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~ Behind Brown Eyes ~

© Cederwyn Whitefurr

14th March 2025

All Rights Reserved.

Author's Note: This story was inspired by the song 'Behind Blue Eyes', originally by The Who, but -this- version is the more intense and impact version by Limp Bizkit's cover of the song. It's not a story about sunshine and rainbows, but of the tragic loss and fate of a human, his downfall, his corruption of what he once was, into what he fears most – becoming the monster of his worst nightmares.

*

Galen stood in front of the mirror, breath shallow, staring at the reflection that wasn’t quite his own. The face in the glass was his, yet it wasn’t. The creature staring back at him was unmistakably a deer—wide, alert eyes locked with his own, its ears slightly flicking.

For a moment, they simply gazed at each other, as if both were frozen in time.

Then, as his trembling hand reached up, the deer’s reflection mirrored him, its three-fingered hand, tipped with black hooflets, touching the glass in turn.

As his fingers pressed against the cold surface, the reflection shifted—the deer’s eyes went wide, its ears flattening in a silent show of fear.

As if he didn’t, or couldn’t, see it, Galen pulled his hand away from the glass and turned his back to the reflection. Desperate, the deer’s other hand slapped against the cold surface—mute, silent... helpless. It was one last, frantic plea before it faded like morning mist dissolving into the air.

Galen’s steps were slow and deliberate as he walked away, his thoughts heavy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—something deeper than the flickering reflection in the mirror. Every day, it felt as though he was losing grip on himself. His temper flared more easily, his thoughts scattered, and his body… his body seemed to ache in unfamiliar ways, as if it was trying to tell him something.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt truly calm or in control.

*

Chapter One:

That evening, as he walked through the streets, the usual bustle of the city felt distant, like a dream. People passed him by, unaware, their faces blurring, and he realized how far removed he felt from them. He wanted to shout, to tell them that he wasn’t like them, that they couldn’t possibly understand. But that would be foolish, wouldn’t it? No one would understand.

His gaze turned to the ground, his eyes darkening. "No one knows what it’s like," he thought bitterly, "to be hated… to be the sad man. Behind brown eyes..."

The anger inside him burned with quiet intensity, a slow simmering heat. Something inside him—something raw, something ancient—itched to get out. But what was it? What was happening to him?

His heart pounded as his thoughts twisted, his breath catching in his chest. There were days when he could barely remember who he was—just a shadow of himself, haunted by something that didn’t belong. A creature, a beast, lurking within, pulling at the edges of his sanity.

He was becoming something darker, something he feared, something he hated. And yet, that part of him… it felt so real. So natural. He could feel it inside him, gnawing at the walls of his soul, like the hunger of a predator too long starved. It wasn’t just a passing thought. It was a slow, creeping reality, one that threatened to consume him.

But he couldn’t stop it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop it.

His hand clenched into a fist, and he fought to regain control, to push back the gnawing darkness. But it was already too late, wasn’t it? "No one knows what it’s like," he thought again, but now it was different. He wasn’t sure if he meant the people around him or if he was speaking about himself.

It was a cruel irony. The more he fought it, the more it took root inside him. The bad man… the sad man… behind brown eyes.

It was all a blur, the bar, the drinking, it was always the same. He'd drift from dead-end job to dead-end job, move on. New town, new job, same outcome. A fleeting moment of contact, a body pressed against his, the promise of something human, something real. But in the aftermath, the emptiness lingered like a cold wound, deep in his chest. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, unable to shake the nagging feeling that the touch hadn’t been enough.

He had wanted it to be, wanted to feel some semblance of relief—something to numb the hollow ache that gnawed at his insides. But instead, there was only a gnawing bitterness. The fleeting comfort of skin on skin couldn’t fill the gaping void inside of him. It only made the longing worse. The desire for something more—something deeper.

But what could he ever offer?

A one-night stand had seemed like the easy answer. It was the closest thing to intimacy he could afford without getting too close, without giving in to the overwhelming need for human connection. But now, as he lay there, the weight of it all pressed down on him. He knew it was a lie—a fantasy to pretend that he could ever be truly close to anyone. Not as he was. Not anymore.

The idea of someone standing by his side, someone to hold him close, was laughable. The scent of his skin, the way it carried something wild and untamed—he could feel the way it hung in the air, always there, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. The way his instincts pulsed beneath the surface, unrelenting. The fear that someone would pick up on it, feel it, and run.

He was something else. Something different.

His gaze dropped to his hands. The oddness of them. The way the fingertips felt off—like they weren’t quite his anymore. He flexed them, a small tremor running through his skin. "How can I even pretend to love when I can’t even be close to someone without something breaking?"

In the quiet, dark room, he could hear his heart beating, slower now, but still strong, still alive. He felt the heat rise in his chest, a low burn building under his ribs. The need for something more. Something primal.

