Underground Secrets ( M-jow and Sosuke0549 )

[Sosuke0549]

" You must really like this human..."

Fang sighed, staring into his cup of black coffee, as if he was searching for answers. He did like Sora...infact, he loved him more than he ever wanted to admit. As wonderful as it was to be around someone, to have some one, it was also extremely terrifying.

" Ive never been a fan of living in the past. It seems humans are rather obsessed with it. "
Fang shook his head, disagreeing with Vanitas.
" He wants to know...its his right to know..."

The magical warlock rolled his eyes.
"I suppose love has made you soft."

"Only towrds him."

He paused hearing the faint creek of the bedroom door, followed by soft footsteps.
He looked at V, his tone serious and eyes glowing  fainly. It was a suddle warning.
" Behave yourself....please."

"Dear friend, I'm an outstanding gentleman. "

[ "Um.. Good morning"]

When Sora appeared from around the corner wearing his hoodie and joggers, Fang couldn't help but chuckle. His clothes looked massive on the human and Sora's hair still showed signs of bed head, even though he did his best to cover up any evidence of last nights affairs. Fang could still smell the faint remnants of sex on his skin. ( He looks adorable) He thought to himself just as V spoke.
" Good heavens, dear child you look like you've been muled by a wild beast.. " He glanced over a Fang, grinning.

Fang shot an irritated glare at the warlock.
" Keep it up V..."

"Haha. Forgive me...Sometimes I just cant help myself. "

Fang turned his attention to Sora, and cupped his cheek, taking a moment to look him over. His touch warm and gentle.
"How are you feeling? " For a moment, Fang gave Sora his full attention. Forgetting that another person was in the room. " Sorry for the suprise guest...he's an old friend. His names Vanitas, but you can call him V." He whispered, tucking a single curl behind Sora's ear before taking his hand and guided him over to the couch.

Vanitas was rather surprised and fascinated by the way Fang reacted and responded to Sora. He had never seen Fang so....trained~

" Are you hungry? Do you need water?" He encouraged Sora to sit down.

" Actually its probably better if he doesn't eat yet, he might vomit. "

"oh...right."

Fang bit his lip looking back at Sora before taking a seat next to him.

" Sora...do you remember when I told you that there are many different types of creatures in the supernatural world? Well...Vanitas is a warlock..his specialty is magic... And I asked him to come today, to help me...show you...my past."

" Eh- More like memories but...Basically," he muttered, fiddling with his fingernails.

Fang sighed in irritation, but kept his gaze on Sora. " I...i said id tell you everything...this is the only way I know how to...if your ok with this."

[M-jow]

3 hours ago, Sosuke0549 said:

"Good heavens, dear child you look like you've been muled by a wild beast.. "

Sora’s face burned at the warlock’s remark.

The comment hit before he could fully brace himself, and heat rushed straight to his face. His shoulders drew in, instinctively hunching as if the oversized hoodie could somehow shrink further around him. He didn’t need to look down to know exactly what the warlock meant—he was painfully aware of how he probably looked although he thought he could cover it.

His shoulders drew in, fingers curling deep into the sleeves of the hoodie as if he could disappear into it.

He risked a glance toward Fang, half-expecting embarrassment or discomfort... Fang wasn’t showing a reacting like that. If anything, Fang looked more amused than bothered.

Sora took a breath, steadying the flutter in his chest, and forced himself to look up. Purple eyes met his, sharp and curious, weighing him in a way that made him feel oddly transparent.

It was unsettling, but also strangely honest.

Whatever this magic was it felt real, he wasn’t just pretending.

He managed a small.

"Something like that maybe.. " Sora was honestly suprised with himself for how smooth and confident that sounded. And he couldn’t help but chuckle a little.

“it’s nice to meet you, I'm Sora.. do you prefere I call you Vanitas.. or V?” he added, because that felt like the right thing to do.

Moments later, Fang’s presence shifted closer, and Sora felt a gentle, guiding pressure at his side. He let himself be steered toward the table, steps careful as his body reminded him, quietly but insistently that he was still sore. Fang adjusted his pace without comment, and Sora noticed but it wasn’t like he was walking around like an old grandpa gor other's to notice.

The chair scraped softly as he was guided into it. Sora sat, hands resting on the cool surface of the table. The kitchen felt charged now, like the air itself was holding its breath, but he focused on what he could feel: wood beneath his palms, fabric against his skin, Fang's scent all around him, this was enough to keep him grounded.

3 hours ago, Sosuke0549 said:

"Sora...do you remember when I told you that there are many different types of creatures in the supernatural world? Well...Vanitas is a warlock..his specialty is magic... And I asked him to come today, to help me...show you...my past."

" Eh- More like memories but...Basically," he muttered, fiddling with his fingernails.

Fang sighed in irritation, but kept his gaze on Sora. " I...i said id tell you everything...this is the only way I know how to...if your ok with this."

His nerves was buzzing under his skin, but he still put on a calm front. This was Fang letting him in.

