This story was first published in 2011. The last update was 2013. That's two years ago.
And today, it's being continued.
I have so far re-written the first few chapters, and when I finish the rest, you'll have a brand new chapter waiting at the end. I don't know if people are still willing to follow this story, and frankly, I don't even know if many of you even remember it. But if you're willing to come back and reread this as I remake it, then thank you.
From the bottom of my heart;
Thank you for experiencing this story with me once more.
The first time hurt. A lot. The feel of muscle stretching until it broke and began bleeding; of bones breaking and reforming in completely opposite directions; of his overall shape changing into something… other. Something he wasn't supposed to be. What he was supposed to be was a Hunter, one that tracked and killed supernatural creatures that acted up and broke the law.
Allen Walker was not supposed to become a werewolf.
Now he was going to die. It wasn't just the pain, it was a fact. He'd known it all this time. Ever since he became a Hunter and started doing what it was he did. From the day he swore to protect humans from Supernatural creatures to the day he'd been bitten by one the month before, he'd been prepared. At least, he was prepared as long as his thoughts didn't linger on the thought of death. It was his job, and he'd done it more than just well enough to become a good Hunter, he'd also become the youngest General ever in the Black Order's history at fifteen. That had been three years ago, just shy of four. Not that he kept track or anything, but it had been his own reminder of how far he'd come, something he could be proud of.
Not that the rank of General mattered to the creatures he hunted. If anything, it just made them all the more keener to attack him.
A wave of searing pain flashed through him, scattering the safe-haven his thoughts had become. Allen clamped down on his tongue, body convulsing on the floor as he rolled over, trying to escape the pain. But it was hard to escape something that burned from the inside. His mouth opened in a silent scream, voice and breath tangled in his throat until only a low whine squeezed its way out. Rolling back onto his stomach, the Hunter panted, pressing his fevered face into the cold tile beneath him. Suddenly he was glad he hadn't gotten around to requesting a carpet be installed in his room yet. The pain doubled again, this time accompanied by a loud snap that sounded suspiciously like his spine – it felt like his spine. Suddenly, death seemed quite a bit more inviting than it had earlier. At least it would be a lot less agonizing, he thought, nails becoming a bloody mess as he clawed at the floor. Hell, he might even go as far as making a deal with a crossroad demon, if only it'd make this pain disappear. In fact, the more he mused about death and demons, his madness-laced thoughts trailed into how few regrets he'd die with. His life had had a purpose, one he'd more than happily fulfilled as he protected others from things that would try to kill them for sport or for simply being there. There were few things he'd ever wanted in life that actually mattered. From having a home in the Order to the family that'd come with it in the form of his co-workers, both fellow Hunters as well as support staff. He'd gotten both and he'd protected both with everything he had.
And he'd even gotten something else that his fifteen-year-old self never thought he'd want. And when he'd finally confessed to that person, he hadn't been rejected like he thought he would.
Just the thought of that person brought any acceptance he'd had of death up short. Regret filled him where the pain had yet to take over, reminding him that he still had someone to live for. But at the same time, even if he was reluctant to die now, at least he'd go to the afterlife, whether it be Heaven or Hell, at least he knew he was loved. His mind shied away from the thought of leaving that person, but at least there was that one comfort.
Allen choked on his air as he felt something akin to a red-hot knife cut into his face and drag itself down from forehead to jaw – or was it the other way around…? He pressed his hands to his face, as if it might alleviate the burning ache, wheezing out ragged breaths. He didn't understand. Why hadn't the rejection process negated the Lycan virus? It wasn't the first time he'd been bitten by a werewolf, though the first time wasn't exactly his fault. But it was why he hadn't spared a thought to this time either. His body shouldn't have to be trying to fight this off on its own. Even if it was being slow to activate, at this rate he'd change completely before it gained enough power to fight it off. His numb brain strained to come up with any possible explanation, but most thoughts were half-formed, shredded and burned by the virus in his veins. He had spells protecting him, wards and enchantments literally engraved into his very bones by Ancient Magic, ones that prevented a transferable gene from infecting him. Allen's hands fell away from his face as the shock of understanding washed over him, momentarily drowning the pain.
Those spells could only be applied to children and young adults, as the base for it was the person's virginity. Almost-nineteen year old Allen Walker was no longer the virgin his fifteen year old self had been. Those spells had lost their effectiveness a month ago, just before he'd been bitten.
His heart lurched as the realization settled in. He really was shifting. There was no longer any use in his body fighting it, as the rejection process wouldn't be fighting off the virus. And even if his hard-trained Hunter body refused to give in, his mind and heart was no longer in the struggle. Resigned to his fate and the knowledge that there was nothing he could do but ride out the pain, Allen went numb. He could still feel the excruciating pain, still had to bite his lip and curl into the fetal, but it was distant, the fact that he wasn't human anymore still a shock to his brain. It seemed so surreal, like it was happening to one of the characters in Lenalee's novels that he occasionally borrowed from her. It was happening to someone else. Not to him.
