Chapter 2 – Ashes of the Wolf
Pain.
Not the fleeting sting of a blade or the numbing cold of betrayal—this was something deeper, more primal. It coursed through every inch of his being like fire licking raw nerves. Benjamin's mind, frayed from the fall into death, reeled as he opened his eyes.
Eyes that no longer belonged to a human.
He was lying on a cold, damp floor that reeked of blood, rust, and chemicals. The scent of old magic clung to the air like rot. Blinking, he tried to rise—but what he saw made his breath hitch.
A body. Mangled. Torn.
Its white coat was barely intact, shredded with brutal force, limbs twisted at unnatural angles. Its face was stuck in a frozen snarl of pain and defiance.
The body wasn't his.
Not anymore.
He looked down—thick, obsidian-colored claws edged with streaks of cement-grey. Each talon curved like a blade, sharp enough to tear steel. Black fur, coarse yet sleek, covered his limbs. Power thrummed beneath it—wild, raw, and unfamiliar. He turned toward the nearest glass shard scattered near a shattered container and caught a glimpse of himself.
Eyes. Crystal blue, glowing faintly, swirling with confusion and something older—rage.
Benjamin… wasn't Benjamin anymore.
Then it hit.
A flood of memories that weren't his—yet were.
Pain. Screams. Cages. Scalpel. Fire. Screams again—this time not his own, but others like him.
He remembered running. The wind through thick forest. The scent of prey. The joy of freedom.
Then the trap.
A searing rune detonating beneath his paws. A flash of light. Netting laced with paralyzing magic.
The men in robes. The dungeon.
They called him Specimen 37. But he remembered his name—his true name. Fenr—no, even that had been taken.
They experimented on him.
Fused dark blood of an elven warlock into his veins. Wyvern hearts ground into black ash and fed into his marrow. Every howl of protest was met with a needle. Every twitch of rebellion with a lash.
And then, one day, they killed him.
Not swiftly. Not with mercy. They dissected him while he still breathed.
And now… he was alive again. In that very same body—reborn as both beast and man.
Benjamin's soul… Fenr's body.
The rage was not his alone. It came from the very bones he now wore. The wolf's fury. The pain of a beast turned into an abomination.
And it hungered for vengeance.
Footsteps echoed beyond the shattered cage.
A robed figure entered, muttering to himself, holding a glowing crystal—his face pale and arrogant, his fingers twitching with practiced magic. He wore a necklace strung with wolf teeth.
Benjamin felt something shift inside him.
The Chimera Maker.
The man looked up—and froze. "You—how are you still—?"
That was all he said.
Benjamin moved faster than thought. He lunged.
The man screamed, raising a hand to cast—but obsidian claws tore through his chest, rending flesh from bone. He tried to run. Beg. Cast. But the wolf was faster. Stronger.
Benjamin pinned him down.
He didn't speak. He didn't snarl.
He stared into the man's eyes as obsidian claws sank into his throat.
A silent promise.
This is for the wolf. For what you did. For what you turned me into.
Crack.
The light in the mage's eyes faded, and his body slumped, twitching once, then never again.
Silence.
The room still reeked of blood, but now it was joined by the scent of justice.
Benjamin—no, not just Benjamin anymore—stood above the corpse. He could feel the wolf inside… not just memories, but something deeper. It hadn't left. It had accepted him.
Man and beast… now one.
The dark fur along his back rose as the door creaked open once more.
Voices.
Guards.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing. The pain was still there—but so was clarity.
He wasn't just a failed college student, abandoned by family.
He wasn't just a beast, created in a lab.
He was the result of betrayal. Twice born in pain. And now—he would decide what came next.
His claws flexed. His eyes glowed.
Let them come.
Let them all come.
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