Sora's eyes were steady, despite the nervous knot in his chest. He touched Fang’s hand and held it under the table as his eyes shifted from  Fang, to Vanitas and back to Fang again. "Honestly I'm a bit nervous, but I will not back down. You are so brave for letting me in..  I belive can be brave too.." he glanced toward Vanitas. "So... just so I'll kinda know.. is it gonna hurt?" He rather wanted to be prepared for any sudden explosive headaches in advance.

[Sosuke0549]

Vanitas was suprised by how friendly Sora was, and the fact the he didn't completely shut down after the comment he made. 

" I am well aware of who you are dear~ Call me V." 

He placed his feet on the ground, no longer floating as he watched Fang and Sora closely. The air in the room already shifting into something thicker. Heavier. Fang was doing his best to hide his emotions, but Vanitas knew that deep down, the alpha was a nervous wreck. 

This was the first time Vanitas was seeing Fang let anyone in, especially a human. Dispite looking slighly nervous, Sora seemed rather prepared. The way he reached out and took Fangs hand cause V to stare.

 

[ "Honestly I'm a bit nervous, but I will not back down. You are so brave for letting me in..  I belive I can be brave too.." ]

 

Sora's words tugged at Fang's heart. Was he being brave? He honestly didnt feel like it. If he could have things done his way, then he never would have told Sora about his first met. His past... He would of kept it a secret, taken it to his grave. But the pass was coming back to haunt him, and it was affecting his current relationship. 

Even know...he still struggled to understand where it all went wrong with him and Sora. 

He squeezed Sora's hand gently, wanting to reassure him. 

[ "So... just so I'll kinda know.. is it gonna hurt?"]

 

 Vanitas giggled, " Do you want it to?"

Fang glared at V, clearly getting more and more irritated by his comments. The warlock, cleared his throat, " I mean, no. You won't feel any physical pain, I can assure you."

 

He grinned, before flicking Sora's forehead and causing him to pass out at the table, his head hitting the wood with a loud thud. 

"Vanitas!" Fang glared at him.

"He's fine," he reassured him before reaching out his hand and tapping Fangs forehead, the magic man pulled a thin white cord from his head and brought the cord of memories to Sora, connecting it to his forehead. Fang fell to his knees, eyes closed as memories form his past began to resurface and pour into Sora.

Sora might not feel any pain, but Fang....would.

___________________________________

 

FLASH BACK:

 

The world around Sora melts into a vivid, sun-drenched mountain clearing. The air is crisp and thin, smelling of pine and earth. A cozy log cabin sits nestled against a cliff, smoke curling out of its chimney. The sound of laughter rings out. 

A little boy, no more than nine, with shaggy dark hair and amber-flecked eyes, is carefully adjusting a crown of wildflowers on the head of a little girl. She is small, with two messy braids, and similar eyes. 

“Hold still, May,” Fang murmurs, trying to concentrate. “It has to be perfect.”

 

“It’s itchy, Fang!” she complains, but she’s beaming with happiness. 

“All done! It looks so pretty on you! Now, come on. I’ll be the fearsome knight, and you be the flower princess that I rescue!”

They laugh and sing, chasing each other. They play for what feels like hours. May lets Fang “rescue ” her over and over, falling dramatically to the ground. The two of them playing tag. In this beautiful memory, Fang is happy. You could see how much he adored his sister. He is never more than three steps away, his hand always ready to steady her, his laugh always answering hers. He was far more attentive then any human being. 

 

The scene shifts to the cabin doorway. A warm, soft-faced woman with kind eyes wipes her hands on an apron. Her hair is a light brown, and shes rather thin. “My little wolves! Come inside, your father's back.”

The two siblings look at each other, bursting with excitement. 

"Daddy," they shout in unison, running towards the cabin. 

 

Inside, a large and tall man with a clean face, black long hair pulled back in a pony tail, and gentle hands pulls out a carved wooden toy from his bag for May and polished slingshot for Fang. He ruffles Fang’s hair saying, “You kept the den safe while I was gone, son. Thank you.”

Fang took after his father when it came to looks and size, but his heart and personality resembled his mother's. " N-no way! Can I really have this?!"

His father laughed. " Of course son, just dont use it in the house. Or your mother will have a fit." He whispered that last part as the girls finished setting up the dinner table. 

 

Fang had a loving family. A normal family, as they all sat together, eating strew. You could feel the love in the air. Fang’s younger self looks at his sister, stealing a vegetable from her bowl with a grin. They both hated eating vegetables, but Fang would do it for her. Before May he didn't have anyone to play with, so Fang cherished his sister. She was his best friend and he never felt lonely again when she came into the picture. 

The scene dips to black, quickly fadding into winter. Fang appears to be a year older now, probably nine and May six. The two of them are trudging through fresh snow, cheeks red, dragging a makeshift sled. They had just spent hours playing in the snow. Now they were tired, hungry and cold. 

It was time to head back.

Fang could see their cabin up ahead but he suddenly stopped, a new scent hitting his nose like a punch to the face. He covers up his nostrils, that playful smile he wore, disappearing, replaced with instinctual alarm. A scent he wasn't familiar with. 

 

 Coppery. Thick. Iron. Blood.