And for a brief, fleeting moment, before his mind sank back into the familiar pit of regret, he wondered: Could there be something real? Could I ever feel truly seen, truly loved, without becoming something monstrous?

But no. It was always the same, wasn’t it? He was a creature bound to the darkness, doomed to its hunger. It would never change.

The thought of touching someone again, of holding someone close, seemed impossible. He could already feel it—the way his body would betray him, the raw, untamable urge bubbling beneath his skin, waiting for the chance to break free.

No one would dare come close. The sense of danger was always there, hovering at the edges of his presence. The fear he could never escape. And yet, despite everything, even though he was becoming something else, something dangerous, he still longed for the connection. Still craved it. He wanted to be held, wanted to be loved. But he couldn’t let himself have it, not when it would tear everything apart.

Galen trembled as he ran a hand through his mussed-up hair, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. The quiet hum of the motel room felt like it was closing in. He turned and slowly began to gather his clothes. He was always careful with the routine, the detachment—she wouldn’t remember him, and he wouldn’t remember her. It was always the same.

His partner... A bitter smile touched his lips as he pulled on his shirt. She had been broken in every way, her body spent, exhausted, and lying limp on the cheap mattress. Their passion had been wild—borderline brutal and primal—but it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

It never was.

If only you knew... he thought, swallowing hard as he trailed a trembling finger along her bare arm, his touch soft and almost apologetic. It always ended like this—anonymous sex with some woman, their encounter fleeting, a momentary escape from the gnawing emptiness inside him. Precautions were taken, yes, but all the same, he never truly felt any closer to anything real.

He buttoned his shirt, the silence of the room stretching between them, thick and heavy. With a final glance, he stood up, walking to the door. He paused, looking back at her one last time.

“If only you knew,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible. “You... all of you would hate me.”

With a quiet exhale, he left the room, closing the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the stillness.

Outside, the pre-dawn darkness swallowed him whole, as it always did. The air was cool, the silence broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the wind. He hunched his shoulders against the cold, his steps slow and deliberate as he walked away, heading into the same empty night, the same solitary path.

It was the way. It’d always been this way.

To be hated. To be fated to telling only lies.

*

Chapter Two:

Galen’s dreams weren’t as empty as they once were. They were filled with flashes of shadows, strange landscapes, and the moon—always the moon, growing larger, pregnant with something sinister. The pull was irresistible, like a magnetic force drawing him toward something he couldn’t explain. He could feel it, an ache deep inside of him, one that wasn’t quite physical but gnawed at his insides just the same.

He tossed and turned, his body drenched in sweat, trying to push the urge away. But it was there, relentless. A hunger. A need that wasn’t his own, yet so familiar he could no longer separate it from who he was becoming. Something primal. Something untamable. The more he fought it, the more it consumed him, dragging him down, pulling him toward... what?

The moon was closer now, casting its eerie glow through the small crack in the wall above him. The light hit his face, and for a moment, it felt like a door was opening inside his mind—a door to something he wasn’t sure he wanted to see. The hunger gnawed at him, deeper, more ferocious. It wasn’t just a need—it was a demand, impossible to ignore.

The moon loomed larger now, its pull like a whispered promise, urging him toward a fate he couldn’t outrun.

He thrashed in the thin, tattered blanket beneath him, feeling the weight of his skin as though it had become too tight. The hunger inside him was unbearable now, scratching at the walls of his soul, a wild animal begging to be set free. His breath hitched, his chest tightening as he clenched his fists, willing himself to sleep, to just sleep through the night and wake up normal.

But the hunger was there.

The gnawing, aching need was there.

He woke suddenly, a sharp gasp escaping his lips as his eyes flickered open, his heart racing. His body was soaked in sweat, the remnants of his nightmare clinging to him like a second skin. The cold concrete of the drainage pipe beneath him seemed to leach into his bones, but it didn’t matter. His hunger was more important. His throat burned with the need for something he couldn’t name.

The world outside was silent, except for the distant rumble of traffic and the occasional howl of the wind beneath the highway overpass. The streets seemed colder tonight, the distant hum of the city more like an echo than life itself. The world continued, oblivious to the war waging inside him. He could smell the damp earth and the metallic scent of the city, mixing with the sickly-sweet stench of his sweat. But it was more than that. There was something else in the air tonight. Something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The moon hung full and heavy above the sky, its light flooding the world in a way that felt wrong, unnatural.

Galen’s hand shot up, clutching the side of his head as if he could silence the voice inside his mind. The urge. It wasn’t just the hunger anymore—it was something darker, something calling to him. The pull had become undeniable, inescapable.

His pulse quickened, and he pushed himself up, staggering to his feet. His legs felt weak, like they might buckle beneath him at any moment. His body didn’t feel like his own. The ache in his muscles, the tightness in his chest—it all pointed to one thing.

He had to leave.

He needed to get away, to run. But it wasn’t just that. It was the hunger that pushed him, dragging him forward, toward something he couldn’t control, something inside him that was screaming to be let out. His body burned with the need to escape, to release whatever it was that was growing inside him.

