Title: Chapter XV: Lost in the Woods
Writer: Madame aZure
Fandom: Noblesse;
Pairing: None
Genre: Family;
Rating: T;
Warnings: this chapter contains coarse language and minor mentions of gore. Read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I do not own Noblesse or any of the characters. No trademark infringement or profit is meant from the writing of this fanfiction.
Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to superkvothefan, who drew this adorable fanart with tiny!M-21 in a wolf hoodie.
Fanart Link: superkvothefan.tumblr.com/post/147115203320/so-i-get-bored-in-class-and-cant-resist-to-make
Special thanks to elegancecity, who had the patience of listening to me while blabbered about a fandom they're not even into (…yet) and theorized about weird stuff like werewolves' behavior or synesthetic/synesthesia-inducing howls.
The forest surrounded Frankenstein in a blur of green and brown as he swiftly moved through the trees. His eyes flickered left and right, desperately searching for something, anything to indicate that the little one was around, from the slightest move to the smallest sound, but much to his dismay, apart from the wind gently rustling the leaves and the occasional cry of a night bird, the forest was eerily quiet.
His frown deepened as he clenched his fists – he should've anticipated something like this would happen sooner or later; after all, werewolves, free spirits by nature, were rather fond of the natural landscapes, especially the curious little pups, who loved running and exploring their surroundings.
Since M-21 was so young, they had to take turns taking a day off from work or school to look after him, today being Regis' turn. When naptime came, the noble tucked the little one in bed, then went about his day with his usual chores. He hadn't sensed M-21 transform nor had he heard him leave his room. By the time he thought something wasn't quite right as the child was sleeping more than usual and went to check up on him to make sure he was alright, the werewolf was already far from home.
The noble urgently contacted Tao, who was able to track and follow M-21's movements throughout the city using the surveillance system. Thankfully, it seemed like the little one had gone out for a night run, exploring the city, hopping rooftop to rooftop or climbing up the tallest buildings to admire the cityscape. The bright lights and noisy crowds caught his attention, but he had the better judgment not to approach them, content with only watching from a distance.
Eventually, the werewolf made his way to the forest on the outskirts of the city. It was there Tao lost his track, and where RK had to start their search for the little runaway.
But finding M-21 was easier said than done: the child had instinctively concealed his presence, so none of them were able to sense him out. Moreover, they weren't sure to what extent was he instinctual, so they had no idea how he would react upon meeting them, whether he would recognize them or regard them as threats.
As Frankenstein kept running, he spotted a clearing not far from him. When he made his way to it, the sight forced him to an abrupt stop. His eyes widened in horror for a fraction of a second before narrowing dangerously, jaw set into a tight lock, his every breath slow, steady and seething with cold anger.
Claw marks.
The whole clearing was a wreck, craters and wood splinters everywhere, not a single tree left intact from the fight that had taken place there. Leaves and broken braches lied around, one of the trees severed in half from the sheer force of the impact it has been hit with.
Frankenstein approached the nearest tree to inspect the marks, running his fingers over the splintered wood. Even someone without his extensive experience could easily identify the two distinctive types of claw marks: one of them larger, deeper, the wood left almost charred from them; the other smaller, barely scratches on the bark.
Tiny claw marks made by a tiny werewolf.
Frankenstein gritted his teeth, Dark Spear hissing on the edge of his reason. Although he was angry, he kept his calm, knowing that losing his cool wouldn't be of any help in finding M-21. Still, that didn't mean he wouldn't dismember the one who dared touch a five-year-old, his child nonetheless, and make them eat the said severed limbs. He looked once again around the clearing: despite looking like a battleground, there was not a drop of blood anywhere in sight, which was a relief. But then again… not much force was needed to knock out a child.
He wasted no more time and followed the path of destruction, ready to rain hell upon the bastard that had the glaring audacity of doing such a thing as touching his child. As he quickly made his way through the forest, he spotted two figures in the distance: the little one he was looking for accompanied by an awfully familiar person with long, silver hair. Frankenstein should've been relieved to see Muzaka and not some other Union agent, given the werewolf's attachment and desire to protect and care for the child, but the devastated forest surrounding him and the fact that M-21 was in an attack stance drove him to think otherwise. Troublesome werewolves…
M-21 had his ears pushed back, tail curled closely to himself, growling lowly as he barred his fangs and displayed his claws. Slowly, without breaking eye contact, he crouched down low, ready to spring into an attack any moment now. Muzaka regarded him with an amused expression, his posture relaxed, arms crossed over his chest, casually leaning on one leg. He smirked and stepped to the side with a fluid movement as the child attacked him, avoiding the feeble attempt with a natural ease.
The moment he landed, M-21 followed in with another attack, but his claws never made contact with the target, as Muzaka effortlessly dodged this attempt as well – after all, the child was facing the former Lord of Werewolves whose title hadn't been just for show.
M-21 growled at him, eyes narrowing in annoyance. His opponent was surely skillful and his evades were irritatingly good, but that did not deter him in the least as he was determined to defeat the other, no matter how many tries it took. He realized that there was no way he could land a direct attack on the older werewolf, so it was time to change tactics. Instead of trying again, he leaped back into the bushes surrounding the clearing. Muzaka chuckled to himself, eyes occasionally following the rustle of leaves here and there that gave away the little one's attempt at changing his position in the hopes of taking him by surprise. So he stood his ground, patiently waiting to be ambushed.
