《The Wolf's Will》 Prologue: A Flight to Catch Christopher stared in the mirror, slowly assessing himself. He looked from his bright golden hair down to the angular eyebrows that gave him an air of determination. He looked at his bright turquoise eyes that were so often compared with the endless waters of the ocean. His small, angular nose pointed down toward his unreadable mouth. He moved his hands up, adjusting his shallow sideburns lightly before he nodded in satisfaction. He stepped away from the extravagantly wide mirror, walking over to the large black rolling bag that sat on the ornate Persian pattern of the carpeting. Cracking it open, he unenthusiastically inspected its contents before slapping it closed and extending its handle. The pack prepared, Christopher set out for the door, retrieving his keycard along the way. He pulled the cold metal of the handle down and out, the heavy wooden door readily yielding. He stepped out into the carpeted hallway and strolled by room after room, the numbers engraved onto doors the only identifiable differences between them. He pushed the cold plastic button in front of him, and immediately he heard the melodic ding of the bell that notified him of an arriving elevator. Stepping onto the elevator, he nodded to the tall, gruff-looking man that stood already within it. Though he had little space within, he made do until he had gone down 12 floors to the lobby. Handing his card to the lanky man who stood behind the heavy mahogany counter in his navy-blue outfit, he spoke. ¡°I¡¯m checking out.¡± He spoke flatly, no expression shown on his face. ¡°Understood, thank you for staying with us! Applying discount, your total is¡­ $221.46.¡± The young man behind the counter said cheerfully. He was mildly surprised with the total exactly paid in cash, a double-rare event. Lugging his bag, Christopher trudged to the door, reluctantly stepping out into the painfully cold winter. The valet recognized him, and the fact that he had no car, and waved him onward. ¡°Have a good day, sir.¡± The man spoke in a deep voice, not moving from his post. Stepping up to the ruthlessly noisy road, Christopher brought his arm out, quickly managing to hail a bright yellow Crown Victoria taxi. ¡°Logan, please.¡± He requested. He saw the driver silently nod and speed up, and leaned against the window to watch the scenery of the silver-gray cityscape blanketed in bright, powdery white layers of pristine snow. It was still too early for it to have been cleaned or contaminated, and too dark to see it clearly. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. The scenery rolled by quickly as he passed into busier territory, full of cars and people travelling hurriedly. He had arrived at the entrance to the airport. Once again giving exact change for the taxi driver¡¯s service, he wordlessly stepped out of the car, unloading his single piece of luggage and walking into the wide hall of reception. ------------------------ Hours of TSA later, Christopher sat in his comfortable leather seat, staring out upon the machine-populated tarmac exhaustedly. He narrowed his eyes subtly in discomfort as the whine of the engines began, the headache of having an overweight passenger next to him showing as the man next to him raised the temperature by a consistent 12¡ãF. A few hours into the flight, all he saw was the white tufts of clouds and the tumultuous waves beneath them. The cabin was slightly cold, preventing Christopher from sleeping. A mechanical tone played, and he looked up from the window to see a light he had not seen on the console in any of his previous flights. The plane lurched a bit, and he widened his eyes as masks popped down from the ceiling compartment. ¡°Attention, the cabin is losing pressure. Please place your own mask on before helping others with their own while we descend to a safer altitude.¡± The calm voice of the captain cut off abruptly as the plane angled downward. Mask on, Christopher stared out of the window as the outside world tilted back. The resetting trajectory didn¡¯t stop until it reached 90¡ã. He knew something was going wrong, but couldn¡¯t escape his seat as the plane fell vertically so rapidly. His pupils dilated as he started to hyperventilate, fear of the impending events taking control over his consciousness, imprisoning him within his own malfunctioning body. Christopher lost consciousness. ________________________________________________________________________________ Author¡¯s Note Hi! New story. I just had a few ideas and thought it would be fun. Allow me to answer the few questions I can come up with. 1) Yes, this is a gender bending story. If you don¡¯t like it, you can take a hike :) 2) No, I don¡¯t have much of a plan on where to go with this. It becomes painful to write when I restrict myself like that. I¡¯m always open to suggestions, so make sure you comment those after I develop the story with a chapter or two. I should have them out soon. Thank you for reading! Chapter 1: Alone Christopher¡¯s eyelids slowly, sorely lifted over his