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The rain poured down outside Zedaph’s lab, a constant, quiet rhythm that helped to focus his mind. If he listened particularly hard he could hear waves crashing against rocks, he could hear the howling wind, he could hear tree branches bending. His favourite moments were when the sky lit up and he heard a rumble of thunder, slowly growing in volume as the centre of the storm moved closer to his lab. The approaching crescendo gave him something to ground himself as his body shifted.
Even with the full moon hidden away by thick, dark clouds, it still had the same effect on him. His still felt shivers run over his body as the hairs on his arms, legs, neck and head thickened and extended - growing now on his back, chest, hands and face. He still trembled as he felt his head leaning forward and a pronounced slouch forming as his bones and muscles shifted inside him. He still whimpered as his vocal chords were strained as his mouth was elongated into a snout and his nose became large, black, and wet. His eyes grew wider - less human and more canine - and as his body continued its near monthly shift his clothes began to grow uncomfortable and tight. If he still had opposable thumbs he might have taken them off, but he didn’t.
Of course he knew the change was coming but taking his clothes off before it happened, however convenient, only served to make Zedaph feel more like the monster he knew he was.
His clothes ripped at his waistline, his hips, around his thighs. His shirt and lab coat shredded over his shoulders and pectoral muscles. The fabric fell to the ground of his lab utterly ruined, in tiny pieces that would likely only serve him well as rags from this point forward.
That was the last rational thought Zedaph had, and in a different world he would have wondered if he was mournful of that. In a different world he would have wondered if such a mundane thought was worthy of being the last thought he had. Before, when he’d changed, he’d thought of the ridiculous experiments he’d performed on himself to arrive at this point. He’d thought of the Hermits, of Tango and Impulse. By now, the change was such a regular occurrence that the occasional mundane thought as he transformed was perfectly understandable. That would be something to lament about when the moon shifted in phase and he returned to a more lucid state.
For now, though, Zedaph was gone. In his place was a beast, a beast that burst through glass windows just to escape to the rocky land outside Zedaph’s home. The storm still raged and water immediately wet his fur, long heavy strands of his dark coat were slicked back by the wind and rain - and the splashing droplets of waves only served to dampen him further.
The beast whimpered, padding away from the stony cliffs and instead toward long grass. Beyond the mountains Zedaph had built his home there were forests stretching as far as the eye could see. Forests that now completely separated the beast from the Hermits - forests that had allowed the change to happen time and time again without anyone else noticing.
The beast was incapable of telling the Hermits what had happened, and Zedaph too worried of becoming a burden.
As the beast crested atop the mountains his front paws and hind legs came together in a sitting position, his neck craning up to look at where the moon was - where the moon should be - and he began to howl. He howled with all the air in his lungs, body swaying as he sang to the satellite desperately. The beast remained there, yelping until his throat was raw, before finally dropping his head.
The winds of the storm were strong enough to have carried the scent of the Hermits to him, something that had never happened before. He’d always been too far, the weather too calm, and even with the rain dulling the smell he could still sniff vague wafts of the Hermits.
The beast was unable to do anything but begin a slow descent of the mountain, sniffing and panting as he sought to locate what he could smell.
Despite the giant, unnatural mushroom smelling strongly of a man, the beast continued on his journey. Despite the glass structure he could see as he patrolled the coastline, he didn’t approach. The beast saw his own reflection in a darkened window of the castle and some part of him - possibly the human part of him that had been pushed aside when the change had happened - was so revolted by what he saw that all he could do was growl. When the reflection growled back his back arched, his hackles stood on end, and he retreated. If the Hermits residing in the castle or nearby heard anything of the brief disturbance he caused he wasn’t around long enough to know about it.
From the castle there was something new, something he was incredibly thankful for. As he made his way through the continent the smells of people became mixed and the wind carried different scents from all directions. Now there was a path, a muddy trail leading him exactly where he wanted to go. It meant he was no longer slowly making his way through forests, but now able to run like the wind. Mobs ignored him, thinking him one of them, and he ran under the cover of forest until the path forked.
There was a strange wooden feature in front of him, dark etching mocking his lack of humanity. He stood on his hind legs and extended his claws, scratching at the sign as a way to prove his superiority. It was enough to satisfy the beast’s odd desires and he turned right - the mountains to his left too extreme to be climbed and the fog of the swamp acting as cover to traverse the world further.