It had become a cycle—one he couldn’t break. His heart hammered in his chest as he stumbled out of the drainage pipe, the world spinning around him. The cold night air hit him like a slap, but it did nothing to quell the heat building inside him. The hunger gnawed at him, deeper now, more insistent. His breath came in sharp gasps as he looked around, lost and desperate.

There was a brokenness to him, a hollow emptiness that no one could see. He’d lost the fight against what he was becoming—and in that loss, he could feel the thing inside him taking shape. Something that wouldn’t be stopped. Not by will. Not by thought. Not by anything.

He couldn’t escape.

Not from himself.

And not from hunger.

The moon was watching.

And the hunger was growing.

*

Chapter Three:

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the deserted streets. Galen’s footsteps were slow, dragging with the weight of time. I have hours, only lonely, he thought, the words echoing in his mind as he moved through the empty city. There was no one around—no one who could understand, no one who could feel the weight of what was coming. The world, oblivious to his struggle, continued, indifferent.

He paused at the edge of a park, staring at the trees swaying gently in the wind. The air was thick with silence, the kind that makes you feel like you’re standing on the edge of something too big to grasp. He could feel it, the quiet before the storm, as if the earth itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the night.

The moon was hours away, but its pull was already there, deep inside him. A tug, subtle but constant, threaded its way through his gut, whispering to him in a language he didn’t fully understand. The hunger stirred in response, a familiar ache that he’d learned to ignore—until now. He could feel the beast shift within him, just beneath the surface, as if it was waiting for the night, for the moment when it could finally break free.

He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to shake off the creeping dread. The air felt heavier now, thick with something he couldn’t name, suffocating him in its weight. I have hours yet—only hours, he reminded himself. But time seemed to stretch and warp as the ache inside him deepened. And all I can do is wait.

Tonight, the thought lingered in the back of his mind like a dark promise. Tonight, it will claim me.

His heartbeat quickened, pounding in his chest as his thoughts spiraled. He could feel the beast encroaching on his mind, and for a moment, his human side fought to hold on. Could he fight this? A fleeting hope that maybe, just maybe, he could resist. But that hope was fading. The transformation would come—brutal, fast, inevitable. He would shift, and once it started, there would be no stopping it. He would be lost to it, swallowed whole by the hunger.

But there was still time. Still time, he told himself. Just a few more hours before the moon rises high enough to take me. The emptiness in his chest gnawed at him, pulling at the fragile remnants of his humanity. The hunger was there, a desperate need for something he couldn’t name. It wasn’t just hunger—it was something worse. The world seemed to slip through his fingers, like everything he touched was turning to dust.

He tried to focus on the sound of the wind rustling through the leaves, tried to find solace in the normalcy of it. But the gnawing hunger within him would not be ignored. It only grew stronger, fed by his isolation, by the quiet that surrounded him. The knowledge that he was always just a step away from losing himself, from becoming something unrecognisable, gnawed at his mind like a poison.

I’m running out of time, he thought bitterly, a hollow ache settling deep in his gut. I’ll always be running out of time.

The beast was waiting. He could feel it stirring, alive within him, just beneath the surface. The clock was ticking. The night was coming, and once the shift began, it would be too late to fight.

He knew what would happen. He would hunt. A buck. A doe. It didn’t matter. The chase would be the same—relentless, unforgiving. His senses would sharpen, his instincts would take over. The prey would feel the primal fear as he closed in on it, broken, desperate. And when it was weak, trembling in the grip of his hunger, that’s when he would claim it. That’s when the beast would take over completely, stripping away any last shred of humanity.

Galen’s chest tightened, a knot of dread forming deep inside him as the thought settled into his bones. There was nothing he could do. He couldn’t stop it. No matter how hard he tried, the hunger would consume him. It always did.

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned away from the park. He walked down the empty street, each step heavier than the last, the pull of the moon growing stronger with every passing minute. I have hours, only lonely, he repeated to himself, the mantra deepening the isolation, reminding him that he was alone in this fight.

By nightfall, it would be too late. The beast would claim him. And in the morning, when it was all over, he would be left with nothing but the aftermath—the blood, the hunger, the silence.

Another night. Another cycle. And Galen would be lost to it, once again.

*

Chapter Four:

The pull of the moon was unbearable, a twisting ache in his chest, crawling beneath his skin like fire. His muscles contracted, his bones ached, every fiber of his being screaming for release. He tried to fight it—not again, not tonight—but it was no use. The shift was inevitable. The beast was rising, relentless and hungry, and he was powerless against it.

His body was no longer his. The agony of transformation tore through him, stretching his flesh and cracking his bones. A wild, feral scream threatened to escape, but all that came out was a guttural growl, lost to the night. The buck was nearby. The scent of it, its fear, was thick in the air, sharp and intoxicating.

