Title: Myth of Lycaon

Rating: T

Warnings: Set after Hellboy II, swearing, slight gore in future chapters. Also, it's pronounced "Dee-poo" not "De-pot", as in "Home Depot."

Disclaimer: Anything recognized isn't mine, the mythology of Lycaon son of Pelasgus can be found anywhere on the net, and this isn't created for monetary gain.


Chapter I

Resplendent

very bright or shining; splendid.


"Depot. Depot, this way, ding-a-ling." She watched the giant German Shepherd bound over the tall grass like springs were attached to his hind legs. He never came towards her but merely sideswiped her in passing as he chased pheasants through the sea of green. Summer had come gently on the heels of spring and the fields had exploded in greens and rainbows as the fields of wheat and corn overtook what was once a brown wasteland. The wild flowers had invaded like a rushing flood from the edge of the forest and around the shores of the lake by her family's ranch. It had been nearly three weeks to the day since their cabins further out to the east of the ranch were rented out to newcomers, city-dwellers. She frowned and paused in her walk, Depot rushed past her again with a sharp bark, as she turned her head against the wind and her gaze settled at the foot of the hills and the edge of the lake.

They had other cabins that they rented out to city-dwellers who were tempted by the idea of "living off the land" that were away from the cold front of the lake and not so enclosed by the forest, but this family had been specific. Well, the woman had been, if her mother was to be believed. She sighed and continued to follow the Shepherd down the hills and toward the forest, mindful to give the cabins a very wide berth, as the young woman had requested absolute privacy with their stay. They could be dealers, momma, she remembered mentioning to her mother after the lady had set foot off of the ranch limits, it could end badly with this. Unfortunately, her mother was the type that was unwilling to turn anyone away.

"You're thinking too much, Frances." She murmured. "Let the New Yorkers live in peace. Depot! Come!" Her tone took a momentarily deep hum that brought her German's wagging tail around and back toward her, he was getting too close to the cabins. Frances winced as she mused, they might not have heard me in China, but it's best not to test it. Depot appeared by her knees, tail swaying level with his spine and his face mimicking a grin as he waited. She leaned over and thumped his ribs before sending him off toward the lake, safe distance away from the cabins. They might want privacy, but they can't keep me away from what my parents own.

She followed lazily behind Depot's bounding form and took the time to tuck her brown and annoyingly wavy air into a bun to keep most of it out of the whipping wind that flowed around her. Depot barked as he arrived at the shore and Frances found him staring intently into the water. An eyebrow rose toward her hairline as she reached him, hands on her hips, and leaned forward to peer into the murky waters. She glanced at her German, but the dog's ears were set forward and his tail lay straight. Whatever was in the water was suddenly considered prey of some sort. Frances leaned away and clapped her hands, breaking Depot's concentration.

"Come, Depot. Find me a stick. Stick, Depot." It took Depot a moment, it looked to pain him to move away from the water, but finally he left the water's edge and went in search of a branch in the grassy sea around them. As he went away, Frances buckled down and touched the mud and lapping waters with twitchy fingers. Maybe it was a dead fish? He usually brings those back in his jowls. Though... I could've sworn... no. It had to be a fish, it looked like it at any rate. Depot returned to her side and pushed at her hips with his nose and stick in his mouth. Frances' dark eyes moved from the surface of the water and focused on Depot. The German dropped the stick at her feet and sat, waiting.

Frances snatched the stick from the mud and Depot dropped his front and raised his rear, ready and eager. Frances flashed her dog a grin. "One, two – fetch!" She tossed the stick as hard as she could and watched it tumble in the air, end over end, into the grass once more. Depot paused a moment to give her what looked to be an annoyed look of 'what did you do that for?' before turning heels and shooting after it like a bullet from a gun. Not long after Depot left her sight did the sound of something snapping reached her ears, harsh and sudden. Frances stumbled back, bewildered, and waited. The sea of green had gone quiet, there was no sound of running paws or Depot's body moving through the blades of grass.

Frances swallowed. Please no, don't let the stories be true! Not Depot, God please, not Depot! "Depot! Depot, come! Come back!" There was no answering back, no swooshing noise from his running form and the fear that had slowly been creeping up her spine flared in the pit of her stomach and then solidified to a lead weight. Almost without warning, Frances felt her knees give out and she dropped to the mud. No, no, please no. Old man Walter said the last of them was killed! They said they were all gone! Please, not again. Frances forced her dark gaze to focus on the grass and she pulled a leg up to kneel, she searched but there was no sign of her German. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. Don't scream. That's what they said, whatever you do – don't scream.

