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The village had the look of a place that knew fear well.
Doors barred even in daylight. Charms nailed crookedly above lintels. People who spoke in whispers and watched the tree line as if it might answer back.
“A witch,” the headman said, rubbing his temples. “Lives in the old wood. Eats children.”
Felix sighed inwardly.
“Of course she does,” he murmured.
Gotrek’s eye gleamed. “Good.”
Felix glanced at him. “You do realize that’s not the reassuring response?”
“It is to me.”
The woods were old in the way that made Felix’s skin prickle. Ancient roots knotted together, air thick with rot and magic. Dark magic. He could taste it, sharp and bitter at the back of his throat.
“She’s close,” Felix said quietly.
Gotrek grunted and tightened his grip on his axe.
They found the witch in a clearing that reeked of old blood and worse intentions. She was hunched, wrapped in rags, eyes bright with cruel intelligence.
“Ah,” she croaked. “Come to save the little lambs? Too late for that.”
Gotrek stepped forward.
The witch snapped a word of power.
Stone crept up Gotrek’s boots, racing over his legs, locking him in place mid stride.
Felix swore and lunged, sword flashing.
The witch shrieked and flung another spell, light, warping, meant to twist flesh into something small and helpless.
Felix felt it hit him like ice.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the hunger rose.
It came from deep in his chest, a violent surge of need that screamed against the spell's touch. His curse thrashed beneath his skin, fighting the transmutation with primal fury. The magic tore at him, trying to reshape bone and sinew, but his vampiric nature resisted, clawing back, refusing to be unmade into something small and weak. The two forces warred inside him, spell and curse locked in brutal contest.
Then the world tilted.
Bones cracked. Muscles surged. His clothes shredded. His senses exploded outward, scent, sound, motion, all too much and not enough all at once.
Felix hit the ground on four legs.
He stared at his paws.
They were very large.
He tried to speak.
What came out was a startled, indignant woof.
The witch froze, blinking. “That’s… not right.”
Gotrek, still encased in stone, burst out laughing.
The witch turned just in time to see the stone spell fracture under sheer dwarven stubbornness. Gotrek stepped free, roaring, axe descending in a red arc.
The witch died messily.
Silence fell.
Felix sat in the clearing, a massive grey wolf, staring at Gotrek.
Gotrek stared back.
Then he grinned.
“Oh,” the Slayer said. “I like this.”
Felix growled.
They spent the next several hours that way.
Felix tried everything. Concentration. Willpower. Sheer annoyance. Nothing worked.
Gotrek, meanwhile, was having the best afternoon he’d had in years.
“No talking,” he said cheerfully, walking down the forest path. “No lectures. No clever remarks.”
Felix padded alongside him, tail flicking irritably. He snapped at Gotrek’s boot.
Gotrek laughed. “Temper, wolf.”
Felix tried to glare. It was difficult with a muzzle.
They stopped by a stream. Felix caught sight of his reflection, yellow eyes, thick fur, fangs bared in a permanent snarl.
“Still you,” Gotrek said, as if reading his thoughts. “Just with more fur.”
Felix huffed.
Later, when they made camp, Gotrek tossed him a haunch of raw venison.
Felix hesitated, then tore into it with embarrassing enthusiasm.
Gotrek raised a brow. “See? Simple joys.”
Felix whined.
Night fell. Felix lay by the fire, watching Gotrek sharpen his axe, the familiar rhythm calming him.
Think, Felix told himself. You’re still you.
He closed his eyes, focused inward, on the curse that clung to him, the hunger, the restraint, and pulled.
The world lurched.
Felix collapsed in a heap of limbs and indignity.
Gotrek turned just in time to see his companion reappear, naked, tangled, and very annoyed.
Felix lay there for a moment, then said flatly, “If you ever speak of this...”
Gotrek snorted. “Oh no, this deserves to be shared.”
Felix groaned and pulled his cloak that Gotrek had thrown him around himself. “I was a wolf.”
“Aye.”
“You enjoyed that.”
Gotrek smiled. “Extremely.”
Felix rubbed his face. “Next witch we meet, I’m killing her first.”
Gotrek clapped him on the shoulder, affectionate.
“Good,” he said. “You’re learning.”
The fire crackled. The woods went quiet.
Several days later they met with Max Schreiber, just like planned. They were three mugs in at a low ceilinged tavern, smoke and sweat thick in the air, when Gotrek finished his enthusiastic retelling of the witch, the spell, and the wolf. Felix should have known better than to let Gotrek tell the story.
“And then,” Gotrek said, thumping the table hard enough to slop ale, “he howled.”
Max stared at Felix for a long, stunned moment.
Then he laughed.
Not a polite chuckle. A full bodied, wheezing, scholarly collapse of dignity.
“A wolf,” Max managed. “Felix Jaeger. A wolf.”
Felix folded his hands very carefully. “In my defense...”
“Oh no,” Max said, wiping tears from his eyes. “No defense. This is magnificent. Absolutely magnificent.”
Gotrek beamed behind his beard.
Max leaned forward, eyes bright with a very specific kind of madness. “You know, there are spells, purely theoretical, of course, that could refine the effect. Control it. Adjust mass. Shape.”
Felix stared at him. “No.”
“Temporary,” Max said hastily. “Mostly harmless.”
“Max.”
“A bat might be instructive,” Max continued, warming to the idea. “Or perhaps mist...”
He watched them enjoy it. Gotrek added helpful commentary about the size of his tail, each observation delivered with the satisfaction of a man who'd found an endless well of amusement. Max speculated about thaumaturgical interference and vampiric resilience, his scholar's mind spinning possibilities like a wheel catching fire.
For exactly three minutes.
Then Felix smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
He leaned forward, just enough for the candlelight to catch the faint red gleam in his eyes. He let his fangs slide down, slow and deliberate.
“I think,” Felix said calmly, “I’m going for a hunt.”
The table went quiet.
Max swallowed. “In the… city?”
Felix nodded. “I’ve been good all week.”
Gotrek’s grin vanished. “Manling...”
Felix stood, already backing away. “Don’t wait up.”
Then he was gone.
The door opened. The door closed.
Max and Gotrek stared at the empty space.
“…would he really?” Max said weakly.
Gotrek swore.
Felix ran.
He took to the rooftops, boots barely touching stone, the city unfolding beneath him like a map of shadows and sound. His laughter was quiet, private, edged with vindictive delight.
Good luck chasing me, he thought.
He lost them in under a minute.
The stone was cool beneath his feet, each stride eating distance with an ease that felt like flying. His muscles sang with the strength, power that moved through his limbs without effort. For a few hours, at least, the hunger was secondary to the sheer exhilaration of being fast, being strong, being utterly free.
After several hours he returned, composed, clothes spotless.
Gotrek was sitting at the table, arms crossed, scowling like a thunderhead.
Max was pale.
Felix sat down. "I feel better."
Max stared. “You climbed the Bell Tower.”
Felix shrugged. “I was stretching.”
Gotrek snorted despite himself.
Max cleared his throat. “I… withdraw my interest in experimental applications.”
Felix smiled sweetly. “Wise.”
Gotrek grunted. “Next time, warn me.”
Felix met his eye, something soft beneath the sarcasm. “I knew you’d worry.”
Gotrek looked away.
The night went on. The city slept.
And Felix Jaeger decided that, curse or no curse, there were advantages.