 

“May, quiet,” he whispers, his voice tight. He pulls her behind a large pine tree, peering around it just as three men in thick clothing, emerge from their cabin. They are laughing loudly and cracking jokes. One swings a sack thats dripping red liquid onto the pure white snow, its not tighed properly, so Fang is able to catch a peek of the continents inside, and to his horror, he sees the matted hair of his mother’s head. Fang’s breath hitches and he quickly hides himself behind the tree. A silent, violent tremor seizes his entire body, instantly, clamping a hand over May's mouth before she can make a sound, pulling her small face into his chest, wanting to shield her eyes. His own eyes are wide with horror so deep it threatens to unravel him.... 

 

( W-we need to run....We have to run!)

Sora can hear fang's thoughts. 

( B-but my l-legs...I can't move. ) He was shaking, his legs frozen. His world felt like it was tilting upside down. Fang would have lost his mind, if not for May. She looked up at him in confusion, concern written all over her face. 

"B-big brother?" Her voice but a whisper, but filled with fear. 

( For her........)

" Look what we have here.~ Two lost pups." 

A fourth man, his scent mysteriously blank, steps out from behind their tree...The screams that followed after were gut wrenching as Fang and May were grabbed. Fang does his best to resist. He fights, bites, snarls, kicks, but a heavy net weighted with silver pinns him to the ground, zapping his strength. From there he is beaten into submission, all while screaming for them to leave May alone. He begged them to spare his sister. To only take him....but his pleas fell on deaf ears.

 

They are bound in silver-laced ropes, thrown into the truck of a car, and taken far away from home. That was Fangs last memory of his home. 

Years later he'd come to find out that the hunters who killed his parents and kidnapped him and his sister had also burned down their house. He had nothing to go back too. 

May is crying, nuzzling into his chest, but Fang does not allow himself to cry. At least not in front of her. His tears freeze inside him, becoming a core of solid, desperate resolve.

A little voice telling him to be strong saying 'You are all she has.'

 

The scene dips to black, shifting quickly to a new memory. The area around Sora becoming loud and colorful, a traveling circus, a place of pure evil. Fang and May are thinner now, and are separated, each living in a small, filthy cage. A thick chain collar is locked around Fang’s neck, bolted to the floor. May's chain is slightly thinner, but just as unyielding. Their “performance” is a mockery of their nature. They are prodded with silver-tipped poles onto a lit up stage, forced to snarl on command, to pretend to fight for the amusement of roaring crowds. They are still children and unable to fully shift, all they can do is bear their beast like fangs, glowing eyes and claws. The abuse that follows is relentless. If they disobey, they are whipped. If their performance lacks they are starved. Fang takes every blow he can for May putting his body between her and the handlers countless times, forever scaring his back because his body couldn't heal fast enough.

Fang did his best to shield May during the day but he couldn't stop them at night. Sometimes, after the crowds leave and everyone is fast asleep, one particular handler—a fat man with greasy hair and dead eyes—would come in the dead of night. He’d unlock May's cage, and take her away and each time Fang would bear his fangs, fighting so harshly against his chains, that it would cut deep into his skin. 

 

“Special training for the pretty one,” he’d say. 

But Fang new better, he would be forced to listen, straining against his restraints until his neck bled, as May cried, as she's assulted by a filthy human...And this became a frequent occurrence and each time Fang watched, helplessly. Each night May would return hours later, silent, hollow, smelling of human sweat and shame. The light in his sister's eyes was gone, and no matter what he said or did, it was never coming back. Fang would try to comfort her, lick her wounds, whispering broken promises of escape, of home, but with each grueling day, and terrifying night, his heart was breaking.  

Sora's surroundings dipped to black, revealing a new memory. Its now dark outside, and it's colder than usual. Fang is tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep in his cage, his body aching. Once in a while, the handlers would let them share a cage, so tonight they were together. 

 

May is curled up beside him, still....alittle too still.

“May?” he whispers, nuzzling her. “May, wake up. I saved a bit of bread for you. You need to eat."

She does not move. Her small body is cold to the touch, and now their is no hint of light or life in her eyes. Starvation, sickness, abuse and a broken spirit had finally taken its toll. 

"N-No...no...no! No nononononono!" His voice trembled and so does his body as he's suddenly hit with a harsh reality that is sister is gone! That he's all alone. 

" nonono! Don't go! Don't leave me here!"

His muffled crying shifts into a hollow growl. Like a wounded animal. It’s the sound of his heart breaking. As Fang reaches a depth of despair unlike any other, he feels a deep pull within him. Fangs tear stained face peers up at the night sky...a full moon now turning red. A blood moon, shining down on him through his cage...A moon so rare that it only happened once every 50 years. 

 

It was that night....everything changed. 

The transformation is not gentle. It is a cataclysm. Bones break and reform with violent cracks, fur erupts from Fangs skin, and a howl of pure, unadulterated rage erupts. This is Fang's first full transformation. He no longer resembled a human, he looked like something from a horror film. A cross between a wolf and a bear, standing six feet tall, he snaps the chains and collar off him and the iron cage bends like parchment paper to his new found strength. 

 

What emerges is not Fang, nor a normal werewolf, but an Alpha, born in a moment of ultimate loss and wrath. His consciousness is a red haze, focused on one thing: the eradication of every scent, every sound, every heartbeat that belonged to this god forsaken circus. 