"Depot," Frances called once last time, "Home, Depot. Come home." Frances stood on shaky legs and straightened as best she could. It was then that she felt the environment around her shift, like prey noticing the silent presence of the predator and never laying eyes on them, Frances swallowed and slowly turned on her heels. Walk away. Don't scream. Walk slow. Don't yell. Stay away from the cabins. They aren't safe out here, but if I just move away, maybe it won't find them... There was a growl from behind her and the tears that she had done her best to keep away spilled over her cheeks. Fear gripped her muscles and she was stuck. The creature behind her moved forward, it's presence burning into her back like a hot iron.

"God, please save me." Frances whispered desperately. She glanced at the cabins. I have to keep it away from there. They... they're just visitors, they wouldn't know how to stop this thing. Frances swallowed for the third time and steeled herself. I'll have to run away from the cabins. I'll never make it to the ranch, but... The thought of her German dying so suddenly sprung into her mind and anger heated her face. At least they'll know what happened. They'll find me and it's going to die like the rest of its bastard pack, her mind spat. Her knees bent and the creature behind her growled in warning, as if to say it was useless to run away now.

"Don't run." Frances felt a painful chill douse her fire of energy and she froze in mid-thought of getting ready to run. The voice was unfamiliar and echoed from somewhere at the edge of the lake. She didn't dare turn to look, any sudden movement now would cue the creature to lunge for her. The thought of someone else with her struck as very odd, but fear outweighed her logic. She whispered back to the disembodied voice as quickly and quietly as she could, but she knew the creature from the grass could hear every breath she took.

"Leave, please." Frances whispered, heartbroken. "I don't want anything else to die today. You're in the water, right? Depot was staring at you. Just, just duck back down."

"I'm afraid I can't do that." The voice whispered back quickly. "I must help you." The creature behind her sniffed the air and the hot iron feeling moved from her back and toward the surface of the water. Frances knew the creature's attention was now on whoever had come up out of the water. Whoever it was, he was safe. Damn beasts can't swim, what a blessing. Slowly, Frances took the opportunity to inch her away toward an escape. If she could get to the grass and make a break for it, she might have a chance.

"You can help me by sounding the alarm." Frances answered quietly. "It'll never follow you into the water, but I won't make it in by the time it pounces."

"Run for the water."

Before Frances could reply to the illogical suggestion, there was a vicious splashing of water and the harsh patter of rocks and mud striking the ground behind her. Without pausing to think, Frances turned sideways and dashed for the edge of the shore. What possessed her at the time to turn and look, she would never know. In her sight was a Lycaon of old fairy tales, a monstrosity that mocked the wolf, skin stretched over a frame far to large to be considered normal, paws the size of platters, and a head that rivaled that of a bear's. Its razor sharp shark-teeth shaped incisors were a nasty yellow and red, evidence of her German suffering its insatiable hunger. It's dark yellow eyes briefly snapped to her in shock, but once more, a wave of water and rocks broke its gaze as she dove into the frigid waters of the lake.

The water muffled the roar it produced at having lost two objects of prey. Water filled her mouth, but she forced herself deeper into the murky waters. The sunlight from above only broke a few feet in from the surface. She swam until she was sure she was away from the slope, her feet could no longer touch the muddy floor of the lake. It was here that she nearly died of fright a second time, a webbed hand shot out from the darkness and gripped her forearm to haul her up to the surface. The skin shone in the sunlight, a shimmering and splendid blue and green, and the markings along the arm reminded her of the exotic fish she had seen on the Discovery Channel. She broke the surface and gasped for air, her loose strands of hair obscured her vision, but not enough to be completely ignorant of who held her, or what for that matter.

"Oh, my God." She whispered in surprise as her eyes cleared and focused. What held her seemed to resemble the deities of the lake from her childhood stories. Fins and gills protruded from its, his, shoulders and neck respectively. Large and inhumanly shaped hands held her forearms securely, but the wide, blue, and alien-like eyes were staring staring ahead. She turned to look, the Lycaon's rear had disappeared into the sea of green. Frances and the fish-man turned to fix gazes almost in perfect sync. Its, his, eyes blinked sideways as he stared. Frances could feel a pool of bile rise in her throat and she moaned painfully.

"Are you all right?" The fish-man-deity asked gently. Frances felt her head sway and she muttered unintelligibly. The fish-man brought a wet and sticky hand up to the left side of her face and that bile worked harder to come up out of her throat. Frances' eyes clouded with tears as she reached out and hugged the chest of the creature that held her, fear and shock robbed her of any sensible reaction except one.

"Thank you," she whispered before promptly blacking out.


A/N. What the hell is this? What the fuck just happened? Gawd, what a mess this is going to be.

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