Chapter 1 - A Dark Beginning
Author Introduction
It is a turbulent time in Zootopia's dark brutal past. Large organized gangs rule each district and act as the law of the land. From within this world rises a figure who seeks to change the entire world. He is a mischievous, devious and brilliant fox known by many names, but is most commonly known by his given name, Reynard. But to change such a world requires more than simply wit, cunning and skill. It requires someone truly special who will become a legendary figure who can be both brutal yet benevolent and powerful yet gentle. To some he is a demon, a force of death and ruthlessness. To others he is a savior, a force of justice and righteousness. These are the tales of Reynard the Fox and the world of Zootopia many do not know.
The tales of Reynard the Fox seeks to bring the legendary figure from out of the ancient pages of medieval Europe (900-1400 A.D.) and place him into the world of Zootopia. In order to adapt his character, story and the cast of characters from that legend that surround him, many sources were used including a modern translation of William Caxton's famous work from 1481 entitled The History of Reynard the Fox which collected most of the stories of the famous fox whose tales had been passed from mouth to mouth when most of the population couldn't even read. It also draws upon the famous 1930 French stop-motion animated movie entitled Le Roman de Renard (The Story of the Fox). Many other sources were also used including research into the history of the ancient character and other adaptations.
In many ways this adaptation seeks to remain closer to the original material than any other adaptation, even sometimes matching events scene for scene, but the Reynard of Zootopia is definitely a different character with different priorities and a different moral compass. He originally appears in my earlier work entitled The Zootopian Chronicles II: Darkness and will continue to appear in Volume III and be published here as his story continues in the other. The now mature character of Reynard meets Judy and her close friend and they decide to share stories of their adventures with each other. There they learn that the figure only known from legends of Zootopia's past is real and is connected to their friend Nick. But how he is connected and how he is important to the events that are unfolding in their current world is something they would have to learn as his tale unfolds.
The following is the tale as told directly by Reynard in that work without the commentary and discussion of the listeners as they hear the tale. It is a huge standalone story in its own right and is meant to be shared and enjoyed by all. As this is a tale of Zootopia's past, those reading need only enjoy a great story with vibrant characters and a world where different species of mammals walk, talk and act just like you and I. This work, just like the original Reynard legend, is mature and contains extreme violence, sexual acts, torture and vicious brutality. So please know and accept this before delving into this world. It starts quite rough and never really lets up. This Zootopia is one very few know of now. Much has changed from this time, and the main character of the story has a lot to do with that. How all that happens is what this story is all about.
The following begins fifty years before the events of Zootopia the movie.
The pain in his paws was matched only by the emptiness in his belly which was then shattered by the torment in his heart seeing his little baby sister so very sick and suffering. Her constant cries had finally dissipated due to exhaustion as death's silent embrace caressed her small helpless form and he realized he was powerless to do anything.
Reynard was only a small child of eight thrown out and abandoned onto the cruel streets of Zootopia by a system which professed to be all about protecting the innocent, but that only applied if you had a family that actually cared about you and you were not a fox. After the death of his mother two and a half years ago, the two were treated as yet another two pieces of discarded refuse. They never knew their father. They only knew that he was the same negligent scoundrel of a father for the both of them who had never helped their mother and them a day in his miserable life. The three had suffered daily trying to survive any way they could, but that existence was paradise compared to the strife they would encounter without their mother in their lives.
The only link now to his past and to that far off memory of his family was his little four year old sister Marion. They had been a victim of the system thrown from foster home to foster home each progressively worse than the next. The ones that only wanted a paycheck were the best, but they would soon tire of the foxes, swapping them to the next where beatings and abuse would be the best they could hope for. Marion had emotional problems and would cry constantly triggering the fury of the foster caretakers. Reynard was covered from head to toe from welts and bruises received from standing between their anger and frustration and his baby sister. He had fractures and cracked ribs which constantly reminded him of these encounters with every step he took.