No, Galen’s mind screamed. Not again, please.

But the beast, his dark counterpart, was awake, in control, and all Galen could do was watch from within—trapped in his mind, a prisoner of his own body.

The hunt began. His hooves pounded against the earth with unnatural speed, every muscle of his body coiled in savage anticipation. He could hear the buck thrashing in panic as it tried to flee. But it was hopeless. The beast was faster, stronger, and relentless.

Galen felt everything. The chase, the brutal pursuit, the unholy pleasure of the kill. The beast closed the distance, its body crashing into the buck with devastating force, pinning it to the ground. The buck struggled, its terrified eyes wide, its frantic breath echoing in Galen's mind. But it was futile.

The beast wasn’t here for mercy.

It took the buck—claimed it, like a male dominating a doe—but with a cruelty and savagery that twisted Galen’s stomach. He could feel the crushing force of the beast’s body, the way it brutalised the prey, breaking it with ruthless precision. Every sharp movement, every savage thrust, was like a knife to his heart. He was there, forced to endure it all, helpless.

Please, stop, he begged silently, but his voice was lost beneath the dark laughter of the therian.

Once the buck was broken—both physically and in spirit—the therian did what it was made to do. It bit down on the buck’s throat, sinking its fangs deep into tender flesh, its jaws tearing through muscle and sinew. Blood flooded into its mouth in a hot, pulsing stream. And Galen could feel it. Every drop, every rush of blood was a wave of pleasure for the beast, an unholy satisfaction that flooded through his human psyche like poison.

No, Galen thought, his mind seething in frustration. Not this. Not again.

But it was no use. The beast was savoring it, taking its time, revelling in the kill. It was alive in a way that Galen could never be. The sense of power that surged through the therian was intoxicating and undeniable, and it fed on violence and domination.

And Galen, trapped, helpless, could do nothing but watch.

Galen’s stomach twisted. He was helpless, unable to stop the hunger, unable to stop the beast from doing what it had always done. The blood of the buck lingered on his tongue, a thick, metallic taste that burned at the back of his throat. The beast—his dark twin—was satisfied, full, its hunger momentarily sated.

But for Galen, there was only the sickening knowledge of what he had done. His hands—his human hands—were soaked in blood. His body trembled, his heart pounding, but it wasn’t the exertion that caused his nausea. It was the knowing of what he had been forced to experience, of what he had become.

With dawning horror, he pulled away from the buck’s lifeless form, now a bloody, broken heap. He could feel the weight of the therian’s malevolent gaze in his mind, that mocking, satisfied look as if the beast were pleased with what it had done.

I blame you, Galen thought, fury and self-loathing welling up inside him. You. The beast—you who used him, who turned him into this monster, who fed off the destruction and the violence. He hated it. Hated that he was trapped within this body, this curse. Hated that the beast’s desires were his own.

And yet, the beast mocked him, laughing in the dark corners of his mind like a shadow he couldn’t outrun.

Galen’s chest heaved as he turned away, sickened and broken. He couldn’t look at the buck anymore. He couldn’t stand the sight of the destruction. He could feel the beast’s satisfaction in his very bones, as if it were a part of him, laughing at him.

No one bites back as hard on their anger. None of my pain and woe can show through.

The words were hollow, bitter. He couldn’t show it. He couldn’t let the beast feed upon his horror, revulsion and self-loathing. It'd take it, devour it, and grow stronger from these dark thoughts and feelings.

But in the silence of the night, the dark voice of the therian mocked him, and it wasn’t the buck’s broken body that tormented him the most. It was the knowledge that the beast would return. It always did. Always hungry. Always demanding. Always claiming.

Galen staggered away from the remains of the buck, his breath shallow and uneven as the weight of his actions pressed down on him. His body felt detached, as if it were no longer his, a foreign vessel carrying a burden too heavy to bear. The blood on his hands, on his clothes, felt like a brand—a mark of his guilt that he could never wash away.

He couldn’t shake the image of the buck’s final moments—the terror in its eyes, the frantic fight to escape, and the brutal inevitability of the hunt. But what sickened him more than anything was the awareness that the beast inside him had enjoyed it. It had thrived on it. The pleasure, the twisted satisfaction that had rolled through his mind in waves, was something he could still feel, like a residue he couldn’t scrub clean.

The beast’s mocking laugh still echoed in the back of his mind, a low, guttural sound that made his skin crawl. You are nothing but a prisoner, it taunted him. You will never escape me.

Galen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the voice, trying to push it into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. But no matter how hard he tried, it kept resurfacing—loud, insistent, omnipresent.

His legs were unsteady, his movements sluggish as he made his way through the trees, away from the site of the kill. He wasn’t even sure where he was going—just away. Away from the evidence of his monstrosity. Away from the silence that hung like a shroud over the world, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves in the breeze.

