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Part FOUR: Metamorphosis

Wind blew more harshly against the windows, rattling them. It was a deep roar outside. Heh, these winds might turn the roads into pure ice this time. He contemplated his rash decision to give himself to Yutu, but there was something there he could not define, something about him possibly being the one. He chuckled over the thought as he knew many other con goers would find themselves immediately boyfriends or girlfriends with someone they just met online or at a panel, but there was something on a more spiritual level with Yutu. He had prayed and meditated with his gods, for someone to love him and connect with. He desired to no longer be lonely, and wanted a life partner, and Yutu, oh Yutu resonated so well. He felt as if his gods were saying, “behold what is in front of you, he is to be your reflection. You are to be his.”

Brennan rumbled as he rolled over, rubbing Yutu’s maw and looking into his eyes. He smiled. He didn’t have to say anything as he saw Yutu’s countenance change. “Your aura, why it is glowing like the stars, and as bright as the sun.” He stroked his cheek and eventually found the words he had been meaning to say. So a bit about me, you see, “I’ve been floating between worlds. I can’t always stay in one place all the time. Yeah I consider myself a bit of a nomad, but, I’m not always allowed in this world. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve found places I’ve truly loved and been fond of, but eventually trouble finds me.” Brennan looks at Yutu, listening intently. Yutu continues, “I’ve been roaming back and forth, trying to find hope. I’ve had a lot of loss in my life. I’ve had so many partners in my life that have, “ Yutu pauses, and his ears fold, his eyes are now dull and tearful. “So many partners that have passed on, so many unable to commit to living with a beast like me, and the troubles that come with it. Some have, died in my arms. I couldn’t turn them, no, I wouldn’t turn them because I did not want to curse them with this lycanthropic affliction. It’s truly a curse no one should have to experience. I’ve lived in the far northern part of the world in my time, they saw me as a threat, even have grown up with me. In the great Carpathian forests they saw me as a great killer, a great fear in the night. In the great mountains of this continent, I was seen as a never ending hunter unable to be quenched. It’s hard to find peace, and when I thought I had found someone that would change everything, they were snatched away from me, either through death, abduction, or forced relocation.”

Brennan looked at him with concern, not exactly perplexed as he had dealt with strange, occult like occurrences, but with his mind racing over who is really in front of him. “The reason why I approached you, “ Brennan nodded, awaiting a response, “was that I heard a voice speaking to me. She told me someone special was in a crowd, and guided me here. Your body lit up so brightly it was hard to ignore. She told me you were the one for me.” Brennan’s eyes had lit up, and he sat up, head resting against the backboard, knees pulled up to his chest. Yutu followed suit and wrapped his arm around Brennan’s shoulders. “It’s not something I could easily ignore. I’ve had some guidance in my past, but nothing was as loudly as this calling. It was so certain! Do you believe in things like that hun?” Brennan ran his fingers through his long hair, gleaming back with a soft reply, “I do. And I think my calls to the gods have been answered.” Yutu’s ears had popped back to life, “Oh you’re a pagan like me! It’s so good to find others who still cling to the old gods who have guided us all throughout history. It’s rather hard nowadays.” “Let me tell you so many days I have been burning a candle, starting when the moon at its most empty phase up until it’s at its fullest, pouring myself out to the gods for someone to love me and guidance, no matter what shape and form it may come in. I’m so certain you really are their gift to me.” Yutu leaned over and gave a sloppy wet lupine kiss. “Aye, that it must be.”

“So hon?” Brennan asked a bit more firmly, “Where exactly are you from, and more importantly, when?” These questions were starting to bring back some harmful memories, but it had been decades since he talked about them at all with anyone. Well anyone that was human for that matter. “Yutu?” The werewolf pulled himself together and rested his head on top of Brennan’s. It was hard for him to speak. Brennan muffled through his neckfur, “How did you become a werewolf love?” As he finally composed himself a few tears rolled down the side of his maw. “You really want to know?” Brennan nodded in interest. “Alright then. Just for you, “ he leaned back, still naked and groin lightly covered up with the bed sheets, and left arm resting over Brennan’s shoulder.

