Prologue: Feral Delusions of a Wanted Innocent

Ahead was the darkness of his desires and behind, some horror approached. Slashing his way through the undergrowth, he could hear that creature overhead. Thump-thump! Thump-thump! Its call forced him forward, his feet flying beyond his terrified mind.

Thump-thump! Thump-thump! His blood-red eyes lost all sight as some blazing light struck him. A tortured roar rose from his form. His fragmented mind could make sense of none of this. He couldn't see, but he could smell them coming, anesthesia in hand. He shouldn't be here.

Darkness relieved his eyes as he leaped through the bracken once again. Thump-thump! Thump-thump! The creature was calling again and his pulse was racing. Sweat drenched his long white hair and stung his eyes. He was so hot, too hot and if his blood didn't cool soon, he might die.

Thump-thump! Thump-thump! The creature pressed him on.

He had to keep going. He had no choice about that. If he stopped, he would probably be killed or eaten. Like every other animal on the planet, he knew that was a bad thing. The smell of blood filled his nostrils and for a time he was confused. He hadn't been injured, had he? No, no, his body was too strong for that kind of nonsense. But the smell persisted, and dripped down his chin.

The undergrowth was thinning out as the forest around him progressed in age. Somewhere in this forest was the place he had called home since birth. But the blood seeping from his nose foiled his sense of smell. Growing in despair, he turned this way and that. Exhaustion and bodily fatigue had robbed him of his sense of smell, and his way home.

The creature that had followed him lagged behind, its soft thumping being smothered by the thick canopy. He'd lost it; no horrible death would befall him. In a moment, all his muscles relaxed. Warm flesh met leaf litter warmed by rot. Red eyes flashed about to be sure that no one was watching him. Welcome sleep began to claim him; haziness surged onto the edges of his vision.

Sight and smell were dead to him, but his ears twitched with the baying of hounds. In an instant, animalist instincts shook him awake. He sat up straight, red eyes shifting through his environment, searching for a sure target. There was nothing left for him to do but fight. Their dogs had caught the scent of his blood and their masters weren't far behind them.

The baying grew louder and came at him from his right. A simple plan came into his primal mind. He wallowed in the ground, wiping his nose on the leaves and leaving a patch of his scent. There wasn't much energy in him. His legs bunched with his last command to their failing state. Just one more jump. It was his dead end plan.

Across the clearing, the hounds and handlers came in musical bays. They poured over the spot where he had previously lain and hovered for several moments, thinking this the end of the trail. But their masters were not pleased. He had left the hounds confused and that was just peachy to him. It wouldn't be long until they picked up the landing of his latest bound, so he had to make this count.

His howl ripped the air in half as his claws made quick work of the people before him. All had to die for him to survive. Scream after scream came, filling him with hollow triumph. The opponents died but he wasn't winning. One after another they came after him and blood, sweat, fatigue were taking equal parts out of him.

His vision began to fail and cool hands grabbed onto his flailing arms. There was nothing left to power the incredible muscular strength past to him by his father. So there in a slump of red cloth and silver hair, he ceased his struggle and resigned his mind to black nothingness.