The sun had begun to rise, casting pale light over the landscape, but it didn’t bring the comfort of a new day. It only made him more aware of his actions, of the blood that stained his very soul. He could already feel the weight of the guilt pressing on him, suffocating him, pulling him deeper into the abyss of self-loathing.

His hands clenched into fists, the nails digging into his palms, as though he could stop the beast from rising again by sheer force of will. But he knew better. He knew that nothing could stop it. Not his anger. Not his pain. Not his shame. Nothing.

The beast, the darkness inside him, was growing stronger, feeding off his horror, his disgust, and his guilt. It revelled in it, basking in the energy that his emotions gave it.

“You did this,” Galen muttered under his breath, the words bitter and hollow. He wanted to scream, to rail against the injustice of it all, but there was no one to hear him. The beast wasn’t just a monster—it was him, a part of him that he couldn’t escape, no matter how much he tried. And it was laughing at him.

He stumbled forward, his legs giving out beneath him as he collapsed onto the ground, his chest tight with the weight of it all. The hunger was still there, gnawing at him, but it was different now—darker, deeper, more insistent. It wasn’t just the primal urge to hunt, to claim, to kill—it was the need to feel. To feel anything other than this hollow, unbearable ache that seemed to consume him from the inside out.

But Galen knew that indulging in that hunger would only make things worse. The beast would only grow stronger. It would devour him whole. And he would be left with nothing but a broken shell, empty and empty, forever chasing the next kill, the next escape.

He clenched his fists tighter, his nails digging into his skin until it drew blood. His breath was ragged, his chest heaving, and he could feel the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. But he refused to cry. He couldn’t. That was what the beast wanted—weakness, submission. It thrived on his despair.

He gritted his teeth and stood, forcing himself back onto his feet. His body shook with the effort, his bones aching, but he had to keep moving. He had to get away from this place, away from the blood and the death. Away from the beast that haunted him, that owned him.

But as he walked, the weight of his actions still clung to him. The buck’s broken body, the sick satisfaction of the hunt, the knowledge that he would never be free of this curse—it all loomed over him like a dark cloud.

And in the back of his mind, the voice of the beast whispered, taunting him, You’ll never escape me, Galen. I own you. You’ll always be mine.

*

Chapter Five:

Galen’s breath came in shallow, rapid gasps, his chest heaving as he sat alone in the dim light of the ramshackle hut. The forest outside was eerily quiet, a peaceful contrast to the raging storm inside him. He could almost taste the stillness in the air—thick, oppressive, as if the world itself held its breath, awaiting the inevitable.

Every night, the pull of the beast grew stronger—a gnawing hunger deep in his bones that he could not ignore. He had long since given up hoping for relief, the ache of transformation a constant companion that never let him forget the monster within.

The agony began to creep up on him, like a dark tide rising, drowning everything in its path. His muscles tightened, convulsed, and twisted as the shift began. A low, guttural growl rumbled deep in his throat as the darkness stirred, coaxing the beast to the surface. Galen fought it, like he always did, but it was a losing battle. His fingers dug into the wooden floor, nails scraping the surface as his body spasmed, trying to hold onto whatever human sanity he could.

The forest seemed to watch him, the trees creaking in time with his agony, as if the very world around him was shifting to reflect the storm inside. The air thickened, the quiet of the night growing more oppressive, the distant rustling of leaves a distorted echo in his mind. A faint whisper of wind seemed to move through the branches, as if the forest itself was alive—alive with anticipation, with dread, with the power of something ancient stirring.

His eyes burned—hot, sharp—as the transformation took hold. Before he knew it, he was kneeling, eyes wide with terror, his body contorting. The deer—the creature of instinct and violence—rose to the surface, and in that moment, Galen knew he was no longer in control. His legs bent and lengthened, hooves clicking against the floor as his senses exploded with the ferocity of the shift.

It wasn’t just physical. His mind—the mind that he fought to keep intact—screamed in protest. The primal hunger, the thirst for blood, the rage—it surged within him, overwhelming everything. He was no longer himself. He was the therian.

And then, the call. It was sudden, sharp—a pull toward something, a target. The bloodlust, the thrill of the hunt. It was all-consuming.

Galen’s breath caught as his body surged toward the door, his senses alive with the scent of the forest. He was no longer thinking clearly. He was a hunter, a predator. He didn't want this. He didn't want to hurt anyone. But the beast inside him was stronger than his will.

The door slammed open, and he stumbled forward into the night, driven to hands and knees, teeth gritted, the pain—the pure agony—as the full moon’s light seemed to burn him alive. The world around him pulsed with a rhythm that was not his own. The trees seemed to retreat from his presence, the leaves trembling as if they were terrified of the darkness he had become. He fought it. He struggled against it... and failed.

Fifteen minutes later, the therian rose on cloven hooves, shaking itself off. Dark eyes turned to the moon above. There was no humanity, no compassion, and no love. Only desire. Only hunger. The forest, too, seemed to bend to this new order—trees seemed to recoil, leaves trembling at the weight of the therian’s presence.