The final straw was the last couple who saw his little sister as a toy for their carnal pleasure. He didn't know which was worse, the wife who stood by and ignored her husband's vile sadistic behavior, or the male weasel who would chain him in a corner by his ankle while he grinned malevolently approaching Marion ripping off her clothes and muffling her cries with one paw while he violated her repeatedly. Reynard would scream and claw at his chains desperately trying to pull his foot free rubbing the fur and making it bleed. His screams of agony only seemed to give the weasel pleasure and he would thrash with ecstasy as Reynard's screams would reach a fever pitch. He would then cackle hideously with glee and release her to curl into a ball and sob. The weasel enjoyed leaving the little fox boy in a corner helpless unable to go and comfort his baby sister. He seemed to get the most perverse pleasure of all from this particular action. The door would close and he would be left in the dark with only the soft sobs from the helpless little girl.
Reynard could take no more. His life and soul were forfeit. He knew this and accepted it. But he could not stand by and witness this horror again. He was still only a kit, but one who had grown up in a system of daily torture both mental and physical. The hatred inside him now consumed him and had given him strength. It lightly touched his soul replacing the helplessness of a small child with power and determination. It warmed him and fed him. It cradled him when he slept and became his new mother feeding him with the love he had been craving for so long.
The night began as every other. The weasel screaming at his wife giving her a loud smack across the muzzle and then locking himself in their room.
The weasel turned his head toward the door screaming, "Fuck you cunt! Mind your own fucking business!"
Marion and Reynard were in the far corner of the room. Marion was curled in a ball shivering in terror too scared to even make a sound. Reynard had been holding her tightly willing the strength he felt from his new mother to strengthen her as well. The weasel locked the door from the inside with a padlock and put the key in his pocket. Reynard had tried to escape before, but the weasel had gotten wise to him. The weasel strolled confidently over to the two kits standing over them with a wicked grin holding his belt in his paw. He loved to use the belt as a whip and the buckle as the tip which provided his extra special brand of love to the object of his abuse. Reynard would take every ounce of that punishment if only the weasel would leave his sister alone, but the weasel had plans for both the kits. He harshly cuffed Reynard across the head dazing him and grabbed his foot dragging him across the floor towards the corner with the bolted chain. Reynard's claws dug into the floor in an impotent effort to halt his progress until he felt the chain lock around his sore ankle.
The weasel then turned his back on the young fox focusing his full attention instead on the helpless little girl. Marion had her head tucked below her paws shaking in the corner. She tried to pretend she was somewhere else… anywhere else. She closed her eyes and remembered a friendly face… her first memory… the beautiful face of her mother. Her only memory of her. She still saw that face… it was the only thing that kept her going. The weasel picked her up by the waist with one paw so she hung limply by his side facing the ground. He carried her over to the small bed and threw her down on top. She lay on her side in a ball with her eyes closed keeping that image in her mind. Her slight smile… the bright gentle eyes… hush my kit everything will be okay... Momma is here. The weasel yanked her filthy panties off her and tied her front paws together with the belt and tied the other end to the bedpost.
There was some banging on the door. It was the first time Reynard remembered this happening.
The weasel turned toward the sound and walked over to the door yelling, "Shut the fuck up bitch! It is all your fault for looking like the ass of warthog."
There was was some faint crying from outside the door.
The weasel then looked back toward the small form on the bed with a malicious gaze as he continued his tirade, "Fucking cunt!"
Marion was whimpering and shaking uncontrollably. The weasel came over to the bed and climbed on top grabbing the little fox and flipped her over pushing her face first into the filthy mattress. He crouched down on his knees and then grabbed her tail and pushed it out of his way and began to mount her from behind. As he entered her, the little girl yipped and then began to howl. The pain from numerous times before was back, but where the weasel had been somewhat gentle before, any pretense of care was gone and she screamed in agony as droplets of blood poured down her back legs from his effort.
The weasel then glared at Reynard jeering at him, "What the fuck is wrong boy? Where is your serenade?"