red, burning eyes, tears from the irritating smoke falling down his face and onto his belt. Looking down, he stared at his arms. His ears were ringing, and his head moved around, imbalanced as he groggily watched the scene unfold in front of him. The temperature was unusually hot, and his hands refused to open and close. It took all of the little willpower he could draw through his tired state to bring his left arm down and push on the buckle of his seat. Trying to stand, he stumbled and slipped, the sound of his chest hitting the metal of the floor mixed into the palpitations of his heart that permeated his hearing. Looking down at his right arm slowly brought him out of his state of shock. He didn¡¯t, no, couldn¡¯t look away. Gradually, the sharp, stabbing sensation in his shoulder increased. His arm was locked in searing pain. At least, what was left of his arm was. Just above the place the elbow belonged, the arm stopped. There was no blood, no bone, just a charred stump. For the first time on his trip gone to hell, he raised his voice to a shout. ¡°AAAAAAAAAAAHH!¡± His panicked shout forcefully encompassed the entire environment, but only echoes cared to answer, intercepted by the crackling of jet fuel¡¯s flames melting the steel structure. Using his one remaining arm, Christopher dragged himself from the flaming wreckage, burning away skin on his knees and palm as he did so, wincing at the pain until he didn¡¯t feel it anymore. His eyes squinting, he held himself up with his hand on the searing sands, and looked in all directions. In one direction, he had the wreckage of the plane. He was yet unwilling to return to it for supplies, considering the inhospitable heat of the interior. On either side of him was sand. A long beach curled around the bright green of the forest in front of him, the wind accosting the trees perpetually. Looking up, he saw a short mountain peak stand high over the tropical foliage. Panting in the severe heat, he felt beads of sweat begin to form on his marred skin. ¡°I¡­ need to avoid sweating, don¡¯t I?¡± Christopher spoke in a subdued, detached voice. The moment the plane had taken a literal turn for the worse, he had let go of all hope for survival. He stepped slowly through the outskirts of the forest, fearful of any dangerous species of animal that could exist on the island. Looking out over the horizon, he sighed. ¡°No use in expecting anything at this point, is there?¡± He spoke to himself, if only to keep himself sane. His face looked considerably older to him than it did a few hours ago, when it was still early morning. Looking up into the sky, he established that he was currently moving west, into the sun that was not far from the tumultuous waves of the saltwater desert. Suddenly, the sun seemed far more intense than it was a few moments ago. Raising his functional left arm to block the sun, he inadvertently turned towards it, and witnessed the light as it fell over the horizon. Clouds above were dyed red by the rays, the light changing the sky¡¯s pigment subtly, from the bright pale blue it was before to the purple transition to red. The red imitated that of the sun as it disappeared, the purple that followed once more being a cold, foreboding color that struck Christopher as he recounted the day¡¯s events, and the fact that he was alone. ¡°This solitude is not what I wished for.¡± Christopher mumbled, looking down upon the sand that his feet no longer felt. He found not the comfort of the stars he once loved. In the place of no cold and no light, he felt he could see forever. The stars crowded the overpopulated sky as if he was looking down on Boston at night, every little point with a different story behind it. Billions were up there, but the only one that was similar to him was outshone by the others. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. ¡°I¡¯ll pick it up tomorrow. I have to survive, after all.¡± He said as he stretched, lying down on the sand that had considerably cooled. ---------------- Christopher opened his eyes. He was back in that godforsaken place. The endless chatter he heard before his eyes opened all stopped. Those warm, friendly eyes were not the eyes the people looked at him with. The eyes that scrutinized him were the ugly eyes that watched his every move, dissected his every feature as they dug into his skin and found his flaws. He was not human to them. ---------------- He sat up as fast as he could, his ostracizing becoming far worse as he looked around. The only sound to comfort him was the endless crashing of the foreboding waves upon the sand and pulverized seashells. The sky was slowly brightening as the sun rose, unseen by Christopher through the mass of foliage. ¡°Day 2, is it¡­¡± He spoke before rising, his stomach growling and throat burning. ¡°Nngh¡­ need food¡­¡± His voice became hoarse and quiet, and he looked down on his hand. The remaining one had already become calloused, leathery, blistered, and burned. He clenched and opened it several times before he continued on toward the mountain. Every second, the temperate morning became more humid and more sweltering. Christopher had trouble breathing in fully, and he started to feel pain in the place that his right arm didn¡¯t exist anymore. Sweating, bent over, hardly standing up, and suffering from phantom limb pains, all he could do to keep moving was force himself, lest he die. ¡°How pathetic¡­ to be beaten so badly by nature on the second day. I have to live¡­ to get back¡­ to show just how wrong they were, I will return.