Feed. Dominate. Satiate.

Primal, dark, twisted thoughts.

Stop, please! Galen screamed from within, trapped and helpless. You don’t have to do this. We can co-exist... learn to—

The creature paused, one hoof raised mid-step. Its thoughts turned toward the annoying splinter of resistance. It appeared before Galen's mental image like a wraith, its blackened eyes glinting with malice. Its head held a threatening posture, the image of the human host whimpering, broken, sobbing. Pathetic.

No, the beast spoke. The voice was cold, venomous, threaded with malicious glee. You do not understand. You’re right, I don’t have to. I – want – to.

It threw back its antlered head and roared, pure, primal, and dominant. Then, like a force of nature, it bolted into the night, hooves striking the earth with ferocity. The world blurred, the rush of the hunt taking over as the moon reached its apex. And as the darkness within began to rise once more, so did the beast, hungry and powerful, ready to claim its prize.

*

Chapter Six:

The forest was alive with the hum of distant creatures, the soft rustling of leaves stirred by a gentle wind. But for Galen, the world had narrowed to a suffocating pull—the dark, insidious presence of the therian, its weight pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket.

The therian moved through the trees with ease, a shadow among shadows. The deer fled in terror, scattering at its approach, but the therian didn't chase them as it once had. It lingered, savoring the silence, savoring the anticipation. The memories of its last kill pulsed through it—the buck, its body trembling under the therian's twisted dominance. Galen felt every bit of that power—the rush of control, the intoxicating satisfaction. The therian was already reliving the moment, and Galen was forced to feel it, taste it as though it were his own.

It was a sweet, perverse pleasure, the voice murmured in his mind. Delicious.

Galen clenched his teeth, but it was no use. The therian’s thoughts crashed through his own, as sharp and jagged as knives. He couldn't escape the horrific replay of the buck’s desperate struggle, its helplessness beneath the therian's overwhelming strength. Galen could feel the sickening thrill as the creature crushed the life out of the animal. It was a feast, a dark indulgence. He couldn't stop it, couldn't shut it out. It was as if the therian was inside him, sharing in the brutality, forcing him to experience every twisted detail.

_Delicious, isn't it? _ the voice whispered, its tone silky, like honey, but poisoned with malice.

No! Galen screamed inside his mind, but his voice was lost in the oppressive flood of darkness. I didn’t want that. I didn’t—

You enjoyed it. _ The therian’s voice was soft, coaxing, like a lover’s whisper in the ear. _Admit it. You loved it. The power. The control. The pleasure....

Galen’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as if that could stop the rising tide of sickness in his gut. NO! he shouted again, forcing the words through the madness, willing himself to fight back. The therian’s thoughts were crushing him, suffocating him, but he couldn’t give up. Not yet.

In the silence that followed, something in Galen’s chest stirred—rage. A desperate surge of resistance broke through. With a guttural cry, he pushed forward, slamming his palm against the dark beast's muzzle with all the force he could muster.

The therian’s head snapped to the side, a grunt of disbelief escaping it. But even as the creature regained its composure, Galen felt the malice burning in its eyes as it slowly turned to face him. Its tongue flicked out, licking the rivulet of blood from its cheek, savoring the taste.

Your anger feeds me, human. The words were laced with venom yet tinged with satisfaction. Makes me stronger. I can feel it. See it in you. That fragile hold you maintain. How long do you think you can keep it?

The weight of those words sank into Galen’s chest. What will it take, I wonder? the therian continued, its voice mocking and low. Your presence is a thorn in my side. How long before I rid myself of you? Forever?

Galen could feel his humanity slipping, the darkness pressing down, threatening to consume him entirely. He was fading, and he knew it. But there was still a sliver left, weak and fragile, that refused to surrender.

Not yet. The thought flickered, fleeting and small, but Galen held onto it. He wasn’t ready to let go. Not like this. Not to the monster that had taken over his life.

The therian’s voice deepened, its mockery sharp and cruel. What will it take to destroy that sliver of you, human?

Galen’s mind screamed in protest, but the therian was in full control now. He was a prisoner as the beast made its next move. The darkness loomed within, devouring him from the inside out, leaving nothing but hunger and malice.

The therian’s nostrils flared. Galen could feel it—could feel the beast’s senses sharpen as it picked up the faintest trace of something. The scent of life. The blood of young humans, still fresh with fear and lust.

Do you smell what I smell? The therian’s voice rang through his thoughts, sharp, mocking. Young, barely adults. Their blood will be so sweet...

Galen screamed into the endless void he was imprisoned within, No, please! But the therian didn’t hear him. It didn’t care. It only cared about what it craved, and nothing else mattered.

Yes. The therian purred, its voice thick with malice. You can smell it, can’t you? The man. The woman. Their flesh. Their blood. How delicious will they be?