The massacre is swift and relentless. Handlers are torn apart before they can scream. Patrons sleeping in nearby wagons meet the same fate. Because why would he spare anyone? A alpha’s vengeance does not discriminate—man, woman, child—the circus is a nest of monsters, and he was the purge.

 

But for some, death was slow. The greasy-haired handler, the ringmaster with his whip, the others who had touched or beaten him and May… he finds them. His massive jaws clamp on limbs, not to sever, but to pull. The sound of tendons snapping, joints dislocating, is a grim symphony. He makes it last. He makes them scream. He makes them suffer. He ensures their final moments are ones filled with agony, a mirror of the prolonged suffering they inflicted. When the red haze finally begins to recede, Fang is alone, standing in a field of carnage under the fading Blood Moon. He is naked and human, covered in blood that is not his own. He stumbles back to his cage, to May and holds her fragile tiny body in his arms. He had killed them all... He had killed so many that he lost count. But the circus massacre of 1965 would go down in history as the most horrific massacre, the country has ever seen. Claiming the lives of 76 individuals. Turning him into a urban legend.

 

Sora's world dipped to black, showing a new memory. The world Sora sees now is full of gray. Rain falls from the sky like a vengeful spirit as a 14 year old Fang, walks through the city streets. Fangs clothes are ragged, ripped and dirty. He couldn't remember the last time he had a decent meal, he had been homeless and struggling on the streets for so long. The hunger he felt in the pit of his stomach clawed at him but the deeper ache came from inside him, a eternal chilling emptiness left by the cage and the loss that followed. He moves with a feral wariness, every sense screaming that the world is a hostile and unforgiving. 

 

He finds a back door to a dimly-lit pawn shop, the lock old and rusted. With desperation, he pries open the door, slipping inside and nearly slipping on to the floor. His body beyond exhausted. At the time, Fang wasn't even looking for valuables—just a dry place to rest. Away from the world...away from the rain. He tensed hearing the floorboards creek. He turns around, on high alert as a low growl tears from this throat. His eyes, glowing faintly as they lock onto a figure leaning calmly against a glass case. It’s a man, perhaps in his thirties. He holds up a hand, not in threat, but in peace.... Fang stared at him for a long moment, before he sniffs it. This man wasn't a human, but a Werewolf.

“Easy there, pup,” he says, his voice gentle. “The name’s Ray. This is my place. You’re letting in the draft.”

Fang is a statue of hostility, every muscle ready to flee or fight. Ray doesn’t approach. Instead, he slowly reaches behind the counter and pulls out a wrapped sandwich. “You look like you’re hunting. Here. The roast beef is decent.”

Fang stared at the sandwich for a long time, before ultimately reaching out and snatching it from Ray. 

Unlike Ray, Fang was wild. Ray did his best to appear non threatening but that didnt change Fangs demeanor, his snarling at offers of help, and flinching at sudden movements. But luckily for Fang, Ray had endlessly patient, speaking in low tones about the city, about the hidden communities of beings like them, never pushing but simply informing. For a week Fang came and went...always returning in the afternoon for some kind of sandwich and the chance to crash on Rays leather couch. 

One rainy evening, as Fang sits by the backdoor in his usual corner, curled up in a ball. Ray tries talking to him again, “You can’t live here forever, kid..."

Fang glanced over at him, he still hadnt told Ray his name. In fact...the only person who use to say his name...were long gone. Come to think of it, the only person alive that knew his name, was himself. 

" I know a place.. It’s… not perfect. There are lots of humans but the woman who runs it… shes different, she knows about the supernatural world, and will help. You’d be safe.”

 

Fang’s instinct is a violent no. Humans meant trouble. Humans ment cages, pain, and loss. But Ray seemed to see the anger and fear in his eyes as he held his gaze...What he saw in Ray's eyes was something that he thought hed never see again, a subtle promise...a look of understanding...a look his father use to give him. 

 “You trusted me this far,” his tone gentle, “Trust me a little further.”

The world around Sora dips to black and shifts to a large, old building of stone and ivy, part orphanage, part church. Fang stands at its gates, drenched and trembling, not from rain or the cold, but from sheer terror. Ray places a firm hand on his shoulder. “Your new den... Remember, you’re not alone here.”

 

A new den...A new life...a new home...

Inside the building, the interior is clean, smelling of lemon polish and bread, humming with the sounds of human children, some laughing, other arguing. Fang shrinks into himself, the urge to bolt and run, overwhelming. Then, a woman approaches them. Sister Yore is tall with a beauty that seems to hold its own light, with stunning pitch black hair and ocean blue eyes. Shes a nun...Her gaze meets Fang’s, and in her eyes he sees no fear. The scent she gives off is a mix between human and something foreign. Similar to the smell of a flower but oddly too strong and unique. 

“Welcome,” she says, her voice like calm water. “You’ve had a long journey. Come, I have two who have been eager to meet you.”

Her smile is alarmingly disarming, and yet, Fang still found himself grabbing tighly on to Rays arm. She leads them to a sunlit garden behind the church. And there, under a blossoming cherry blossom tree, Fang’s world stops for the second time in his life.