¡± He found motivation in his spite, anger, and indignation as he fought himself to continue. A few minutes felt as though they had been years as Christopher yearned to wet his throat. He had long stopped producing saliva, and even his eyes felt dry. He almost felt the water when he looked upon the small pond. He fell and knelt before it before diving in, forgetting to care that the water might be contaminated or otherwise dangerous. He sighed in relief as he took in the water, grinning ear to ear. The water made the temperature bearable as he left the pond, peeling his clothing from his body and heading back towards the beach to hang the articles. He was alone, after all. He felt a throbbing in his head, but ignored it as it had happened to him before and was never serious. He kept walking, hoping to circle the entire island to understand what his environment was. Not long later, he was on the eastern side of the island as the sun just began to pass overhead. The view from this side was the same ¨C the mountain near the southern end, the wreckage in the north, and a hell of a lot of saturated forest in between. Finally, he braced himself and entered the forest. The wet leaves all around him loosened his footing as he struggled through the uncertain terrain full of moisture. ¡°¡­Shit.¡± He thought to himself as he slipped backwards. He expected to hit his head on the ground, but fell through it into a dark, musty, rocky crevasse. The growl that he heard filled him with dread as he forced himself up in his sorry state, lowering his waist and raising his hand into a pseudo-combat stance, ready to drive off any beast that might make a meal of him. ________________________________________________________________________________ Author''s Note: My writing style remains inconsistent. I love comments if you have something to say! Feedback is always welcome, even if I''m just writing for the hell of it. Don''t worry, by the end of this week I should be done with the beginning. Thanks a ton for taking the time to read my work! Chapter 2: The Darkness of Doubt Slowly, timidly, Christopher tread across the rocks, squinting so that his vision could penetrate the saturated darkness that filled the rocky cave. Bending over, he tracked his hand across the floor and found a loose rock, picking it up. He bent his knees as he struggled to hold the heavy rock in his hand, biting his lip to concentrate and righting himself. He very nearly fell as another growl echoed through the cave ¨C this one weaker, desperate even. The grumbling of the unknown voice continued as he stumbled around. It took several minutes of his head being wracked with pain for him to eventually find himself next to the source of the crying. He saw two eyes that glowed dim. They were wide, delicate as if fragile, with slit golden pupils, carefully analyzing him. Slowly, dazedly, Christopher put his hand on the back of the beast, though there was much unabated abrasion. The growl was much higher pitched than he thought ¨C it was a young animal. Bringing his hand across the smooth, hot fur of the animal, he found the problem. Between two rocks, its tail was stuck, crushed. Hot liquid rubbed off on his hand as he removed them. ¡°Wait¡­ I¡¯ll be back.¡± Christopher said, his voice all but lost. Stumbling back across his tracks, he found faint light emanating from the ceiling in one place. ¡°...Oh¡­¡± He mumbled. ¡°But¡­ I have to.¡± He determined the task to be important for the animal¡¯s life, if not his own. He had to climb several meters to his destination before a long walk, only to return. It seemed like a daunting, nigh impossible task for the malnourished Chris. Slowly, as his muscles shook and ached, he grabbed onto the little rock he could see with the faint rays of stifled pale light that fell through slivers in the foliage above. He shivered as his pale hand tore at the abrasion of the stone. His eye twitched, and he stepped up with one leg, clenching to keep himself on the rocks. He reached with his other arm, aiming for a rock very close to the top. As he let go of the outcrop he held with his other hand, he fell back, hitting the cold, hard ground with an audible thud. The sparse light began to further dim, though Christopher was unsure whether it was caused by fading consciousness or the ending of the day. Mattered it little, as his eyes fluttered and closed. ------------------ Christopher¡¯s eyes opened to copious moisture as rainwater fell upon his tense body. The sweat covering his clammy skin was hidden by the falling water. He forced himself up, looking into the darkness of the cave. Those same beady golden eyes stared back into his, but this time, they looked less suspicious and more desperate. