AN: Something different I'm writing. Remembered an old movie I watched growing up, The Swan Princess, and revisiting it, I love the concept of The Great Animal. Figured Rothbart wouldn't be the only one to have found and used that spell. But what happens when one is STUCK as a Great Animal? Then this was born! Enjoy!


He felt the heat of the fires, heard the crackling around him. He tasted the blood.

Her blood.

Her screams. It melts into a growing chorus of torment sounding around him.

All cut into silence with a grizzly crunch.

Damian opened his eyes, the young star-filled night greeting him from the cave mouth. His teeth were grinding together, feeling and tasting nothing between them. The sound of fire ravaging the land was replaced with that of water dripping from the stalactites into otherwise undisturbed puddles. The heat was gone, replaced by the cool breeze blowing in from the entrance.

A nightmare.

Yet another nightmare, where the only thing that remained of it was the smell of death and decay.

Exhaling sharply, dust clouds whipped up from his face and then from the rest of him as he pushed himself up from the ground. His eyes saw not hands supporting him, but wings. Bat-like wings, the membrane a deep iridescent violet on the ventral side and a shimmering jet black on the dorsal. The black matched the thick fur that coated his body, from the tip of his wolf-like snout to the end of his long lizard-like tail.

His red eyes narrowed, the slit pupils fully dilating in the darkness. Sitting up, he caught sight of his legs, feet like that of an eagle with wicked talons. His black fur went only to his ankles, giving way to bird-like scales colored like burnt umber.

This was going to be one of those nights, where the nightmares plagued him until he laid awake and stared at his own cursed body.

He glanced at a nearby puddle, an ear twitched at each drop falling from the ceiling into it. He hated seeing himself, seeing his reflection. He hated seeing his eyes glaring back at him, the fangs gleaming in the light. He hated the thick mane of fur around his neck, his pointed ears, his inhuman face!

The only things he still had that linked him to his true identity was a tuft of fur bearding his chin and a mere hair tie, haphazardly holding up a messy bun behind his head.

He missed his human face, can he even remember it? He had brown eyes? Yeah, that sounded right. Warm brown eyes, not this demonic red.

A demon, that's what he's become.

He glanced away from the puddle, to the book that laid on the cave floor. It has seen better days, its pages tattered like dried autumn leaves. But it still stayed strong, holding up against this less than ideal environment over the years.

He reached out a wing, and his thumb claw, -the only free claw he had to work with-, hooked onto the book before he pulled it closer.

No, he's no demon. If he was, he wouldn't be able to read this book. This book that kept his sanity intact, that kept him from falling into a never-ending pit of despair. Within its pages were the words of a kind god, a forgiving god. Everything he did, and will do in the future will be forgiven.

His ears perked up at the distant sound of howls and barks, causing him to look away from the bible towards the cave opening. Wolves? No, it was the hounds of hunters, he was sure. Paranoia? Perhaps. Either way, this can prove to be useful as a distraction from his restlessness.

He glanced at the book, then at the cave entrance. He wasn't even that hungry, he didn't need to go out there. He should keep his attention on the Lord's book, remind himself of his humanity. Not give in to bloodlust.

Not again.

The tip of his tail twitched, an outward sign of his indecision. He could feel the saliva in his jaws accumulating at the thoughts intruding his mind. The animalistic instincts were always plaguing him in this damned form, trying to pull him back into the past he's desperately trying to leave behind. He remembered his nightmares, but from a different mind-set:

The cruel satisfaction at feeling the power of his jaws, crunching through armor and bone so effortlessly.

The screams of terror, not for the fires, but for him made his heart race with excitement.

He was safe in here. Though hunters often came into these forests with the intent to kill him, they would never be able to find him. His lair laid nestled upon the sheer drop of a cliff face. Just ignore them and focus on what's important.

But the dark thoughts never left him. His teeth itched to sink themselves into flesh; it was like a craving too intense for him to ignore. Let him give his troubles to someone else so that he may be free for a few precious moments.

Dammit, he always did this, and every time he gave in to these dark temptations, he regretted it afterwards! But then he'd tell himself that everything would be alright; he'll be forgiven.

The echoes of barks sound once more, closer than the last.

Another exhale left him as he found himself abandoning the book where it laid. He stood fully, an imposing ten-foot frame, and made his way to the cave entrance.

He'll just take a look. If it was wolves, then he can relax and grab a bite to eat. But what if it were hunters?

Well, then, I'll just give them a little scare, he told himself as a twisted smirk grew on his snout, knowing damn well that he was lying to himself.

The sound of his wings opening was almost deafening to his ears, like one last plea to stay where he was. But he ignored it and pushed off the ground, flying down towards the thick forest below.

His ears were alert, as were all his other senses, as he soared above the tree-tops. Their leaves were sparse and dying, a sure sign of winter's dreaded approach, but allowing him a better view through the canopy. He saw through the trees a spot of light in the distance, and the way it flickered told him it was fire. As he drew ever closer, his ears would pick up a voice and the rustle of leaf litter.

His suspicions were confirmed. Yes, it was a man, a hunter. They're always hunting him, best he makes the first strike.

The short whiskers that adorned his snout allowed him to detect the direction the wind is blowing, and he made an effort to stay downwind of them. Although he was a powerful creature, he was not invulnerable. Beneath his fur, several scars were etched into his flesh, each earned from close calls with swords and arrows.

He's done this enough times to know, ambush is always his best strategy.

Landing high in the branches of a tree, he stayed close to the trunk to help hide his silhouette. Beneath him was a game trail, which the hunter seemed to be following. And there, he waited.

...

He shouldn't be doing this.