Galen felt it—sickening and inevitable—the dark stirrings of lust and hunger rising from within him. The terror in the air, the path the therian would take, the way it would stalk them—claim them, break them.

The therian’s voice slithered through Galen’s mind, darker now, twisted with pleasure. Will they beg? Will they scream? Will I claim the woman? Will I do to her as I did to that feral buck? Or shall I take the human man? The voice grew crueller, taunting him. Will their minds shatter as I claim them? What will break you more, human? Will you cry? Will you beg for mercy?

Galen could feel it—everything the therian wanted. The lust for violence. The hunger. The terror. There was no escape. The lines between them had blurred, and he was no longer separate from the beast.

You can’t do this, Galen whimpered, but it was useless. The therian’s laugh echoed, low and menacing. I don’t care what you want.

The therian’s thoughts swirled darkly, I will choose one. Let what I do to them serve as a warning. I could destroy them both, you know, leave them broken and sobbing. But first, I’ll have my fun.

Galen's will faltered under the weight of it all. The therian had full control now. There was nothing left of him but an observer, powerless as the creature moved forward to claim its prey.

What will it take to rid myself of you forever? The therian's voice was a whisper, full of cruel satisfaction.

And Galen was forced to witness it all—the twisted desires of the therian unfolding before him as the beast took full control, ready to claim what it desired.

*

Chapter Seven:

Night cloaked the forest, thick with silence, broken only by the distant chirps of crickets. For the therian, however, the quiet was alive with an intoxicating anticipation. A low, savage hunger stirred within it as it glided through the shadows, moving closer to its prey. Each step carried it toward the couple, completely unaware of the fate waiting for them. Their soft laughter, innocent and carefree, echoed in the air as they shared a kiss on the bonnet of their car.

Scenting the air, the therian’s nostrils flared, inhaling deeply, tasting the sweet tang of arousal and fear in the breeze. Its eyes gleamed with cruel intent, every instinct tuned to the young man and woman’s fragile humanity.

Soon, it thought, relishing the moment, drawing nearer.

With startling speed, the therian pounced, yanking the young man off the hood. His startled eyes widened, and his body stiffened in shock as his girlfriend’s scream shattered the air. The therian dragged him backward, sending him crashing to the ground. The man’s breath caught in his throat as panic seized him.

Clothes ripped under the therian's powerful grip, and the young man tried desperately to push himself up, but it was futile. His torn shirt lay in tatters, exposing his skin to the cold night air. The therian loomed above him, overpowering, its dark eyes filled with hunger as it drew closer.

"Please... no..." His voice was raw with fear, his hands fumbling for something—anything to hold on to—but the therian’s presence was all-consuming.

A wicked grin spread across the therian's face as it loomed closer, pressing the man back to the ground. Desperation surged through the young man’s limbs as he gasped for breath, but there was no escape, not from the beast. The therian’s grip tightened, dragging him closer as it claimed him with brutal, predatory force.

A surge of primal satisfaction rippled through the therian as it finally found release, its body shaking in animalistic bliss. The world narrowed down to that single, intoxicating moment of dominance and pleasure.

As the pleasure faded, the therian’s head descended sharply. Its fangs sank into the man’s neck with a savage bite. The man’s body went limp beneath it, but not before the therian allowed the life to drain slowly from him. His pulse fluttered weakly in the therian’s grasp, his heartbeat a fading rhythm that echoed in the therian’s mind.

The woman stood frozen, horrified, unable to move as she watched her lover’s life slip away. Terror filled her eyes, but there was no escape for her. The therian’s dark gaze flicked to her, a promise of more pain and suffering in the hollow depths.

The woman’s mind raced in frantic disbelief. She wanted to scream, to run, but her feet remained rooted to the earth, paralysed by the horror unfolding before her. Tears welled in her eyes, but they wouldn't fall—not yet. Her gaze locked on the therian, knowing that in a heartbeat, she too would be consumed. She clutched her lover’s memory in her mind, the warmth of their kiss, the softness of his touch—the last remnants of their shared moment before this nightmare.

Galen could feel it all—his body trapped, but his mind torn with empathy for the man, for the helplessness, the terror of being utterly powerless. The therian’s hunger had taken everything from them. It left nothing but broken, trembling lives in its wake.

The night was still, the air thick with the scent of earth and the soft rustling of trees. The young couple, unaware of the approaching terror, shared a moment on the car’s hood, the man kissing the woman’s neck, his hands tracing the line of her skin. Their laughter faded into the night, the world reduced to nothing but the warmth of their closeness.

But the air grew heavier, and a soft sound, like the distant clatter of hooves, began to pierce the quiet. The man didn’t hear it, lost in the feel of her, his lips moving against her skin. The woman, however, felt the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Her eyes flickered to the shadows at the edge of the clearing, widening with horror as the dark form of the therian emerged.