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. He clenched his fist and made his decision. ¡°Even if only for it¡­¡± He mumbled to himself, narrowing his eyes in desperate determination. ¡°I will live!¡± Raising his voice caused him to enter a fit of coughing as he gasped for the air that was so violently expelled from his lungs. It took agonizing minutes of his life away, but he finally recovered from the fit, clenching his agonized abdomen. ¡°I¡­ can¡¯t focus¡­ on just the pain¡­¡± He whispered to himself, the voice he used to be able to use had disappeared completely with that last shout. Bending his legs deeply, he catapulted himself upward, finding his hand gripping some very wet dirt and foliage. ¡°Shorter¡­ than it looked.¡± Christopher observed as he ignored the screaming pains of his body and pulled himself up and over the ledge. ¡°Gh¡­¡± He groaned in pain and shivered involuntarily. He missed the clothes he had hung out. They were supposed to dry, but he supposed they¡¯d completely soaked through by this point. He limped across the dense forest, not feeling nor caring to notice the crimson trail that sharply contrasted with the forest full of life. He put his remaining hand to his chin, contemplating. ¡°In a survival situation, one must be realistic¡­ too weak to release the damaged tail¡­ it¡¯s unsalvageable anyway¡­ a knife.¡± He unravelled thoughts about how to free the animal trapped within the cavern. While he was lost in thought, he found himself back at the scene of his nightmare. White painted aluminum was torn apart, revealing the warped steel frame. Several¡­ parts were visible nearby, but Christopher did his best to ignore them. He crawled within the now small space of the plane, finding that most everything had burned away. Reaching his own seat, he saw the arm that was once attached to him above the elbow had begun to rot and decompose, some of the bone visible through the red and brown of the scabbed severed limb. Sinking into the wall of the craft next to the arm was a long, sweeping piece of metal that lodged itself in the plane, away from its origin. Christopher yanked it out of its place using all of what little might he could muster, launching himself backwards through the long aisle and down onto the sand, narrowly avoiding disembowelment/decapitation by rolling to the side as the hot, sharp metal dug itself into the dry sand. He pulled it out of the ground and, in a daze, walked along the island¡¯s eastern side, where the cave was. He trudged through the beach, his steps as heavy as those that walked through water. Christopher was starving, but could live. The warm sand felt comforting on his face. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Author''s Note: Another short chapter as I build up Christopher''s identity, and his problem. Bonus cookies for anyone who can guess what deadly disease he has. I''m so sorry it''s such a short chapter, but I''m too tired to write very descriptively and want the transition to be as big as I can make it at this point. Again, thank you for reading! Chapter 3: The Collapse His eyes widening, Christopher hardly managed to push down hard enough to once again remove his face from the warmth of the sand he had lain in. ¡°I can¡¯t¡­ fall¡­ now¡­¡± He growled to himself, his clenched teeth and eyes almost feral in nature. ¡°Such a thing¡­¡± He forced himself to lean back onto his bent legs, inhaling sharply as his weight shifted. ¡°Would be¡­¡± He continued the unnecessary monologue simply to keep himself moving. ¡°Pathetic.¡± He finished; taking his first step out of the imprint he had left on the dry, powdery shore. He walked like a zombie, constantly twisting his torso to take advantage of a stronger center of gravity whenever he was about to fall down. Behind him dragged a long, sharp scrap of bent metal. He limped down the shores, searching for where he walked into the forest before. ¡°More¡­ mountains?¡± He mumbled to himself quizzically as he looked up and found numerous mountains that overlooked the entire area. Their gray and white tops pierced the clouds like ruthless spearheads jutting out of the earth, the stone atop them blanketed by thick, powdery sheets of the frozen precipitation. ¡°Land¡­?