Argh! I wrote this one-day when I was supposed to go somewhere but the people did not call the right house. I had a lot of extra time. Anyway, RRE!
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Malik ran over the sand and puddles on the clay ground. His clothes were stained from dirt and blood. He grabbed his ripped and shredded coat and threw it in rage. Slouching in agony, Malik gritted his teeth from the pain reaping through his still transforming body. Through the sleeting rain, he looked over the landscape for somewhere to hide. There was nowhere. He fell to the wet sand. Sleep overtook his aching body and the werewolf drifted in rest. His wretched soul haunted his dreams with a restless persistence.
He awoke in the mourning. The rain had stopped and the blinding sun warmed the sand. Malik stood up and stretched. He spotted a pond and dashed over to it. Malik into the water and his reflection stared back. His form was human again. He touched his skin and hope it all was not real. The blades he always had with him were gone. It had been real. The full moon was gone and Malik was normal. He groaned and stamped his foot into the water.
A hunger gnawed at his stomach. He looked up at the sun. The Nile laid to the east and there would be plenty of food in the valley not too far away. It took several hours of trekking over dunes to reach the valley. Although, this was not hard for a werewolf. Date palms lined several streams and jasmine dotted the ground. Malik walked through the alpha grass and grabbed its trunk. He began to climb up the tree. It was about 75 feet tall, but Malik needed it fruit for food and leaves for shelter. At the top, he grabbed a date and bit into it. The sweet meat of it tasted bitter in his mouth and Malik spat it out. This was not satisfying his hunger. He needed something else.
The sun set. Malik still sat at the tree's top, watching the river flow like a melody. His body felt strange again. He frantically tried to climb down the palm's trunk as he transformed into a full werewolf. The sky blackened as he fell unconscious and dropped from the tree.
In the morning, the blood of a gazelle covered his body. The carcass lay not to far away. Malik backed up at the sight of the torn up creature. His eyes grew wide and he turned. The fast legs of a were carried him away from the nightmare. Malik just had to find a place to go, that's all. Starab might be near, yeah. The town was a mere mile away and even though Malik wanted to avoid it before, it could be a temporary shelter now.
The town's buildings peeked up over the horizon. Malik climbed down the Nile's cliff and washed the fresh blood from his skin and clothes. There was a sunbird prancing on the bank nearby. He snatched it in his palm and ravenously tore through it. Malik grinned as his hunger was soothed but caught himself. The beast in him would not take over. He dropped the lifeless mass onto the ground and wiped the blood from his lips.
A kind, old man allowed Malik to live in a shack behind his house. Everyday, he would work for the man who made a decent living as a farmer. Malik had to water, weed, rake, and plant for 12 hours a day. At the end, the man gave him supper and went to bed. In his shack, Malik changed out of his work clothes and into a simple pair of shorts. He would leave before sunset and hike to an oasis several miles away. The night was a blur and he would usually wake up in odd places at dawn. Malik would follow his own wolf tracks to the oasis and then back to Starab. The old man would never ask where he was.
The months passed and Malik became accustomed to transforming. His lupine strength came in handy. He never did talk to anyone except the man. So, he became a stranger. The town had sightings of him in wolf form, and there were reports of live stock and human killings. Malik shrugged it off. The old man told Malik at dinner one night that he had heard a painful howl coming from somewhere near the town. But, he just assured the man that it must have been a dog.
His nightmares were usually riddled with the memories of honor and greatness. Malik found himself thinking of places he could kill that night. Every transformation brought him closer and closer to the town. Years had passed and a lycan was finally seen in the streets. The creature rampaged and found its way into the old man's yard. The muffled cry of death followed. Malik found out the next day that a large beast had mauled his giver. He did not care. Malik inherited the farm and continued to get a merger amount of money.
Broken and savage, he did not seek redemption anymore. The werewolf inside was never satisfied. Anything was prey. Sheep, an escaped horse, or even a human was food. Starab locked its doors and windows each night, afraid of the ferocious creature that killed so easily. Malik found it all kind of funny.
His old village was far away in distance and memories. They searched for him when he disappeared, but that had been nearly a decade ago. A little boy had looked upon Malik as a great fighter. His name was Ryou Bakura. The boy followed in Malik's footsteps and earned the fabled silver blades. They were found by the dead lycanthrope that was killed so long ago. The town figure it had died but not before taking a final swipe at Malik. His body was not found, though. Ryou became a master at melee. A fire burned in his eyes and his skills were above anyone else's. Tales of Malik vanishing had been told to him through his growing years. Ryou believed none of it; he had simply gone elsewhere to fight evil.
The new warrior now was an adult. His town had received word of attacks in another town at night. Ryou and his swords, left to find what was causing it.
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