Somewhere beyond there was something calling him, something he felt a desire to go to even if he didn’t know what it was. He passed by idyllic mushroom villages and deep circular pits, reaching yet more turns in the road. The beast continued toward the tall, dark trees, the more gentle mountain, and the smells of people intensified. There were three… Maybe more nearby… But three here. His pace slowed as his nose lowered to the ground and sniffed: a horse had been here recently.
The beast felt something it hadn’t felt before then - a pang of hunger. It’s tongue hung out of its mouth, slobbering as it followed the trail of the horse, and it prowled onward. It smelled good, it smelled tasty, he needed it. He needed it. He was so, so hungry and he needed it. So when he looked up to find a beautiful white mare - perfectly groomed despite the wind and the rain - saddled with green dyed leather, he growled. A meal. He’d never had a meal and this was perfect. As he growled, however, the horse let out a whinny of distress, rearing onto its hind legs and using its front hooves to try and kick the beast back, to put some distance between them.
The beast howled, the horse cried out, the commotion led to a light being turned on above them.
“Lulu, it’s just a storm.”
A voice. A person. The beast took several unsure steps backward, lowering its torso to the ground and preparing to pounce.
“Come on girl, you’re alright.”
The voice was gentle… Comforting… The beast relaxed a little: still ready to pounce but now, hopefully, looking a little less threatening. The horse still whinnied and, upon hearing the upset continue, the person with the voice seemed to grow closer.
“Alright, alright, I’m coming.”
The beast looked a little more closely at the structure the person with the voice seemed to be in. He wasn’t human enough to recognise the building blocks, wasn’t human enough to know which Hermit stepped from the doorway into the now light rain, but was beast enough to tell what shape the house had been built in.
He howled at the crescent moon - the real, full moon beginning to shine through the slowly dissipating clouds above. The horse uttered a bray, the person with a voice retreated into the building for a brief moment before reemerging with a crossbow. If the beast hadn’t been so focused on the moon shape he might have seen the approaching danger - might have acted first or run far, far away.
It wasn’t until the arrow, tip dipped in silver, pierced his shoulders that he realised what had happened.
“Get away from Lulu you monster!” The person shouted, bravely approaching him and waving his crossbow around as if to say, quite happily, that he would shoot again. It wasn’t a message that the beast needed to be human to understand. The silver tipped arrow lodged in his shoulder was already starting to make his body feel heavy, his paws struggling to hold up his torso as it sagged. If he was to stay here there was no telling what could happen - he needed to retreat.
So retreat the beast did, deep into the cover of the spruce forest. The beast continued until his energy was completely sapped and every step took too much energy to think about, let alone complete. Only once the beast was totally drained of energy did he let himself drop down into the shrubbery, the ferns and sweet berry bushes becoming an uncomfortable bed.
The beast closed his eyes, a not all that unfamiliar tug beginning to pull at his body - but one that didn’t match perfectly with his previous experiences of the change. Maybe the silver tipped arrow had done something more than he’d first thought, maybe the wound was worse than he’d realised. But those maybes didn’t matter - there was nothing that could be done as the beast sunk into unconsciousness. Whatever was going to happen had already been set in motion.
# # #
Zedaph awoke to flesh against flesh - hot, sweaty, frantic palms shaking his cold shoulders, touching his bare forearms - but it wasn’t enough for him to open his eyes straight away. He couldn’t remember the details of what had happened, but the fog that clouded his mind was enough to tell him that he’d changed that night. He didn’t want to deal with the consequences of whatever had happened just yet.
Except… Except there were people with him. That wasn’t right. When he changed he was alone - no one knew, no one saw, no one helped. If he’d changed, why were there people at his side? Why were they calling his name and shaking him desperately? What had been different about this night?
He sat up suddenly - causing both Tango and Impulse to let out a cry and stumble backward through the foliage - and took in his surroundings. At first he couldn’t figure out where he was - only that he was a long, long way from home - and then through the trees he saw it. Bdubs’ home. He’d travelled halfway up the continent in his other form, he’d found the moon of the server, and he was honestly relieved. If he hadn’t found this moon then he might have continued on to Boatem, to Pearl. While his ability to recount what he did during the nights he changed wasn’t perfect he was certain he’d never hurt anyone. If he’d found Pearl, he wasn’t sure that would have been the same.