It's fine, came the inevitable justifications for these terrible impulses. They're intruding on his territory, no doubt with the intent to kill him. He should kill them first.

No, he came down from his safe lair specifically looking for trouble. He didn't have to do any of this!

But remember what these humans did to him, they have it coming. They have it ALL coming!

'These humans'? Why is he thinking like that as if he isn't a human?!

He WAS a human, and will never be human again. So damn them all!

He faltered, but his internal debate was put on hold when he caught sight of movement. From the bushes came a dog, an odd breed he's never seen used as a hunting partner before, one that looked more like a sheep than a dog. It was sniffing around the leaf litter, no doubt trying to pick up his scent to alert its master to his trail. A wide grin came to him, this beast could not have given him a better opportunity.

Whipping his head back, he let out a howl not unlike what a wolf would make. The dog looked up from the ground, ears perked but unable to pinpoint his location directly above it. It started letting out barks to call in its master.

He heard the shouts of the hunter responding with haste to his howl, and the light from the fire drew near until it illuminated the trail. More dogs like the first appeared, three of them in total, but he ignored them. The moment the hunter stepped foot upon the game trail, that's when Damian acted with unnatural swiftness.

With a bloodcurdling screech, he launched himself from his perch, branches and leaves exploding violently from his wings as he did. The dogs scattered and the hunter hardly had time to look up before his talons gripped onto his body, piercing through the cloth and leather of his attire.

The lantern was dropped to the ground, glass shattered and spilling its oil upon the ground, and the fire with it.

But he cared not for the flames, nor for the confused mongrels barking at him. He hardly felt the nips upon his tail and legs as the one of the braver creatures tried to coax him from its master.

A fruitless effort, as his focus was entirely on his prey, pinned beneath his weight. Any thought of "just scaring him" left his mind like the excuse it was. No, he quite enjoyed the hunt and reliving those memories...

The heat of the fire. The terror in those screams. The rage that overwhelmed him, reawakened with those memories.

Saliva filling his mouth, he gave no chance at retaliation and his open jaws lunge down to take the man's entire head into his maw. The satisfying sound of crunching graced his ears, the taste of warm blood flooding upon his tongue. There is hardly any resistance for his teeth, as shattered bone and grey matter provided a filling mouthful.

At that point, it would be a waste not to eat the rest.

It took a moment for his racing heart to calm, for the thrill to slowly subside. He became aware of the growing fire surrounding him, of the bloody mess at his feet. The dogs were long gone. He licked his lips, eyes scrutinizing his latest victim. Then his heart sank when the gravity of his actions settled in with a cruel realization.

This man had no weapons, only the stick of a shepherd used to ward off animals.

He killed again.

He ate an innocent man.

Again.

If his wife was here, if his daughter saw what he would become... .

'What he would become?' He was ALWAYS like this, this monstrous form just brought his evil nature up front and center instead of pushing it away for the sake of the women in his life. They were gone now, so might as well-

No! No matter how bad he was as a man, he never ATE people! He condemned his past self and was on the road to improvement before...

He buried his head into his wings, his thumb claws digging into his fur. He felt like he was on the verge of breaking, why does this keep happening? Why can't he break free of this cycle?

...

It's okay, all will be forgiven. He looked up at the sky, the smoke beginning to overtake it. He can still act to make this right, and his talons tightened on the body as he took to the air with powerful wingbeats. The rush of air fanned the flames, but the fire was not of his concern. He had something more important to take care of.

Flying low, he followed the scent trail this man left leading towards the village.

True, nothing can be done to save this man, but at least he can bring him back home. Yes, then the Lord will forgive him.


The unbeknownst widow was waiting for her husband to return from putting the sheep away for the night and finding a lost lamb. She was sick with worry, as there were tales of a monster living in those forests. Her husband however never believed such tales, attributing it to overactive minds twisting the facts after someone saw what was likely a large wolf or a bear.

But for his wife's comfort, he would bring his staff and their dogs. He wouldn't be gone long, as the lamb couldn't have wandered too far.

Each moment seemed drawn out and she would glance out the window into the darkness, looking for any sign of her husband's return. The sleepy village has already turned into their houses, and the only sound was the wind blowing through the trees. At least, it WAS the only sound.

An odd noise entered her ears. Then another, and another. It was rhythmic almost. Her brows furrowed and she turned her ear to the window, trying to understand what she was hearing. If she didn't know better, it sounded almost like the beating of wings drawing closer...

Her focus was rudely interrupted when there was loud bang at the door. It startled her and it took a moment for her to calm her heart. The sound of wings were fading, and pushed to the back of her mind as relief overcame her. Believing the thud at the door to be her beloved carrying a heavy load, likely the unruly lamb, she went to let him in and scold him for giving her such a fright.

However when she opened the door, she immediately smelled blood and saw the thick red liquid dripping down the front of the door, the pattern implying a heavy impact that likely caused the bang she heard. Her wide eyes then lowered to the ground to see the remains of a half-eaten human body.

His face was so mangled, that she was only able to recognize him as her husband from the torn clothing he wore. Her shaking hands met her mouth as her eyes began filling with tears.

Her agonized scream followed Damian as he flew back to his own home, and he dared not look back. He did all he could do and as he landed at the mouth of the cave, his eyes once more fixed onto the book that waited so patiently for him. He doesn't even spend any time cleaning himself up; no, with bloodied snout and talons, he just bee-lined straight to the book.

His wing-claws gripped it and he opened it to a page, any page, he didn't care. As long as he read it, he would be forgiven.

Though, it did not spare his sleep for the rest of that night, as it now included two new screams.