¡± He became even more confused at the discovery that the island he was on must not have been an island at all. Lush greenery covered the land that was bordered by bright waters of turquoise and green. There was an escape. Delighted at this prospect, Christopher started to walk faster. He bent forward, began to run despite the ruthless protests of every muscle in his weak body. He dropped the metal sheet and continued forth. It is a miracle that he didn¡¯t fall as he suddenly stopped, shocked by the appearance of a figure. In the bright sun they were indiscernible as they stepped through shadow, walking slowly towards him. [¡­Salvation?] He pondered as he looked on, eyes wide. [Or¡­] His thoughts trailed as his face contorted in fear of the potential enemy. The figure was definitely feminine, what with its well-defined bust and hips discernible from even such a long distance away. In the end, Christopher was able to do nothing but doubt other humans. [Wait¡­ what are those?] He pondered as he stared at the top of the figure¡¯s head. Two prominent triangles sat atop her head. [¡­Strange.] He stared at the figure, not sure how he might respond. He scanned her surroundings, trying to discern what she was doing. It didn¡¯t take much to find an answer as she pulled from the undergrowth a large, black figure. It was a fearfully muscular beast, one that he felt an odd familiarity with. ¡°That¡¯s-¡° An enemy. That¡¯s what Christopher saw in the cold-blooded killer of a human in front of him. With his slip of the tongue, he watched as one of those triangular shapes twitched, and she turned towards him. His pupils dilated and air burned his throat as he inhaled sharply, staggering backwards in fear. To him, that figure was the Grim Reaper. He blacked out for but a second as he watched the figure in the horizon. In just that brief moment, what he saw restored his heart of malice. Within the dark of night, he saw the glint of a recently clean blade stained crimson with sin and hate. The face of insanity stood inches from his vulnerable mind. Christopher smiled, his chapped and sunburned lips cracking and spouting blood. [There must be just one reason I¡¯m here ¨C otherwise I¡¯d have succumbed to the thousands of reasons I shouldn¡¯t be.] He thought, leaning his body forward so that he could charge forward. He picked up the closest thing he could find to a weapon ¨C a particularly heavy stick. [What¡¯s one more?] In reality, it wasn¡¯t all that heavy. The weakened and stiff muscles that imprisoned Christopher in his own body made it feel as if it were. The abrasion of it on his frail skin tore it, dyeing the stick in deep red. Dragging the stick with his one remaining hand, he ran towards the silhouette on the sand, the trail behind him lengthening. The shadow bent her knees and spaced her feet, prepared to respond, but immediately left the position as Christopher tripped. He hit the ground hard (pathetically), and the light that entered his sight through the displaced sand began to flicker and fade, skin on his face scraping. Malaria had taken a serious tax on his unstable body. -------------------- ¡°Eh?¡± Ilya stared at what had just happened, dumbfounded. Some pale guy had just run across the coast toward her and faceplanted, and still hadn¡¯t gotten up 2 minutes later. ¡°¡­¡± She leaned over his limp body, poking his shoulder curiously. ¡°How does a lone human cross the mountains anyway?¡± Ilya flipped him over, assessing him. She put her hand over her eyes to block the sun, wincing as she saw his scratched up face and lost arm. Sighing, she looked over him with sad eyes. ¡°I hope he can still be saved¡­¡± Her eyebrows lowered in concern and she lifted him up, leaving the titanic monster behind. -------------------- ¡°NOTHING?¡± Bellowed a mountain of a man who stood over Ilya. This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Well, yes, but¡­¡± She dodged his infuriated gaze, and it was now that he finally noticed the figure in her arms. ¡°You DO realize we don¡¯t eat humans, right?¡± The growling, gruff man looked down his nose at her. ¡°Though I can see that you¡¯re airheaded enough to make such a mistake.¡± ¡°Of course we don¡¯t, but he¡¯s hardly hanging on to life!¡± Ilya cried out in frustration at the man¡¯s density. ¡°We have to help him. How can we not?¡± ¡°This is how: refused. We don¡¯t need another one of his kind mucking up our home. Get rid of him before I kill him myself.¡± The man¡¯s nostrils flared and he picked up a butcher¡¯s knife that would be proportional to the body of nobody smaller than himself. ¡°But-¡° She tried to protest, but was immediately cut off by the man unwilling to negotiate. ¡°No buts. Get out, we don¡¯t have enough food for one more.¡± He spat the words out at her, his eyebrows lowering on his fierce expression, blowing black hair out of one of his eyes. His cooling body still in her arms, Ilya shoved open the noisy wooden door and ran down the makeshift stairs of stones into the alley behind a particularly prominent building in the shade of the tall, thick canopy that covered the settlement. Sweat dripped from her fair skin as she pushed open the surprisingly silent back door. She was greeted by a young girl with the same pointy ears that held the silver color of her hair that lay on her shoulders. Her plain white toga extended down her tall, slender figure, dragging slightly along the ground and giving an impression of a poor fit. ¡°Good evening, Ilya. For what purpose have you come here?¡± She spoke with a peaceful, reserved smile, little emotion showing in her professional voice. ¡°It¡¯s great to see you again, Caltha, but about that whole boulderling inci-¡° Ilya attempted to bring up a topic that was immediately shot down by the priestess. ¡°You need help with something?