I am from a small village in Iceland, on the shore of the bay of Skjálfandi. It’s been centuries since I’ve been there, but I believe it was somewhere near Húsavik. The year, my dear, was 1029, and I was just a fisherman, a young lad of twenty-nine years of age who was soon to get some more experience of traveling across the great seas. I, Yutu, was known as Gunnar then. I had already gone back and forth to Europe a few times, circled the island, studied the stars, and learned where things were. I was just beaming with confidence and hungry to learn, and get strong with my Viking brothers. I respected my elders and did what they asked of me.

Gunnar was carrying the catch for the day to their carts when the blacksmith Sverrir was watching him, eyeing him hungrily, proud of his strength. He stood there half naked with his metalworking apron on, one strap broken, thick gloves with his hands on his hips, his long greasy unkempt hair tied back, beads in his beard and his sickly skull like grin with one tooth missing. “Hey boy” Gunnar looked around, drenched in sweat from his laborious work. “Yes you. I am speaking to you boy. Why don’t you come with me. I need help with something I think you’d be perfect for, Gunnar.”

He obediently followed, not noticing Sverrir licking his lips as he turned around. Gunnar let Sverrir show the way to his shop in town. As Gunnar entered he could already smell the blazing furnace, and the heat was intense. More sweat poured down his chest, and almost immediately evaporating. “You like fire boy?” His raspy voice echoed. Gunnar didn’t know how to respond, but just nodded in agreement. The blacksmith chuckled. “Mmmmm good. Now why don’t you help an old man lift this cauldron up. I have some more weapons to make and it seems I’ve thrown my back out.” Sverrir was strong, his body was muscular, very muscular, but again Gunnar didn’t really question it. He felt a slight bit uneasy, but went to one side of the cauldron to lift it up on the fire. “Hold on lad, smelting is very dangerous. You’ll need some protection.” Sverrir took off his gloves and threw them at Gunnar, and then his apron slapping him in the chest with it. But now he was fully naked, only his boots remained.

Gunnar was staring, and was frozen. “Ohhhhh you like what you see, eh?” Oh Gunnar’s eyes were dilated, and he quickly looked away, putting on the clothing quickly, but it smelled so strongly of a sweaty musky blacksmith and coal, and it aroused him. He was a bit frightful, knowing not everyone accepted that desire as natural. “Oh I won’t tell.” Sverrir slowly approached him. “You are just like me.” He stretched his arm out, pushing Gunnar against the wall firmly with his left hand and stroking his face with his right. “Now that you have some proper attire on, get to work boy.” He was harsh in tone, a stern commanding voice. Sverrir noticed his eyes wondering downward and he chuckled, “Oh flattery won’t help you get out of work. Now get to work I say!” He licked his lips again and went to the opposing side of the cauldron. Gunnar followed suit. Both of them grunted as they placed the cauldron into the fire, hanging from the rack. “Now let’s get these ingots into there. We have many swords to make before the end of the day.”

Both of them toiled hard, melting and pouring, melting and pouring. Gunnar even gained a scar or two from being burned. They were drenched in unctuous sweat, stained with a black greasy mess, and dusted with coal. Each pour, Sverrir got closer and closer to Gunnar, eyes still fixated on him. Eventually, he was right behind him, arms around showing him how to properly hammer out everything on an anvil. His hands caressed his body, feeling every inch of him. He then leaned into him, whispering into his ear with a firm grip on his chest and his erect groin placed firmly against his backside. “You know boy, they say that the strongest warriors form unbreakable bonds of trust by sleeping with one another.” Sverrir’s breath was hot, his moist lips caressed the side of Gunnar’s cheek. His tongue ran alongside his neck. Gunnar nodded his head, as he enjoyed what he was feeling. The blacksmith gave a scraggly toothy and devilishly grin. The doors were locked, and he started to feel uneasy, as his heart was racing. He felt so aroused, but yet there was a hair tingling fear in the air, the same feeling he had before a vicious animal was going to attack. He felt unable to speak.