For a moment the rustling ceased, the forest as quiet as ever. Muzaka could feel the little one's silver eyes glued onto his back, watching him closely, looking for the perfect moment to strike, much like a true predator. A tiny, vicious predator. With no warning, the little one leaped at him from the bushes he was hiding in, unleashing his 'sneak attack'.
This time Muzaka chose not to move, staying completely still as the child jumped onto his back, little arms going around his neck, fangs nipping the skin.
For a moment, M-21 stood there dumbfounded at the result of his attack – he hoped, but hadn't expected that it would actually work. As realization sank in, he began wagging his tail happily. He succeeded! He caught his prey!
"Heh, you finally caught me," Muzaka laughed, looking over at the little one, whose eyes sparkled at the appreciation. Reaching over his shoulder, he grabbed the child by his scruff and brought him into his arms. "C'mon, let me hear your victory roar!" he encouraged him, grinning widely.
"Rawr!" The little one gave him his best roar like the mighty werewolf he was, with a flash of tiny white fangs, proudly showing off his claws. However, since he wasn't old enough, the sound he let out was an adorable, heart-warming squeak that had Muzaka struggling to stifle his chuckles.
"Good job, good job," Muzaka said as he vigorously ruffled the child's hair. "I'd love to play more, but it looks like your dad's here to pick you up," he continued, nodding to where Frankenstein emerged from the bushes. The child followed the movement with his eyes and the moment he spotted the scientist, he jumped from Muzaka's embrace and ran to him.
"Little one," Frankenstein breathed out in relief, crouching down to meet the child. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly, worry still lingering in his eyes as he noticed the terrible state M-21 was in: his hair was tousled, there were rips in his clothes, small scratches and bruises here and there, already healing, and no shoes on. Frankenstein took off his black jacket and draped it on the werewolf's shoulders, the garment far too big for the child's lithe frame, then picked him up in his arms. Supporting his weight with an arm, he took out a stray leaf that had gotten caught into the little one's hair, attempting to comb the silver mess with his fingers.
"He's alright," Muzaka reassured him, watching the interaction with fondness in his gaze.
Muzaka had met the child while strolling through the forest, not too keen on hurrying back to Crombel. Although instinctual, the little one had recognized him as Raizel's friend, approaching him with curiosity. It has been far too long since Muzaka had last seen a pup as small as M-21, memories from when he was still the werewolves' Lord being brought to life: the peaceful times when the pack was still united, when they lived free of worries, when he was still able to teach the new generations the way of the claw.
Reminiscing days long since gone, he took the opportunity to pass his knowledge onto the child, showing him how to properly use his fangs and claws, his speed and strength. His heart stung painfully at the awe in the little one's eyes as he watched him with admiration while he demonstrated the techniques, at his determination to mimic him perfectly, even if his claws barely scratched the surface of the trees, at his genuine happiness when he succeeded and was praised for his efforts. Too many memories, too many regrets…
Frankenstein shot Muzaka a displeased look that advised him to keep his mouth shut. What adult, in their right minds, would choose to play with a lost child, rather than return him home unharmed? He was going to have a serious word with the werewolf and teach him a thing or two about responsibility, immediately after he got the little troublemaker home, gave him a good, hot bath, something to eat and properly tucked him in bed. He had his priorities.
"You had us really, really worried." Frankenstein turned his attention to M-21, reproving him with a slight frown.
Uh-oh. M-21 recognized that tone: he was in trouble. His ears slowly fell as he bowed his head, looking apologetically at the scientist from under his lashes. He growled a soft 'sorry', trying to nuzzle Frankenstein's neck, asking for forgiveness. The scientist huffed in amusement. "I am still upset that you've ran away," he told him while the child peeked up at him, "but I'm glad you're alright." Frankenstein's smile had M-21 lift an ear. So he was in trouble, but not really big trouble. Medium trouble.
An oddly human howl was heard in the distance, echoing in the night and scaring several birds in the process. The little one's ears immediately perked up and shifted in that direction.
When a second howl was heard, M-21's tail began wagging happily, as he tilted his head to the sky and replied with a howl of his own.
His pack. The rest of his pack was there.
Muzaka chuckled, watching the little one give his best howls, even if they were a little higher in pitch and he wasn't able to hold the note for too long. He was still just a pup with a lot to learn in order to become a true werewolf, but he was certainly on the right track. Nevertheless, one final lesson wouldn't hurt.
He growled lightly to draw the little one's attention. When the child stopped howling and looked at him inquiringly, he took a long, deep breath, properly filling his lungs. Tilting his head to the sky, he closed his eyes and let out a long, melodious sound, the somber howl of a lone wolf in the midst of the night.
M-21 watched him captivated – Muzaka's howl wasn't just a simple noise. It felt vivid, alive, full of emotions just beneath the veil of sound. It held colors he could not see with his eyes, but saw either way. He felt the blue, salty smell of the ocean, the cool, bright glaciers, the dusty, parched fragrance of the desert. He saw figures pass by him, werewolves he had not met before, laughing without a worry in the world. He felt the adrenaline of a fight, the tingle of the claws when striking.
He saw a story in a single sound.
So the child closed his eyes, breathed deeply and joined the howling with a story of his own.
TO BE CONTINUED… :)