¡± Her unmoving smile didn¡¯t include her eyes, causing Ilya to shiver slightly. ¡°Yes, please!¡± She piped up and spoke far more loudly than she had before, causing Caltha to recoil slightly in surprise. Looking down, she saw Christopher¡¯s marred face, covered in cracks and blood, unmoving. Hardly any heat still emanated from his desiccated body. ¡°Resurrection is impossible. You of all people should know that, Ilya.¡± Caltha responded, looking reluctantly upon the young man. ¡°How did you get him all the way here unnoticed, anyway?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t ask unnecessary questions. He¡¯s not dead, and I, no, he needs your help.¡± Ilya¡¯s voice lost its emotion, became ice-cold. The only thing that Caltha could feel was the impending doom set upon her. Stepping back slightly, her expression faltered and arms rose slightly before she consented. ¡°Right this way, but¡­ does your father know?¡± ¡°¡­Nope.¡± She spoke with a poker face as she scanned the white halls. Ornate pillars marked the corners of the pristine walls, no apparent light sources in the room that remained yet bright, especially compared to the perpetual twilight of the forests the small city situated itself in. The two passed through a tall door, at least twice the height of the already relatively tall Ilya. The room they passed into was a long rectangular room with a large block of what looked like marble at the center. The block was rectangular, with no apparent flaws on its surface. The base of it was surrounded by a small reservoir of crystal-clear water. The floor was covered in tasseled silver and blue mats. ¡°Lay him upon the-¡° Caltha attempted to instruct Ilya, only to be immediately interrupted. ¡°Yes, I get it.¡± She responded, rushing over to put him on the cold stone. He still had yet to move. ¡°The ritual will soon begin. We ask that you do not linger, for reasons we¡¯re sure you already know.¡± As soon as she was in the room, her personality had changed. Caltha had straightened her spine and half-closed her eyes, her speech more disconnected. Despite being far shorter than Ilya, she seemed far more mature, holding her hands over her abdomen and speaking more seriously. Several others, who likely overheard her, entered the room, kneeling on the mats. ¡°Leave.¡± She finished sternly, and Ilya turned away and walked out without another word. Out of the tall building, Ilya shivered, a tired expression on her face. ¡°So scary¡­¡± She remarked before running back up the hill, towards the building she had just been in. ¡°Gotta distract him somehow¡­¡± _______________________________________________________________________________________ Author¡¯s Note: Not sure about this chapter, honestly. I could have done it better. Maybe I¡¯ll rewrite when I hit some big mark and want to make this actually decent. Anyway, thanks a ton for reading! Next chapter will be some time in the next week, and I should be able to get another one that week as well. 2/week sounds pretty good if it doesn¡¯t kill my grades. Chapter 4: White Room Christopher snapped upward immediately as he awoke, his eyes wide, clouded. His breathing was quick and shallow as he looked around at the faces that surrounded him. Those eyes were prying, scrutinizing, watching his every move. ¡®Wait, what?¡¯ He thought as he processed the information. As it stood, he last recalled collapsing in agony, unable to control his muscles at all. However, he felt lighter than a feather, and he was able to lift himself. There were 9 people in the room, all staring at him. Two stood out from the rest ¨C most all of them were wearing simple garments that extended from shoulders to a long V-shaped opening down the chest and down to the feet. Each one was blue off-white with a different accenting trim, and they looked expensive for how deceptively simple they were. On top of that, all 7 of them were female. Among them was one with a particularly dignified air about her, one who had silver hair that draped over her shoulders. She was also closest too him, and though her expression betrayed no emotions, her eyes were warm. Rather than cold, she seemed cool. The exceptions were the remaining two. One had flashy golden hair and amber eyes that stared at him wide-eyed. She stood next to a man who was likely two feet taller than her. That man seemed heavily built, especially for his size, and a well-maintained goatee accented his chin. His short, disheveled hair seemed as though it didn¡¯t belong on his head at all, and his eyebrows angled downward in a stern expression. All of them, however, had the same anomaly ¨C on each of their heads were what Christopher interpreted as ears ¨C two triangular shapes on each one¡¯s head topped with the color of their hair. One common anomaly that Christopher noticed among them all was that none of them stared directly at him. They all were gawking slightly¡­ below¡­ ¡°?!