He looked behind, worried someone would catch them in the act. Sverrir reached down to grasp Gunnar’s erection and he chuckled. “My, my, my, a boy like you must have such masculine strength, and be so full of virile spunk. I bet you want to release it so bad.” The blacksmith bit his earlobe and lightly tugged on it, releasing it soon after. He exhaled onto his ear, grunting with force. “Here, let me free it for you. Don’t worry, no one will ever catch us in here. It will be our little secret.” Gunnar felt weak, and hypnotized in his grip. Sverrir was stroking him and kissing his neck, enjoying the soft moans that came out of the fisherman. He started to suck harder, almost as if he was trying to bite him. But then he started to feel a change, the person holding him felt different, he started to sound different as he made some lovemaking sounds. They were even deeper, raspier, and more, animal like.

Sverrir lowered himself to a crouching position, clawing Gunnar all the way down his chest. As he grasped Gunnar’s ass with a firm grip he also placed his lips over his erect cock. Yes there was pain, but went almost unnoticed. There was almost no blood. His warm mouth made Gunnar’s legs weak and his eyes rolled back, and he placed his hands on the blacksmith’s shoulders enjoying every inch of him being swallowed. No one had shown him that much affection before, and he was sure as hell not going to stop it. He thought he might actually have an ally for once. Might be the best way to learn, and get pleasure. Sverrir snarled even more loudly as he was deepthroating him and tugging on his balls. His nails were clawing into Gunnar’s cheeks, leaving marks. The small whimpering tearful moans set off the beast like blacksmith. He pulled off and commanded him to cum. “Boy, spill your seed now. Your teacher would love to forever have his trust you.” His commanding stark gaze felt so soul piercing and Gunnar almost fainted. Sverrir grinned “Oh boy, try stay on your feet now.”

Gunnar was so close to release, it was like the whole room was filled with this powerful miasma that got him drunk like no other mead before. He felt changing, commanded to do something. He happily slammed his cock into the blacksmith’s mouth and used him. He was closer, and closer. Sverrir snarled even louder, squeezing his mouth tighter, more toothier, wriggling his tongue, which strangely felt even longer than before. The blacksmith reached up and clamped hard on Gunnar’s nipples. His jaw and chest were drenched from his own spit.

Then it happened. Gunnar came hard. He moaned loudly, whole body seizing, shivering, and spasming as he jetting his seed into Sverrir’s receiving throat. The spasms subsided and he heard a clearly loud gulp. “Thank you boy, thank you so much for that.” His voice was barely recognizable at this point. It was much, much deeper. “I feel like I can tr…”

The sound of bones snapping, crackling and the ripping of flesh grew increasingly loud. The sounds of hissing, inflating, stretching, and lengthening of animal skins echoed through the shop. He felt as if Sverrir was now towering over him. His grasp on his chest felt far hairier, and it was like a bearskin being unrolled on the ground, it crept up the blacksmith’s arms. What he thought was his hand, felt almost like an entire torso and wrapped around to his side and along the wall. He could feel vast amounts of heat and sweat were coming off of it. The air thickened, and dispersed as if something much larger now occupied the room. Huge waves of hot moist breath shot over him, dousing him with a paralyzing and confusing cloud. Sverrir spat upon him, marking him with a musky saliva that ran down his face, neck, and muscular body. “I feel like I can trust you now.” He laughed evilly. It was such a demonic and animalistic voice.

Gunnar looked at what was in front of him. There stood, a seven foot werewolf. “You’re mine now boy!” His claws rushed quickly towards him and shoved him into the wall, cracking it. Sverrir clamped down tightly, cutting his shoulder open. He snarled more wolflike and opened his mouth widely, showing off his dripping gleaming fangs. He slashed at his chest and cut deep. Blood leaked out of Gunnar’s wounds, stinging as the air blew over. The werewolf blacksmith walked closer, pushing himself up against, brushing his fur all along, smearing the blood and pinning him against the wall. Gunnar could not escape. He could never overpower the beast. Of course he tried, but Sverrir only laughed even more, enjoying his struggle. “I thought you trusted me boy.” He gently caressed his cheek and then slapped him. “Here, let me kiss you.” Gunnar’s eyes widened in fear and struggled for his life.