Zedaph looked forward, he saw Tango and Impulse still staring at him, and he wondered what they saw when they looked back. Did they see a monster? The monster that he was? The monster that could have hurt a fellow servermate?
Maybe that was why they weren’t speaking. They knew what he was capable of. He needed to go back to his lab, he needed to find a way to keep himself contained. He pushed himself from the ground, he needed--
“Woah!” Tango yelled, a teasing smile on his face. Zedaph stopped, confused, until Impulse threw a handful of fabric toward him.
“Please, for everyone’s sake, put those jeans on.”
Zedaph looked down. Ah. That was another good thing about usually being alone when this happened, he supposed. So as instructed he shimmied into the fabric, now only bare chested and barefoot, before standing in awkward silence in front of the men that were… That used to be his best friends. But monsters didn’t have friends of the best variety, or friends at all. Monsters lived lonely lives away from people they could hurt, monsters lived far away from civilization. Maybe he’d known when he first picked out his home that it was his destiny to exile himself from those he loved most.
“I’ll tell Bdubs.”
Zedaph’s mind came back to the present to hear Tango quietly muttering to Impulse, before he walked away and left two standing in the trees. Impulse and Zedaph, Zedaph and Impulse. He swore it was easier to talk to him before.
“Let’s get you home.” Impulse said. “Tango’ll join us in a bit, he’s just letting Bdubs know you’re alright. You spooked Lulu last night while you were…” Impulse trailed off, not sure how to describe it. Maybe because he hadn’t been there, maybe because he was afraid, Zedaph didn’t know. “He saw you starting to change back as you ran off with the arrow in your shoulder and he thought he’d killed you. When you’re feeling up to it he’s going to want to see you and see you’re alive with his own two eyes. Right now I think we should just get you home.”
As he finished, Impulse stepped forward and placed a hand on Zedaph’s arm. This time he was more conscious and as soon as he felt the touch he pulled back, stepping away, trying to escape. He was a monster, not worthy of such a gentle or kind touch. He was a monster, who could have hurt other people and wasn’t worth being cared for. If he wasn’t so exhausted from the night before he might have tried to run.
“Zed?”
“I can get back on my own.” Zedaph said quietly, watching as something akin to sadness passed over Impulse’s face. He hesitated for a moment, as if trying to decide what was best to say next.
“I just… I would feel better if I could take you back. You aren’t acting completely like yourself and after the night you’ve had I would rather be able to be there for you. I’m worried about what might happen if I let you go back alone, I’m worried about you.”
“Well, don’t.” His voice came out more firmly this time, as if he was more sure of what he was doing. This was the right thing to do. “Don’t worry, don’t take me back, don’t even think about me. I’ll go back and I’ll keep myself away from the rest of the server.”
“Wait, Zed, that’s not what I mean.” Impulse laughed, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’m not worried about what you’ll do to us - is that what you think I meant? No, I’m worried about you. I want to make sure you’re okay, you’re safe, that the wound on your shoulder - and anything else - is taken care of. No one’s angry with you, no one’s upset, we just want to help.”
“Help a monster?” Zedaph asked, and Impulse flinched. Silence hung over the pair for a beat, before Impulse’s voice returned: unsure and upset.
“Do you… Do you really think you’re a monster?”
“Impulse, I turned into a Werewolf.” Zedaph said flatly. “I’m pretty sure that’s as close to the dictionary definition of a monster as you can get.”
He said it as if it was nothing, as if the thought of being a monster didn’t phase him, but either his expression gave him away or Impulse knew that he was lying through his teeth. Gentle touches were thrown out the window and instead replaced with arms thrown tightly around him. Impulse had always been a good hugger, but times like this it became all the more obvious. Zedaph was completely enveloped in Impulse’s arms, his head against the other man’s chest and taking in the warmth and comfort he was so readily offering.
“You are not a monster.” Impulse told him. “You could never be a monster. And even if you are, do you really think any of us would care? Look at us, all of the Hermits, we’re all quirky in our own way. So what if you’re a Werewolf every so often, we’ll figure it out. Together. We always do.” Zedaph felt himself being squeezed even more tightly for a beat and he pressed himself closer to Impulse, no longer caring to conceal just how desperate he’d been for the touch and comfort he was now receiving.
“We’re a family, Zed. We aren’t letting go of you that easily.”