He expected more pain, more torment. Movement returning to his arms, the warlock pushes himself up on both hands, tentatively testing himself by getting his face out of the dirt. Unsurprisingly the pain returns with a vengeance just he reaches the apex of where his arms can lift his torso. Everything locks up, making him feel more like a scarecrow than a person. Stuck in position all he can do is scream and scream and scream some more. Things are moving from within and without. Protean movement that he is unable to witness, and in truth is rather too terrified to even try to.
'Oh, we're getting to the fun part. What do you think will happen?' The more animated asura is riveted.
'The human will acquire what it seeks.' The other vaguely posits to the annoyance of its counterpart.
His changes come quick and sudden, one after the other they stack up. First something sprouts from his lower back, at the base of his spine. A tail, shoots out, piercing the fabric of his cloth and rapidly growing. Next comes the spreading of fur. Dark brown and matted. It blossoms everywhere like a bad rash, even as Rashawn can feel his new tail grow heavier from the addition of hair. At this point the changes are happening so quickly and the pain so omnipresent that the warlock has ceased to analyse what is happening. Instead he paying attention he rolls onto his back and stares up at the night sky. Basking in the moonlight he writhes and groans, his mind muddled with so much more than just the physical alterations. Something is different on a far more intimate level. His perceptions, his thoughts, they are all becoming different somehow. Shifting a little from something of the ape, to something of the canine. He does not yet understand it, but everything from his eyesight to his sense of taste is taking on something far more predatory.
Now his limbs and appendages are changing. Bone is beginning to distend, snap, reform, and distend again. Some parts lengthen, others thicken, all of them are being rearranged into something more bestial than before. The asuras watch from the aether as Rashawn's hands change, nails lengthening into claws, strange pads appearing underneath them, whilst they yet maintain the dexterity and nimbleness of a human; complete with an opposable thumb on each hand. His feet however take on more dramatic changes, becoming digitigrade and far more suited for a faster set of pace. But even all of these changes are the mere start, barely having reached the midway point between what he was and what he is presently becoming. As the fur continues to thicken and spread, so too do the muscles that Rashawn never knew he had underneath his skin. Everything is growing, some of not proportionally, some of of not so much.
As he moves his arms about, growing accustomed to that pain now, Rashawn notices that they feel heavier, gaining more momentum than before. However the muscles that are still expanding, swelling in size, make any such movement he wishes to make easy, even easier than before really. However before the warlock can explore further something new happens. Something in his neck suddenly moves. He is terrified for a moment, believing something very wrong has just happened, yet nothing is broken yet. With his breathing continuing as normal Rashawn realises that his head and neck are changing. Indeed, everything has been changing. From his ears to his nose; bestial traits from a creature long deemed a myth even by the Keepers. Everything is locking into place now. Muscle and sinew, skin and fur, flesh and bone. It is a last act of a harmonious symphony. The final note in a long melody.
'Old form. Ancient magic. Interesting choice.' The unemotional asura comments.
'An oldie, but a goodie. Do you wish to offer your patronage?' If an asura could smile, this one would.
'Yes.'
Barely does Rashawn have the time to stand up on new and untested legs than he is subjected to yet another influx of arcane energy. As his consciousness struggles to settle along new neural pathways he is barely phased as he feels the surge of yet more life enter his body from every direction. If the reborn soul of what Rashawn had become could be compared to a bonfire, then what had just been introduced was nothing short of gunpowder. The energy bursts into every organ, fills every limb, saturates every fibre of his being. Rashawn is so overwhelmed that not the least be embarrassingly something tears free from the ragged clothing that had remained clung to his pelvis.
'What the hell!' Rashawn exclaims, not recognising his own voice.
Before and below him is something that is beyond belief. Not only diminutive in general, Rashawn was never blessed by having anything like an exceptional male endowment, it barely even counted as an average one in truth. However right now the transformed warlock has the kind of erection that would be better suited on a breeding stallion. Except unlike an equine, this one is tapers off to a point and possess a thick base. Even without touching it Rashawn can feel the aching need, the primal emotions of lust and libido bubbling to the top as the energised state of his entire body starts overpowering him. He resigns himself to just rolling with it and carefully grips the thick base with one hand, and the upper portion with the other. The pads at the ends of his fingers feel funny, but not as funny as that way the thick bulbous base there throbs.
Alone in the sequestered Creche of the Asuras, the warlock starts to pleasure his new self. His self-masturbation is uneven, constantly in fear of nicking himself with those sharp ends to his fingers. However he is doing the best he can, giving in to the broiling lust from his loins. An entire body aches, yearns to release just the smallest amount of that energy pent up inside of him. So he strokes, squeezes, twists and tugs until the clear fluid starts to flow. His fur is growing wet now, especially that on his hands. The warlock's new, turgid instrument is pre-ejaculating profusely. It is positively grotesque in how productive his body has become. And on top of all of it, the musk practically stings his new olfactory senses. Every heartbeat he can hear. Every pulsating throb in his hands he feels. And every drop of oozing, sticky, pre-ejaculate he can smell.
The assault in his senses is too much. His new nervous system too raw. It only takes but a few more seconds. Moments between self-awareness and bestial desire. A short run up. Piercing howl and all of a sudden, he just loses it all to impulse.
Rashawn opens his eyes. Adjusted to the moonlight his vision is keener than before, everything is more illuminated. He sits up and feels fur brushing against yet more fur. The warlock grunts and rolls his shoulders, quickly resettling into his new body; though there is yet still so much to explore and learn about. One of the things he quickly realises though is that he does not feel at all uncomfortable from laying down on the ground here. Whatever he is now, comfort is apparently not high up on his body's concerns. Rashawn now takes a moment to look around himself and registers what he is seeing.
'Did I do that?' He asks himself.
Ignoring the copious amounts of white, some of which is caked on to his fur, the real shocker is the destruction. Surely it could not have been a mere ejaculation that has knocked down several trees, and knocked off the top of one of the rune pillars. No, this was something more. Something deeper and more powerful than Rashawn had imagined he would unleash, even here. There was something, or someone, else that interrupted his metamorphosis. He felt it at the end there, right before his body lost itself to a bestial lust that demanded its own satiating. Something more than what he had asked for was given him, or perhaps forced inside of him. Whether right or wrong, at least the suspicion of it confirms that his intellectual faculties are intact, at least for the most part.
He dusts his furry legs and stands back up. Stretches. Flexes. Looks back at one of the pillars, which now barely comes up to his own head now. Rashawn smiles. This is most definitely different. His clothes are ruined, but the book remains, as does his satchel. Rashawn picks both of them up, and takes one look at the book before putting it back in the satchel. The warlock has received what he came for, the power of a beast, the physical prowess of an alpha werewolf itself. A monster long believed extinct which he has just resurrected. However there is so much more to plan and do, and the work of Master Tiamat will continue to serve him as he departs the creche.
'It begins.' The asuras say in unison.