 

A boy about his age is trying, and failing miserably, to juggle three apples. He has a mop of unruly red hair and a lopsided grin. As Fang approaches, the boy’s head snaps up. Their eyes meet and Fang’s senses are flooded with the unmistakable, thunderstorm scent of mutt and earth but with a unique scent of its own, another werewolf. The boy—Ace—drops the apples in awe. His grin widens, unable to control the excitement on his face. 

“Whoa,” Ace breathes, taking an involuntary step closer. “You… you’re like me.”

 

Fang is stunned and silent. He hadn’t dared to hope… After years of believing he was all alone, a solitary monster, here is proof he is not. A shy, painful hope flickers in his chest. Then, from behind the tree, a girl steps forward and Fang’s breath catches. Aura. Her hair is a cascade of soft pink, like the blossoms above her, and her eyes are as tranquil as the sea. She has an ethereal quality about her, a gentle light that seems to cling to her skin. In her hands, she holds a half-finished crown of daisies and ivy. She smiles at Fang, and her smile...was like sunshine. Practically blinding. 

“Hello,” she says, her voice, like music. “I’m Aura. We’ve been waiting for you..."

( Waiting...for me?)

" This is Ace, and my daughter Aura. There special, just like you," Yore informs him.

Ace immediately jumps at him, getting so excited to meet another werewolf his age. He starts to bombard him with questions. "How old are you?! Where are you from?! Can you talk? Do you wanna be friends?! What's your name!"

 

"Easy there Ace," Yore smiled, patting him on the head. "Your making him uncomfortable...it's rude to ask so many questions. " 

"R-really? Oh...t-then I'm sorry."

The memories that follow for Sora are a montage of healing, painted in the soft colors of friendship. He sees Fang, silent and watchful, slowly being drawn into the orbit of Ace and Aura. Ace, with his boisterous, loyal heart, teaches Fang how to be a boy again—how to play-fight in the forest (carefully, secretly, using their strength), how to laugh at foolish jokes, how to simply be children again...He is the brother Fang thought he’d never have. 

And Aura… Aura is different.

Sora would see her sitting by Fangs bed on nights when the nightmares of chains and blood haunted him. She doesn’t speak. She simply hums, a soft, ancient melody, and a gentle, shimmering light—her fairy magic—would weave through the air, calming the savage terror in his heart, easing him back into a dreamless sleep.

 

Sora would see them in the garden, where she teaches Fang the names of flowers and herbs. Aura makes him a crown of bluebells, placing it carefully on his head. “For the protector,” she whispers. Fang is touched, he wears it until the petals wilt. She is the one who makes him comfortable enough to reveal his name. She is the one who encourages him to interact with the other children who are humans. She is the one that drags him off to study hall, and forces him to read. There is even a time where Aura nursed a small, injured sparrow back to health, and Fang would sit with her for hours, watching her delicate hands work, listening to her sing to the small bird. Her melodies angelic. All fairies had unique abilities, but hers was plants and healing. She reminds him, in her kindness and her light, of May—but what begins to grow in his heart is entirely new. It’s a fierce, tender ache. It’s the desire not just to protect, but to be close. To make her laugh, to earn her smile, to have her look at him and see not a monster, but Fang.

One night, the three supernatural musketeers are sitting outside watching the stars from the orphanage roof. Aura was between him and Ace, but Fang could hear the redhead softly snoring. 

"Did he fall asleep?"

"He did," she giggled. The two of them stare up at the sky, and just when Fang was about to get lost in his thoughts he feels Aura’s hand brush his. Fang freezes, then, with courage he didn’t know he possessed, he slowly links his pinky finger with hers, and to his suprise, she doesn’t pull away. She turns her ocean-blue eyes to him, and in them, he sees his reflection. 

After his sisters death. He believed that his heart had turned to stone, that all the color had bled out of his world. But his time at the orphanage and the friendships he cultivated with Ace and Aura proved him wrong. Ace taught him how to stand again. But Aura… she taught his heart how to beat again. She was the first light Fang saw after an eternity of darkness, and it scared him.

 

But it also lit a fire deep within him, he would burn down the sky before he let that light be taken away from him again. He found something he wanted to protect, to love...again. 

The world around Sora dips to black, a new memory forming. Fang is now 17, taller, his frame filled out with lean muscle, but the softness in his eyes is reserved for only one person. He and Aura were curled up together underneath the cherry tree, they laid down in the grass, sunbathing, her head on his chest, his arms wrapped around her. Fang had been 

careless. One moment of passion, of forgetting the world… and he marked her. Now they were together....and she became his compass, his gravity. Her joy was a sunbeam in my mind and her sadness, a physical chill that ran down his spine. He never imagined hed ever be this...close to someone again. 

 

Fang nuzzles in chin into her pink hair, taking in her scent. 

 “I can’t imagine being without you,” he murmurs.

“You won’t have to,” she whispers back, turning to kiss him. But the world intrudes on their little fairytale. Ray appears, and alongside him is a stern, older werewolf named Draven. Fang had been dreading this moment, but it was finally here. He and Ace would be sent away from the orphanage to train. They'd be spending a year training at the Silvanus Temple, deep in the Northern Peaks, were they'd learn to fight and control their supernatural urges and tendencies. 