Normally the little fox would scream and plead. The weasel missed those wonderful sounds. They helped to really make this all worthwhile. The sounds were like a lover screaming in ecstasy as she enjoyed each thrust. Maybe the boy kit's voice was all gone. Maybe he had all been screamed out finally. The weasel would miss that. No matter, maybe his cunt of a wife would serenade him through the door with her cries and pleading. He was having fun. The little fox beneath him was annoying him though with her pleading howls.
The weasel took his left paw and wrapped it around the little girl's muzzle preventing her from opening her mouth pressing it into mattress as hard as he could. He could feel her convulsing, fighting for air, gasping for a breath that would not come. She shook uncontrollably. He thought wow this actually felt good for a change. Finally she was acting like a participating partner... as if she was enjoying it. Why hadn't he done this before? He would have to try this again.
Was Reynard ignoring all this? Had Reynard finally given up? Reynard had taken the blackness into his soul and embraced it replacing the red in his veins with the inkiness of hate. He had spent the day ripping the fur away from his ankle and then hidden his instrument of liberation from the weak bitch who stood by and watched her husband violate at least a dozen other innocent victims if the conversation he had heard earlier was to be believed. He had no reason to doubt its truth. As his baby sister screamed in ghastly agony, he jammed the knife between the hinges of the clamp around his ankle and pulled with all his might. With each howl of horror, the blackness flowed into his paws warming him, giving him the strength and sustenance that had been lacking from many weeks of malnourishment. Jamming it with all his newfound strength from his loathing, he felt the hinge loosen. Holding it jammed, open he began to pull his raw naked ankle and foot against the metal. He pulled and pulled feeling excruciating pain. But the pain was welcome. It was his friend. The pain fed the blackness that consumed his soul. The pain provided him the love he had been missing for so long. Finally he felt a snap and felt the foot slick with blood slip from the metal clamp as he tumbled back onto the floor.
The weasel had a look of utter pleasure and elation on his face. His sister's shaking had stopped and her paws lay dead at her side. Reynard did not hesitate a second as he jumped up on the bed behind the weasel and plunged the jagged edge of the knife upward through the back of the weasel's neck jamming it all the way through his throat and emerging from the front. The weasel shook as in orgasm for a second until a fountain of blood poured forth decorating the bed with a shower like a sprinkler in the summer providing life giving liquid to all the grass and plants. Except this shower fed the blackness of his hate and avarice. The weasel's paws grasped at his throat in horror, but Reynard had pulled the blade out and had jammed it in again with such vigor that his meager paw following the blade into the throat itself. The blood caused the blade to slip and fall from his paw, but the deed was done and the weasel fell forward onto the small naked ball of red fur in front of him.
Reynard did not pause in shock as most would as he was finally one with the darkness becoming a true disciple of retribution, and instantly flipped the weasel off his little sister without a thought and grabbed the bloody knife on the bed cutting the belt from around her paws. He threw the blade away mindlessly and pulled the little girl's head to him.
She was not breathing!
He tilted her head back listening for any breath… even a slight wheeze.
Nothing!
He laid her on the bed on her back and began pressing into her chest with both paws and then releasing.
He repeated the motion several times.
He focused his hearing towards her praying for any sound.
Nothing!
Tears sprang from his eyes.
He could not lose her! She was all he had!
He prayed to the angel of death to bring her back to him… allow her acolyte to have his little sister back if only briefly to live a life worse than death. He could not live without her. She was the only light he had in his wretched pathetic life.
He repeated pressing down harder and then releasing.
He repeated the motion several times faster.
He repeated the motion again several more times.
Precious seconds were passing and the pall of death clung to everything as the walls and room itself began to transform into a world of shadow and blackness.
He repeated the motion again in desperation.
He felt a spasm from underneath him and then a cough.
Marion shook and coughed again and he turned her over on her side.
He then heard the greatest sound he would ever hear in his entire miserable life as he heard her take a ragged breath in and then exhale.
He lay against her spooning her, holding her in his arms as she continued to breathe, her sides moving up and down steadily, her throat sore and raspy.
He wept uncontrollably holding her.
She shuddered and curled into a ball.