One day, a long time ago, the world collapsed.
A man stood, in the ruins of a once great city.
He was Norville "Shaggy" Rogers, and he was alone.
Shaggy was afraid, and yet he was always afraid. Instinctually he knew that this world was wrong, that time itself had begun to fail.
Figures stood at the edges of his vision, for hours they waited. Then they charged.
Hooded figures came at him, knives at the ready. He ran, for days he ran. At every corner there was yet another waiting for him.
Shaggy wanted to give up, and yet he couldn't. He knew, somehow, that someday his friends would land in this hell. He was the first, yet not the last.
This world was dead, as Shaggy came to learn. The figures that came for him were dead, corpses that didn't know they should be in the grave. Monsters were nothing new, he had even taught at a school for monsters, and yet these things were unreasonable
Weeks had passed, and Shaggy could no longer run. He had backed himself into a corner, an undead soldier approached him, sword in hand. Shaggy was more afraid then he had ever been, he was going to die.
Everything started to go black.
Shaggy came back in a stupor, had he really fainted?
Then he noticed the blood, he was covered in it. None of it was his.
The corpse underneath him was immobile. Its neck was torn out, and its face was clawed.
Shaggy vomited when he realized there was still flesh in his mouth.
Shaggy stood there for days, he took took the creatures leather armor with him when he left.
Shaggy made it another week before his next encounter. He was afraid, and yet he could feel something else as well. Shaggy was angry.
A sword came for his head, it was dodged. Shaggy swung his clawed hand at the creatures decaying face. He gouged its eyes, and proceeded to slam its head repeatedly into the ground.
He felt something warm enter him, when the creature finally stopped moving. He was ill.
Over the years Shaggy began to grow numb to the ending these things. He stood upon a tower, the warmth inside him now felt burning. He was as cursed as the rest of this damn world, and yet he was not of their ike. He knew he was almost more beast than man now, yet he still came when he heard the screams.
There was a group of people, surrounded by the same creatures that had attacked him when he first arrived. It took him a moment to realize that this was what he had been waiting for. The gang had arrived.
There were seven of the hooded figures, they were dead within seconds.
Shaggy was confused, he had saved them, and yet they were more afraid than ever.
He began to laugh, as he realized that it was him they were afraid of. It was a deep, bellowing laugh. Quickly he stopped, focusing on the blond one. Who quickly turned pale.
"Can you really not recognize your old friend, Fred?" Shaggy asked, a devious smirk on his face.
Fred was in shock, this creature before him knew his name. It was almost seven feet in height, clawed hands, with wolf-like pointed teeth. Its eyes, glowing with fire, focused on him.
Somehow, he knew, this monster had to be Shaggy.
I want more solo Shaggy stories, so I decided to make one. I wanted to imply more heavily that the souls were empowering the werewolf curse he had the one time.
There was more, but I wanted to keep it a one-shot.
Thanks for reading