What was he going to tell that person…?
The thought glared blindingly at him as he soldiered through the rest of the pain, groaning low under his raspy breaths as his vision darkened.
Allen barely noticed at first when the pain had subsided to a dull ache, having blacked out after his wrists and ankles had broken. The throbbing was slowly dulling with each beat of his sluggish heart, no longer distracting him as a deafening cacophony of information crashed down on his ears, almost making him feint, his mind reeling as it tried to sort out the information. Being a Hunter, he already had keen senses, needed to in order to survive, but that had been nothing compared to this. Suddenly he began wondering how it was he was ever able to hunt things that could hear like this. He wasn't even sure how it was he'd lived this long himself. Allen didn't know how far away he was hearing, but it was quite the distance away, and he had no idea how to reign it in. Maybe this was why werewolves were known for losing control. He probably would – and will – go mad as well if he had to keep listening to all of this without a filter.
Somehow, under all the noise of talking, quills scratching at parchment, footsteps on the stone floors that echoed in his ears, leafless branches rustling in the wind, and so much else, the young Hunter picked up the sound of a sword being swung. He didn't even notice the rest of the world die out into suffocating silence, completely caught by the blade singing as it cut through the cold air. He'd never known something could sound so beautiful like that, only ever hearing it whistle before. As its owner's feet stilled on the snow-covered earth, its last note rang out into the forest around it, making Allen's ears droop at the loss of the melody. The noise of the Order slowly came back into focus, but it wasn't as agonizing as it was before, something else holding his attention for the time being.
Allen had never noticed how his floor smelled so… concrete-like, the scent dusty and dry, leaving a bland taste at the back of his throat. It made him sneeze, which in turn made him freeze. It had felt so different. The Hunter had the sudden urge to smack himself. Of course it had felt different. He was different now, something other. Slowly, he focused on himself, how his body felt. It was still him, but it was foreign at the same time. He felt so warm, if not sweltering. Allen gave an experimental stretch, ignoring the popping of his joints, too distracted by the way his limps responded to the command. He could feel the brush of his fur against the tiled floor and shuddered, more at the thought of the fur than the feeling it gave him. His fingers didn't feel quite as flexible as they used to, and a lot shorter to boot. He tried to twitch one, but it wasn't the same. And there was something else.
His ears swivelled as something behind him moved, sending a sensation through his body that he'd never felt before. It seemed to both respond to his thoughts as well as have a mind of its own, twitching behind him. His eyes snapped open at the realization of what it could be. He felt alarmed at first, the world so glaringly different that he wondered if maybe he'd died after all. But slowly, he adjusted, raising his head a bit as he looked around. It was so different, like so many other things were for him, but he'd never seen anything like this. Before, he'd been able to see to quite an extent in the dark for a human. But now, there wasn't a shadow in the room that was a mystery to him. With the only light being the pale full moon shining in through the stained-glass window, even under the bed was visible to him.
Allen looked around in amazement at the new world around him. From the individual scratches on the tiles to the grain of the paint on the walls, the scuffed dent on his oak dresser from the time he got pissed enough to lash out at his poor furniture and the scratches on his headboard from the times when he and–
His thoughts skidded to a halt and he buried his muzzle beneath his paws in embarrassment. This seemed to be his canine way of blushing, he mused, raising his head again to stare down at the furry limbs. He wondered if it was at all possible to get used to seeing them in place of his hands. One was a stark white, the same as his hair when he was human, made to almost glow by the moonlight, while the other was black, the fur not as long. He sighed at the sight, not sure what to make of it, and behind him, the thing he'd felt before moved again. Blinking, he pushed himself to a sitting position and looked behind him. The "thing" curled under his suspicious gaze, then uncurled as he came to understand. Right, of course it was his tail. It twitched and he tilted his head, wondering if it ever stayed still. As if to answer him, the tip of it twitched. Allen shook himself, not realizing that the rest of his body would respond, and before he could yelp, he was back on the floor, blinking at the dust under his bed. He never realized how messy it was under there.
He pushed himself to his feet again, this time going until his was standing, wondering how he was supposed to walk. It took him a few tries, but he soon realized that it was just like if he was crawling on his hands and knees, and after a few tentative steps, he was able to more or less walk with ease. He made his way over to the mirror, hesitating for a long while before looking at himself in it, not completely sure what he was going to see.