 

Ace is buzzing with excitement. Fang feels his blood run cold because it ment hed be away from Aura. 

One year and thousand miles away.

The goodbye is agony. At the orphanage gates, Aura holds his face in her hands, her thumb wiping away a single tear he didn’t know he’d shed. “My brave wolf,” she says, her own eyes watering, “This isnt goodbye...this is...'see you later', ok? I’ll be right here, under our tree, waiting.~" 

 

He kisses her, pouring every ounce of his fear, his love, their promise into it. Pulling away feels like tearing off his own skin. He walks backward until the road curves, keeping her in his sight until the very last second. The physical pull of the mark is a taut, a screaming wire in his chest, stretching thinner and thinner with every step he takes away from her.

The scene shifts to a breathtaking mountain view, a temple carved into a mist-shrouded mountainside. The air is thin, the silence profound, broken only by the crack of training weapons and men shouting. 

 

Training is brutal. Draven, their mentor, is a granite-faced werewolf who views mercy as a flaw. Their days begin before dawn with grueling runs up vertical cliffs. Ace and Fang are taught Muay Thai, their shins colliding with ironwood posts until they bruise black and blue. They learn Jujitsu, their bodies hitting mats over and over, even boxing. 

They are even taught firearms—disassembly, cleaning, and precision shooting—Draven insisted that a modern predator must master all tools.

But their most brutal training was in their wolf forms. Draven pits them against each other and against himself in a stone-ringed arena, teaching them to harness the beast’s within them into tactical fury. Fang learns to fight with the cunning of a wolf and the strategy of a soldier.

 

Every night, his body is a map of pain. And every night, by the light of a single candle, he writes parchment letters to Aura, piling them up in a wooden box.

 

[ Dear Aura,

Today, Draven broke two of my ribs. He said it was to teach me how to fight through the shock. All I could think was that I would endure a hundred broken ribs if it meant I could be a wall between you and any danger…

The stars here are so bright but they don’t soothe me like your eyes do.

I keep dreaming about you, of the garden. I can smell the lavender. I am so tired, but its hard for me to sleep when I think about you. I hope your doing ok. Ill be home soon.

Love Fang.]

 

He often falls asleep, cheek pressed against the paper. Once a week a man came to pick up and deliver letters. So their messages were delayed but Fang didn't mind. He was just grateful to hear back from her...but unfortunately... tragedy would strike again. 

It happened during a typical sparring session, a brutal exchange of blows with Ace under a gloomy gray sky.

 

Thats when it happened. 

 

A cold spike, sharper than any knife, pierces through Fang’s heart. He stumbles, his guard dropping. Ace stops his attack, taken aback by his demeanor. 

(Aura)

 

A tidal wave of pure, undiluted terror floods their bond. It is not the fear of a nightmare or an argument. It is the same icy, soul-rending terror he felt as a child smelling his mother’s blood on the snow. The fear of death...

“Fang?” Ace’s voice sounds distant, even though he was right in front of him. 

 

Fang clutches his chest, a raw gasp escaping him. The connection they share is screaming, a silent siren of panic. Aura's in danger.

Without a word, without a glance at Ace, he turns and runs. He vaults over the temple wall, ignoring the shouts from behind him, and plunges down the mountainside. He isn’t running with discipline; he is falling with purpose, scrambling, sliding, tumbling over rocks and roots. FRANTIC!

 

( Too far. I’m too far! ) His mind in reeling! 

 

The bond he shared with Aura feeling like a live wire of agony in his soul. He pushes his body faster than ever, muscles burning, lungs tearing. Then, in the space between one frantic heartbeat and the next, he feels it.

 

A sharp, excruciating snap deep inside his core, as if a vital string has suddenly been cut.

A wave of icy coldness washes over him, leaving him feeling empty.

 

He collapses face-first into the dirt, the world silent. The constant, gentle hum of Aura’s presence—the background music of his life since the mark—is gone. Utterly, completely gone. Replaced by a void louder than any scream.

 

The last echo that had reached him through the void was her final emotion: sheer, petrifying terror.

“No… NO!” The howl that rips from him is one of denial. It can’t mean what he knows. If there bond was gone....then.... 

He staggers to his feet. “No, no, no…” He begins to run again, a mantra of refusal. He runs for hours, then days, shifting into his wolf form to eat up the miles. He does not sleep. He does not eat. He runs until his paws are raw and bloody and his vision blurs, sustained only by the impossible hope that the bond is wrong. That life couldn't be this cruel to him a second time. 

 

The next memory that forms for Sora is one of haunting and silent devastation.

 

Fang is in his human form again, standing at the smoking ruins of St. Agnes. The stone walls are blackened shells. The scent of charred wood, death, and old blood hangs heavy in the air, and beneath it all, fading like a ghost, is the scent of cherry blossoms and fairy-light. With desperate, wheezing breaths, Fang follows the scent, stumbling through the wreckage to the back garden. The cherry tree is scorched, but still standing, and at its base, a rough wooden spear has been driven into the earth.

 

Impaled upon it is Aura’s head.

