Kyle sits there, naked because his clothes tore when he shifted fully.
The cold ground biting into his skin, but he doesn't feel it.
His arms dangle uselessly over his knees, his body curled in on itself, trembling under the weight of it all.
Cursing the day he was born, he wonders if he should just end it here, now.
Let the earth swallow him whole.
Let oblivion come and take away the horror that was his existence.
The thought lingers, seductive in its simplicity.
But before he can move, images start flashing through his mind, just like the voice had.
Flashes of yesterday, the ritual, the invisible force that exploded from the mark on his chest, knocking people aside like rag dolls.
Lucan's parents falling, faces frozen in terror, lifeless before they even hit the ground.
He now remembers clearly that the force had been targeting Lucan's parents specifically.
More images claw their way into his mind.
Him as a young boy, innocent, wide-eyed, then as a teenager, haunted, shadows under his eyes, always on the outside.
Pictures come continually, pictures of the things he did, from when he was young up to his current age.
The pictures of his monstrous form, hunched and snarling, dragging terrified wolves through the woods to a place he can't fully remember. The images are blurred at the edges.
He sees himself setting fires, house packs engulfed in flames, smoke choking the sky, wolves screaming as their homes crumble.
Sacred relics, ancient talismans of the pack, shattered by his claws. The protection wards destroyed, the magic that shielded them snuffed out like a dying flame.
He sees his beast form marking territories, but not with scent. With blood. Wolves' blood painted over trees, rocks, as if staking claim to the land not for the pack, but for something… else. Something darker he still can't tell.
Symbols, twisted, jagged, carved deep into the bark of trees and into ancient stones, symbols no one would recognize but all would fear. Symbols of war.
Defenses dismantled, the scent barriers torn down, the magical wards disabled, making it easy for enemies, for rogues to slip through like knives in the night.
He sees wolves he had spared, but not out of mercy. They were sick now. Twisting into something less than wolves, consumed by a sickness born from the darkness festering inside him.
He sees dark creatures, not wolves, not spirits, but some amalgamation of both, summoned through the pulsing energy of the mark.
A hidden army, readying for a war he hadn't even realized he was planning.
He watches himself erasing memories. Wolves' eyes glazing over as he stole away their identities, their allegiances, leaving behind hollow, obedient shells.
He sees the way he twisted their dreams, turning them against each other, against themselves. Planting seeds of fear that bloomed into distrust and hatred.
He sees pups, so small, so full of promise, dying at his hands, chosen by the beast inside him as "weak," unworthy of the future they planned.
He sees blood pacts, wolves marked against their will, tied to him by invisible, inescapable bonds.
He sees graves, hidden, ancient_ where important wolves lay buried alive, breathing shallow, weak breaths beneath the soil, their struggles muffled by the earth.
And worst of all, he sees the threads of a dark bond, a cursed pack link, growing, connecting him to more and more wolves without their knowing.
Their instincts bending, reshaping, shifting toward loyalty to him.
A sob rips out of Kyle's throat, raw and broken. His body jerks violently, his soul cracking under the weight of revelation.
His nails dig into the dirt, his whole body shaking with horror, guilt, disbelief of what he had done since his young age.
Conscious takes over, he shifts. He runs towards the places where he buried wolves alive.
The monstrous form rips free, a wolf but not a wolf. Taller, broader, twisted by dark energy. His fur black as pitch, eyes burning a deep, fevered red.
Without thinking, driven by his conscious, Kyle's wolf body launches into the woods.
Trees blur past. His paws_ twisted, too large, tear through the undergrowth, swift and silent.
His heart pounds, not from exertion, but from sheer terror at what he might find.
The forest changes. Darker. Denser. The air grows thick and choking, heavy with decay and old magic.
He reaches the first place.
An ancient hollow, roots twisting around a patch of disturbed earth.
He approaches the spot he had seen in his mind, the place where he had buried the wolves alive. He can feel them, sense their presence, hear the faintest sound of breathing.
His body trembles. It's true. He really did this.
Without wasting another second, he digs desperately with his claws until he reaches them.
Bodies. Wolves, crumpled and broken.
One already cold, stiff. Dead.
But others, he can hear the faint, shallow breathing. Weak. Fragile. Still alive.
Kyle's heart shatters anew.
He digs them out with trembling paws, careful, desperate.
He pulls them free, nudging them, whimpering deep in his throat like a wounded animal.
Their eyes flutter open, confused, terrified, then sharpen with rage.
One snarls weakly.
Another bares bloody teeth.
They recognize him.
They remember.
Fear surges in Kyle's chest. His body tenses.
Before they can lunge, before they can tear him apart, he bolts.
He runs, faster than he thought possible, heart hammering, mind screaming.
Branches whip against his face, blood mixing with sweat and tears.
He doesn't stop. He can't.
He is a monster. Everything they said about him is true. They didn't lie, he did it. He did all of it.
He can't even blame them for the things they said or the things they did.
He runs, with no idea where he's going, just away. But somewhere inside him, Lucan's scent finds him, sharp and clear, like he's right there at his side.
Lucan must be coming after him. He must have tracked him.
For a moment, Kyle thinks about stopping. Just standing still and wait for him.
Maybe then he could explain everything to him. Maybe he could ask him for help, help to tear whatever this thing is out of him.