Long fur covered his body from nose to tail, the same white of fresh snow as his arm – foreleg? It was only around his nose, left eye and left arm that was different. The shorter black fur extended from his nails to just above his elbow, then began fading and mixing in with the white until there was no trace of it. It made Allen relieved, even if he looked really odd as a result. He'd heard the stories of Hunters who had been chosen by Innocence like him who'd lost it after they'd been turned by something. Even if he had a stronger bond with his than others, it shouldn't have made him an exception by any means. The infection was just incompatible with the God Crystal, and if, like him, the Innocence was in the Hunter's body itself, then they could expect a very slow and painful death if other Hunters didn't put them down first. And the longer he stared at his, the more he wondered why his wasn't killing him from the inside out. He sighed at the mystery, ears drooping and tail twitching. He tried to ignore it, instead focusing on his face. He looked like a wolf, there was no doubt about that. But what surprised him, was while his right eye turned the molten gold of a Lycan, the left one remained his normal silver. As if he needed something else to confuse him now. The ragged purple scar that flowed down his face like roughly torn paper remained as well, a stark contrast against the white fur around it.
So even the virus wasn't enough to break that curse.
Well, that was probably a good thing. He'd the last eight years of his life with it, and he doubted he'd be able to last long without it, not after he'd spent his entire career as a Hunter using it. The entire Black Order knew that he had it, so suddenly losing it wasn't going to be easy to explain.
It was then Allen realized that he wouldn't be able to stay where he was any longer. He was in a castle filled with Hunters, and now he was one of the things they hunted. He no longer had a place here. The shock made his legs weak and he sat down, staring blankly at his reflection in the mirror. Why hadn't he realized it sooner? And it was more than just because he was now prey to them. Werewolves were known for losing control, for attacking at the slightest provocation. He could hurt one of them, maybe worse. He could now infect them, a fate worse than death for the people who called this place home. And while Allen was pretty good at holding his temper, there were people here who could easily make him lose it. His partner was a prime example of that. More than anyone, Allen didn't think he could ever take the chance that he might hurt that person by staying. He may only turn on the three nights that the moon is full, but as a Hunter, losing his reason to rage at any time of the month could still be dangerous. He knew better than anyone that the other could more than handle himself in a fight against some of the strongest creatures – a young werewolf would be a cinch. But Allen was a Hunter as well, and that meant that he was also a very powerful werewolf. They fought a lot, argued even more, but only ever with the intention to maim or seriously injure, never to kill. At least not on his part. And Allen could never forgive himself if he attacked him for real, no matter who'd come out on top. Not to mention he didn't want to lose the subtle affections every time they trained together, the teasing and sarcastic remarks. No matter how much it irked him at the time, he still enjoyed those challenges that they threw at each other.
Shit… he didn't want to leave. Even if it was for them, he wanted to be selfish and stay, wanted to continue calling this his home.
But first things first, he had to stay put in his room. Even if it was an escape attempt, it wasn't like he could go running through the Order like he was now. That'd end very quickly for him. It wasn't easy to stay still though, every fiber in his body wanting to stretch out and run through the forest, go find the owner of that singing sword and go a few rounds. Allen wondered how long he'd last in a fight in this form. He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to be getting distracted. Instead, he planted himself in front of the stained glass window, eyes closed as he basked in the mixed blue-and-normal light. Something about it was just so… indescribable, really, but in a nice way.
He just had to wait until the moon was down and he'd be human again. Hopefully no one would come looking for him until then.
So he spent the night like that, breathing slowly as he waited for the time to pass, all the while listening to the happenings of the Order, the voices muffled like an out of focus lens until he concentrated on them. And boy, was there ever a lot to listen to. Some he wished he'd never heard while others he couldn't help but be disappointed in. Most of the time, he listened to one person in particular, following him as he trained, and then after as he made his way to his room and then the baths. For a while, Allen wondered if maybe he fell asleep there, but after an hour of soaking, he returned to his room for the rest of the night. He was kind of glad their rooms were so far apart for what was probably the first time ever.
After a while, Allen wondered if he'd dozed off for a bit himself, because before he knew it, the person he'd been keeping track of was leaving Kamoui's office and making his way toward the staircase that led to his own room. As the first creeping of dread trickled into his body, so did the pain as his body began to change again. With every step that was made toward his room, Allen could feel his panic rise that much more. He looked down at himself and the feeling flared up, forcing a whimper from his throat. Despite the quickly increasing ache in his bones, his body still wasn't changing back yet.
As his partner reached the floor below his, Allen could feel the first of his bones beginning to change with a loud crack. Finally it was happening. Despite what his body was going through, he pain was a considerable amount less than it had been when he'd first turned into a wolf. Still, watching his body change, he couldn't help but give a frustrated snarl, the sound a strange mix of human and animal. Down the hall, he could hear the footsteps pause, then quicken their pace.
On one hand, it was a lot quicker changing back, and even now he was mostly human again, but as he listened to those steps reach only a few doors down, Allen knew that on the other hand…
It just wasn't quick enough.