 

Her beautiful pink hair is matted with blood but flows gently in the breeze. Her ocean-blue eyes are closed, her face pale and expression cold. A crude hunter emblem— branded on her forehead.

 

Fang doesn’t scream. He makes no sound at all at first. He simply falls to his knees as if his bones have dissolved. The world loses all color, all sound. He crawls forward, his hands trembling too violently to touch her. Then, the sound. It starts as a low, broken whine deep in his throat and erupts into a howl of such magnitude, of universe-shattering grief. It is the sound of a soul being ripped in two, of every tender thing left in him dying at once. He screams until his voice gives out, heaving sobs wracking his body as he presses his forehead against the cold earth curses this world. 

 

When his tears are spent, leaving him hollow and numb, he gently, so gently, works her head free from the spear. He cradles it to his chest, rocking back and forth. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice raw and shattered. “I’m so sorry, im sorry. Im sorry... I wasn’t here. I wasn’t here.” He kisses her cold forehead, the taste of salt and ash on his lips. He sounds like a broken record, apologizing over and over and over again. 

 

He digs a shallow grave with his own hands at the base of their tree and lays her to rest. He collapses beside it, one hand resting on the fresh earth, and falls into a sleep darker than death.

 

By the time Fang wakes up, its dawn. The grief is still there, like leaden weight in his chest, but it has been encased in something new....

He walks away from the grave without looking back as everything dips to black. 

 

 

The next memory, Fang is back at the Temple of Silvanus. He's standing before Draven his eyes dark, flat, but glowing. The predator within him fully awakened. Draven is reluctant to train him. He just experienced the loss of a mate, a fate that many werewolves never experience, much less survive from. 

“I'm staying,” Fangs tone his rough, emotionless, "Train me. More. Harder. I want to learn everything there is...." 

 

( I want to kill them all!)

 

For three years, Fang endures. The training is no longer a means to an end; it is the end itself. He becomes a masterpiece of violence, flawless in form, ruthless in execution. He seeks out the most dangerous sparring partners, takes the most brutal punishments, and rises every time, colder and harder. He cuts off Ray’s concerned visits with silent, he puts up a wall between Ace and anyone from the orphanage, especially Yore, Auras mother. He returns her letters, unopened, terrified to read what's inside. 

When Ace tries to speak of her, of the past, Fang’s tone is like a whip. Brutally sharp, shutting him down. “Sentiment is a weakness. Love is a fatal flaw. Don’t speak of things you don’t understand.”

 

The pup who once wrote love letters by candlelight was gone. In his place was now a weapon, honed to a razor’s edge, his heart buried in a shallow grave under a scorched tree. The only warmth left in him was the burning obsession of finding the ones who did this, and making them pay. 

 

The next few memories are of Fang wandering. Its a grim relentless existence. A montage of rain-slicked alleyways, temporary safehouses that smell of mildew and loneliness, and the cold, clinical sight of hunter outposts burning behind Fang's amber eyes.

 

To the Hunters, he is a ghost, a rumor, a terror reeking havoc. He tracks hunters with single-minded fury, intercepting shipments of silver, ambushing patrols in forgotten woods. The memories are flashes of violence—efficient, brutal, and ultimately unsatisfying. He catches a few low-level operatives, interrogates them, tortures them, kills them, but they never give him what he needs. His real prey, the The Golden Drawn Hunters, the ones with the emblems, the ones who took Aura, his parents, remained in the shadows, always one step ahead.

A dead end in Seattle. 

A close call in Denver. 

Fang is constantly moving....constantly searching....never safe. It was almost as if Fang was a hammer seeking 'justice ' and the hunters were a puff of smoke. Fang's acts of violence did not go unnoticed. They began hunting the hunter, and Fang quickly became one of the Hunter Association's highest targets. Wanted dead or alive. 500,000 bounty, Code name: The Red Moon Beast...

 

The world dips to black and the memory shifts. Fang is in the underbelly of a nameless city, the air thick with sweat, blood, and cheap beer. Hes at a underground fighting ring. Here, his rage has a currency. He fights not for glory, but for survival and information, taking on all challengers—human, supernatural, anything that steps into the concrete pit. The violence is raw, sanctioned, and leaves him emptier each time. The money keeps him off the grid; the whispers in the crowd sometimes carry useful tidbits. He does this for years, a endless cycle of fight, heal, move, hunt, a grinding purgatory. Fighting in the pits is where he first encountered Vanitas, and he was more of a prick back then he was now. Even Ace gets swallowed up by the underground. 

 

Then, a quieter memory.... begins to form, a dim, retro-themed club comes into view, "The Cypt."

 

Fang is behind the counter, polishing a glass. His movements are methodical, his expression a neutral mask. The bartender gig is a perfect camouflage—anonymous, observational, and in neutral territory. He listens, he watches, he pieces together fragments from drunken whispers and loose tongues. But ultimately the trail has gone cold again. The Golden Dawn are no where to be found, frustration is a silent scream in his chest. 

Fang is weighing the pros and cons of heading to the coast, his mind a whirlpool of old rage and tactical calculations. That familiar, burning fury—a constant companion since the mountain temple—is simmering, threatening to boil over into something reckless. He wanted to hit something, to run, to act. To kill.