Then it was all too quiet. In a quick motion and searing pain, Sverrir’s jaw clamped down on Gunnar’s shoulder and neck. Blood poured out, but every artery was missed. His fangs had sunken deep into his flesh. He could feel a large and warm sticky rod between his legs thump upon him. Something oozed out of it. He released his clamped jaw and licked the wounds playfully, making sure it stung like hell. He spat upon him again, rubbing it all in and over him. “Mmmm that’s better.” He rested his full weight on top of Gunnar firmly, rubbing his full body against, growling and yet, nuzzling. “Wh…wh…what are you doing to me?” The young man was shaking, confused, cold, and weaker by the minute, feeling more and more faint.

“You still don’t see? You just have to trust me. I’ve given you the gift of everlasting life, the spirit of the wolf, the strength of the bear, the agility of the elk, the slyness of a fox. You are perfect in every way now my boy.” Gunnar was feeling close to death and slumped to the floor. “You will not die. Here let me take you to the moonlight so you can feel my gift inside you.” Sverrir tossed him to the center of the room like a rag-doll. He only had enough strength to pull himself up to a sitting position. Gunnar rubbed his forehead, only now slightly gasping for air. He felt a sickly plume pervade his senses and body. Sverrir knocked him down with his lupine foot. “No! You lie on your back boy. This is how it works. You surrender your human life to me now.”

Gunnar could only obey. His life was fleeting him. Of course most Vikings would choose to die in battle, but this wasn’t a battle and Gunnar didn’t fight back. He was viciously ambushed in the heat of passion. He worried that he wouldn’t be let into the halls of Valhalla for his actions. So he accepted the werewolf’s offer. “Good.” He rumbled, “good, you please me. Unlike the others.” Sverrir was holding his head down with his foot with force. His eyes were glowing bright red. He gripped at his own erect member and stroked himself as the moonlight grew brighter. “You will turn for me boy, and you will love it, and hate it. You will experience more pain than ever, and then you will be a god.” Gunnar lied on the ground looking up at his toothy grin, knowing that he was enjoying him being his prey. Sverrir pushed his foot down more, rubbing it all over Gunnar’s face, forcing him to taste his pads and big toe. The smell of fear, arousal, blood, cum, and his own reeking musk made Sverrir so excited. He was so drunk on the moment, just like the intoxicated berserkers, he was completely out of his mind. He howled louder than any beast ever known as he shot his seed all over the torn up body of Gunnar. He looked like a roasted goose drowned in thick gravy. He felt violated.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” he panted and slumped into his chair, excitedly watching his defiled prey slowly change before his eyes. “You will be my first in a long time. Oh Fenrir be pleased.” Gunnar knew his human life was over. It had left him the moment he walked past those doors. He couldn’t change that now. He felt sleepier and sleepier. With each breath, more fear surrounded him and oppressed him, like a giant millstone, suffocating all the air out of him. His eye lids grew heavier, and the strength to muster up to lift them became impossible. He could only hope that when we awoke, if he awoke, that he’d be a new man. As his vision faded he could see his wounds healing, disappearing, and scaring. He saw a faint green glow start to radiate up his wounds. Subsequently, came a slight feeling of hope, but it was soon snuffed out by a growing pain only felt in nightmares. His eyes rolled back and he passed out with his mouth agape.

Sverrir rumbled deeply from his chair speaking in a strange tongue. “I know you can still hear me boy so listen closely. Everything changes now. Happily accept your gift. You thought the pain you felt was bad earlier?” He chuckled and licked his chops. “No, that was just foreplay!” Awoooooooooo! He howled at the moon again, this time laughing more crazily and slobbering all over himself. “Oh the things I can’t wait to teach you! The places we will destroy and conquer. I will make a true godbeast out of you.” His echoing voice penetrated the depths of Gunnar’s mind, and rampaged through his dreams and soul. There was no longer a place to hide. Gunnar surrendered and let his power in. His humanity left him. “It is done.”