The beast was upon them before she could even scream. With a savage, brutal force, the therian lunged, grabbing the man by the collar of his shirt and throwing him across the hood of the car. His body slammed into the dirt with a sickening thud, landing on his belly, his face contorted in shock. He barely had time to react before the therian was upon him.

The girl screamed, the sound raw and desperate, but it was drowned out by the crushing weight of the therian’s presence. She watched in helpless terror as the beast pinned the man down, its hooves grinding into the earth as it loomed over him, its eyes glinting with a malevolent hunger. The man gasped in fear, struggling beneath the beast, but the therian’s grip was unyielding, its strength absolute.

Its eyes turned to the girl, locking onto her with a malicious gleam, as if to say, You’re next.

With brutal, unrelenting force, the therian tore the man’s clothes from his body, ripping fabric and skin alike with ferocious speed. The man’s breathing became shallow, erratic as the fear and pain set in. His sobs rang in the still night, the desperation in his voice mingling with the steady crunch of the therian’s movements.

The therian’s eyes never left the woman as it continued to claim the man, the brutality of its actions a twisted spectacle of dominance and savagery. It pressed its full weight onto him, thrusting with a force that made the man’s body tremble beneath the assault. His hands gripped the earth, nails scraping in agony as tears mixed with the dirt beneath him.

The woman’s heart raced, her breath coming in ragged gasps, but her feet remained rooted to the spot, her body paralysed with terror as she watched the beast violate her lover, the sickening sound of it mingling with his gasps of pain.

And then, with a deep, primal shudder, the therian reached its climax. It froze for a brief moment, its breath ragged and wild, savoring the twisted satisfaction of the moment. The man’s sobs echoed in the night as he felt the deep, gnawing horror of what was happening, his body wracked with pain, fear, and humiliation.

Without warning, the therian’s head snapped down, its fangs sinking deep into the man’s neck. The scream that tore from the man’s throat was broken by the suddenness of the bite, the pain making his body go rigid. The therian fed, savoring the warm blood as it poured from the man’s veins, drinking deep, letting the blood spill out in thick, crimson rivers. It didn’t let him die immediately. No, it wanted him to suffer, to feel every second of the terror before the end.

The man’s breathing became ragged, then slower, his heart bleeding him out as the therian continued to feast. His vision blurred, his sobs weak, and the sounds of his pain were drowned by the therian’s primal hunger. The creature drank deeply, ripping at him with a savage, rabid frenzy, feeding like a wild, starving wolf. The terror in the man’s eyes began to fade as the blood drained from his body, his pulse weakening, his final moments full of pain and horror.

The therian, satiated, finally released the man’s body, tossing it aside like a broken doll, its blood-slick lips curling into a twisted, satisfied grin. The girl, still frozen in place, could only watch as the beast turned its gaze back toward her, its eyes full of hunger and promise.

She knew—she was next.

The therian’s breathing was heavy, full of animal lust and hunger as it stood over the body of its prey, its head snapping back with a low, satisfied grunt. The girl’s breath caught in her throat, but she couldn’t move. There was no escape.

Galen, trapped in the depths of his mind, could feel everything—the terror, the brutality, the horrific pleasure the therian took from its victim. He was powerless, unable to stop it, unable to do anything but witness the nightmare unfolding around him.

And with the therian’s final, brutal feast, the darkness closed in around Galen’s consciousness, leaving him nothing more than an unwilling spectator, his humanity slipping further away.

The therian screamed. Agony unlike anything it had ever known tore through its black heart, raw and searing, a wound that could not bleed, could not heal. It thrashed, hooves carving deep gashes into the dirt, writhing in a torment beyond pain—because this wasn’t just suffering.

This was him.

Galen—Galen—rising from the depths, a ghost of the man he once was, clawing his way up through the endless dark. A final, furious act of defiance. His spectral hands tore into the therian’s heart, wrenching, ripping, desperate to carve himself free, to sever the twisted, blackened thing that had swallowed him whole.

The therian shrieked. The night trembled with its cries. It buckled, body convulsing, breath hitching in ragged, broken gasps. A moment of weakness. A moment where, just maybe—just maybe—he could win.

But darkness does not let go.

With a monstrous, primal roar, the therian struck back.

Blackness slammed into Galen like a hammer, relentless, brutal, unstoppable. His essence fractured—splintering into nothing, his fight, his fire, his soul ripped apart and devoured, consumed, obliterated. No trace remained. No memory. No thoughts.

Nothing.

It lay on the cold ground, sweat slick, panting and shaking with the aftershocks of victory. It exhaled, slow and heavy—not with relief, but with completion. Galen was gone. Snuffed out. Erased. The battle had never been fair, never been winnable. This was how it was always meant to end.

And somewhere, in the empty abyss where Galen had once been, a final, voiceless echo drifted—

"No one knows what it's like

To be the bad man

To be the sad man

Behind black eyes..."

The therian closed them.

And the night stretched on, endless and cold.

END