 

The world around Sora dips to black...and the next memory he sees, is a familiar one. Fang is at a grocery store, standing in the meat section. Dispite having very little compassion for humans, he stops to help a boy who has fallen on the floor. He offers his hand, but rather than immediately taking it, the store employee stares at him in awe. 

 

" Quit staring-- Hurry up and take it, otherwise I'll just leave you on the ground. "

This boy... was Sora. 

 "I'm sorry.. thank you.." 

 

Fang isn't impressed by him, in fact he seems rather typical, but its what happens next that sparks suddel curiosity. How Sora quits his job so suddenly and stormed off, how he acted so simple one moment and outrageously bold the next. Fang can only stare after him. The scent that filled his nostrils wasn't just human. But this boy smelled like soap, old books, the faint, clean smell of antiseptic from a clinic and...mutt?

For some reason fate continued to bring them together...and he discovers that Sora volunteers at a animal shelter, rescuing mostly dogs but other animals too. Suddenly the rehearsed hostility he had, the immediate dismissal of all humans as threats… failed to activate.

 

The memory accelerates, painting Sora as some sort of miracle. Sora, the volunteer vet who treated strays with the same care as human being. Sora, who dragged him out on a date and crashed at his house, Sora, who saw Fang’s permanent scowl and responded not with fear, but with a stubborn, gentle persistence. He showed Fang a world he had forcibly forgotten. He had a dream of healing, not hurting. Of opening up his own shelter or veterinarian clinic someday. He talked about the animals he treated—the scared, the injured, the abandoned—with a compassion that seemed to reach into Fang’s very soul and touch the wounded creature hiding there.

 

Fang found himself listening. Then, waiting for Sora. Then, intentionally setting aside time to see him. The driving, all-consuming force of revenge began to recede, not in a dramatic explosion, but in a quiet steady way. It wasn’t gone, but it was no longer the sole engine of his existence. In its place grew something terrifying and beautiful: a desire to protect this specific light. To be near it. He fell in love. Not with a memory, not with a idealized dream, but with a living, breathing, frustratingly stubborn human, who gave him quick witted remakes, and treated his wounds when he was beaten and bruised... 

Sore looked at him—the monster, the beast, the weapon —and saw someone worth caring for.

Sora’s kindness was a quiet revolution. It didn’t erase the past; it built a future over the scars. For the first time since the garden of ash, Fang thought of a tomorrow that wasn’t painted in blood. He thought of coming home to someone.

 

The memory solidifies into a single, powerful image: Fang is now standing in his bedroom, his bed is covered with maps and hunter sigils. Names on papers, pictures of men with claw marks over their faces. He reaches out his hand, and slowly, deliberately, folds and packets his things into a massive chest. The same one Sora has seen, tucked away in his bedroom closet. Locking it away but keeping it close. Fang catches a glimpse of his own reflection in the dark window, and for the first time in decades, he doesn’t see only a hunter of hunters. He sees the man Sora sees.

So when Sora got hurt, it was the first time in Fang's life that he was able to show up on time, Sora was injured but not dead...and seeing him in such a state, feeling his emotions and fears threw their bond, made all thr pain from his past resurfac. He wasn't their for Aura...but he swore to himself that he'd always be there for Sora. The fear of losing him was gut wrenching, so Fang became obsessed with protecting him. Telling him to rest. To stay close, to even cut ties with Asta. 

Sora was the only thing Fang needed, so why couldn't Fang be all that he needed? 

He didn't sleep...he forgets to eat. Paranoia starts to eat away at him... and thats when the fights start happening. The arguments...the door slamming, the distancing and Fang feels it. He sees it...but he can't understand it, much less address it in that moment because Sora is still recovering and potentially endanger. So Fang says nothing. He avoids eye contact...he can sense Sora's irritation, but as long as he doesn't order him to leave, he stays. Trying and failing to maneuver in their relationship. The nightmares are back...so he sleeps even less. His past coming haunting him.

_______________________________

 

PRESENT

 

Fang is kneeling beside Sora, his eyes red as if he had been crying. In order to reveal his past to Sora, he had to relive it again. Magic often came with a price, and his was having to see, feel, and experience everything all over again. 

Having all your past traumas and wounds ripped open again, shook him deeply... the foundation he had built for himself was now cracking.

He stared up at Sora as he started to come too, waking up from the trance he was in, and Fang gripped his knees, his entire body shaking as overwhelming fear took hold of him. 

Fear of how Sora would perceive him now. Now that he knew the truth...that he killed...so many people...that he wasn't necessarily a good person. 

"S-sora..."

(D-dont hate me. Please don't hate me! Please!)

Sora had walked into his endless winter and saved him from the monster he had become. The human gave Fang a reason to live, instead of a reason to kill. Sora was....everything to him. So....

"I-im sorry! Im sorry! I-im sorry!Sorry!s-sorry!Imsorry!imsorry.imsorry!imsorry!"

Fangs emotions went into overdrive, as he started to panic, apologizing like a broken record, tears slipping down his cheeks. Terrified that Sora was going to leave him. 

His past replying in his broken mind again and again. That feeling of being abandoned, of being alone again. 

Edited 5 hours ago by Sosuke0549