¡± He raised his voice in an incomprehensible interjection as he looked down. He was exposed to quite a sight as he found that two gargantuan orbs blocked his sight. They hung out unkempt and felt exponentially colder as he realized he had nothing to wear. The voice he let out was of a pitch indiscernible to himself as he was too busy being in shock to notice, but his voice had risen multiple octaves since he last heard it. And his body¡¯s structure had changed to the point of holding no semblance to his old body beyond his radiant golden hair and electric blue eyes. And, of course, there was nothing to cover him(?) up from the spectators. His eyes widened further in his bewilderment as he looked at his hands¡­ well, hand. He let out a defeated sigh as he saw that his arm was still gone. This was definitely his body. The female with silver-white hair finally raised her voice after the long, piercing silence that sent cold air into Christopher¡¯s lungs. ¡°Well, for now, we shall-¡° However, she stopped. Cold sweat dripped from her brow as she looked into Christopher¡¯s eyes, shocked. Christopher¡¯s thin eyebrows lowered on narrow, threatening eyes that stared daggers into her. His small fist was gripped so tightly that his knuckles were ghostly white, and flawless white teeth clenched tightly. ¡°What¡­ did you do¡­ to me?¡± He spat his words quietly in a deep growl almost as low as his old normal voice. She sighed, looking down and closing her eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She spoke, turning away and continuing immediately. ¡°For now, get her some clothes and food. Arthas, I think you can explain what we think happened best.¡± She stepped out of the room, everyone else in tow. Only the titan of a man remained. The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The man sighed and leaned up against the wall, his stubble and overall rugged look not fitting into the flawless decoration of the room. He put a hand up to his forehead, his sorry appearance giving the impression that he was dealing with a splitting headache. ¡°Nice to meet you¡­ I suppose.¡± The man spoke in his gravelly, deep voice. ¡°I am called Arthas, leader of this settlement. You are¡­?¡± ¡°Christopher.¡± Christopher responded, his voice flat. He had lost the motivation to respond any further. ¡°I¡¯ll ask Ilya to help you with that later. Anyway, ah¡­ Right! I was going to tell you what happened. See, the Temple of Healing is built with all of its angles, curves, and measurements calculated to the Vasaat constant, providing a point which has a negative net diffusion of energy in its purest forms, resulting in high concentrations of mana which can be called upon at any given time. Of course, these reserves are not bottomless, and will empty quickly when used to directly affect any living being. Due to this, most of the ambient mana in the area was used to reconstruct your body. Sometimes, an odd mutation will take place due to the effects of prolonged exposure to concentrated energy. However, this usually just goes as far as changing eye color or musculature. Not once has such a huge change as¡­ this occurred.¡± ¡°Wait, what the hell do you mean by ¡®help me with¡¯ my name?!¡± Christopher shouted after Arthas finally finished. ¡°...¡± Arthas sighed, bringing his hand up to his forehead. It was at this point that Caltha barged in, carrying two baskets. Each was a round, oblong, wide shape, the basket going quite deep. They were covered by thin, rough white cloth. ¡°I hath returned!¡± She exclaimed before laying the two down before Christopher. ¡°Open them.¡± Saying nothing, Christopher reached down, pulling open the lid on one basket. Seeing within it some cloth, he pulled it out. Looking back up, he found himself to be completely alone. He sighed and picked it up, finding it to be just a long cloth. ¡°I¡¯m sure I remember how to do this from Latin¡­¡± He mumbled to himself, tugging the gigantic robe under his shoulder and around his body. Though it did take his attention, he worked his hardest to avoid examining his own body. Finished, he had draped it over his chest, giving some amount of coverage and warmth. Though dissatisfied with how low the neckline was, he shrugged it off. He immediately recognized this shrugging as a bad idea, however, as the cloth began to come lose, and he had to tug at it again to tighten it. He opened the second basket and nearly cried of relief, mumbling drowned out by the growling of his stomach. Within it was a simple sandwich. Of what he did not know, but he immediately picked it up and bit into it. It was a¡­ surprising flavor, to say the least. The flat bread was stiff, with a practically impenetrable crust. Within it was some sort of thinly sliced meat he would most closely relate to venison and a cottage cheese-like substance. However, it was food, and Christopher tore through it within moments. ¡°Now then¡­¡± He spoke between bites. ¡°...What the fuck do I do now?¡± Author¡¯s Note: So sorry this is late, and I wish I could add more substance! I¡¯m not dead, I assure you, and I¡¯ll have some actual content out later.