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Fanfiction ► -Sin-[Lycanthrope]

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Aug 13, 2005
The other end of the leash.

Run like you've never ran before- like your life depended on it. Like this is your last chance, redemption is only a few feet away, if only you can make it...

Anthony's eyes flickered open, with blurred and distorted images greeting his consciousness for the first time in a year. How did he know it had been a year? He didn't. He felt it.


She was right behind him. He was pointing out the way to go through the dense trees, running, screaming, pleading with her to go faster, to escape the monster. She screamed his name, stumbling, crying, trying to avoid the inevitable:

There was no escape. You can't escape from what you want the most.

The sky was a deep, dangerous violet; like looking into the eyes of fate while being too afraid of what you'll find. Like all of man's deepest fears, broadcasted for the world to behold. Around the edges' of Fate's eye, was a sickly pale yellow, not unlike Anthony's own eyes, only with a pitiful sense of understanding that the human's eye lacked.

She had tripped. Anthony's first thought had been to go back and get her on her feet, get her away from the monster.

But he hesitated.

What would happen if he went back? He would die, surely, if he put himself between the person who kept him alive and the beast that would be the death of them both. Could he do it? Could he save her? Could he save himself?

No. The voice in Anthony's head screamed, and didn't stop for the rest of his life. He found himself shaking as he stared at the starless sky, on the cold, dusty ground, in nothing but tattered cloths. He still hadn't sat up; he was already aware of all that surrounded him.

All of the nothingness.

Even after Anthony had gone back to pull her beside him, the beast was still in desperate pursuit, and their strength was flagging. They wouldn't be able to run forever, he knew, but where else could they go? She wasn't safe when she was with him, because he was the beast's prey. He was the reason she wouldn't make it through the night.

It was not her time to die, it was his. She wouldn't let him go. He was already dying, and it was already too late.

As he shivered, Anthony felt the dead weight of onyx, already loaded with his way out, under the palm of his left hand. The trigger felt smooth under his index finger, the metal itself cold as ice, though not as cold as the one who held it. He was beyond any kind of warmth. The personification of life after death, in all it's vaguely defined glory.

The life he had when he hadn't saved her.

She was trusting him. He lead the way. If he chose wrong, if they weren't headed toward the safe haven, they would both die, and it would be his fault. He knew this, but he knew he wasn't going the right way. He was fleeing, as he always had in his life, and in his blind terror, was leading her to the devastation he himself had caused. The beast was behind them now, only a few feet away.

She fell.

Anthony raised the gun to eye level without getting up, contrasting the weapon to the never ending sky. The voice in his head, her voice, screamed, as she had been for forever. She screamed at him to stop, to please, don't do this, to remember how much she loved him, to contain whatever had caused this ironic twist of fate.

He sat up to examine his means of escape as an infant would examine a blue block of wood: With intense curiosity and shy excitement.

As he had stopped running, Anthony had broken his ankle, judging from the odd, unnatural way it stuck out behind him. He ran on all threes, both arms and his still functioning leg, to get back to her, to save her, to comfort her, to tell her to stop crying and that it was his fault, all of it, and that he loved her so much.

But it was too late.

The beast, a wolf of enormous size, stepped through the dense undergrowth, padding along silently, hardly breathing. No show of strain, no signs of tired muscles after their panicked flight. The beast, with bright red orange fur. It's skin was purple, it's claws were blue, it's fangs were gold. It was everything man had ever done, every sin personified. Lust, wrath, pride, envy, avarice, was all held within this monstrosity, and as it walked through the dense forest, time seemed to slow, and Anthony came to a complete halt in front of this beautiful being, this angel of death.

The beautiful sin.

He ran his fingers delicately along the length of the muzzle, feeling the weight of the bullets held inside the gun. It had been manufactured for the intent of evil: to take away human life, to silence a witness or perhaps, to serve justice to the wrong and give liberty to the weak. But this one wouldn't do any of that. It was the last option, the only way out. It was the harbinger of doom and relief.

The voice only got louder.

The beast hadn't raised it's eyes from the ground, and it still scented them until it had nearly stepped on her with it's enormous paw. On the pads of the paw, Anthony unconsciously noted, the numbers six, six, six were branded, leaving a black scar. The mark of the beast. It examined her, sniffling at her face and neck.

Without any sort of warning, it picked her up in it's golden jaws and placed her on it's back without so much as a tooth mark, though it horrified Anthony no less.

It turned and began walking away, a silent guarantee that it would be back for him. The only thing left to him, the only reason he was still alive, was being carried away on the back of this monster, and he could do nothing to stop it. He screamed.

As he turned it this way and that, the gun remained at it's freezing temperature, and the hands that held it were still colder. Anthony pondered, but only for a moment of pure simplicity, what the sun would do to this gun. He couldn't imagine there being any sort of light other than the horizon, which only cast a sort of pre-dawn glow upon this empty earth. It made him think that if ever the light of day touched this instrument, it might evaporate. Something this cold couldn't take the brilliance of sunlight, could it?

With that thought, he lifted the muzzle of the gun and placed it gently on the bottom row of his front teeth, tasting faint traces of gun powder. Metallic. It tasted like iron, like blood. He looked at the pre-dawn horizon, the one that would last until the end of time.

The beast stopped dead in it's tracks, but didn't turn around. If Anthony was going to make a plea for her life, he had to start now or live with his guilt. He weakly crawled after the beast, his final attempt to right his wrongs, and reached out when he could go no further, though the beast was still facing away. He cried out, and finally, as though in slow motion, the beast turned it's head, and Anthony looked into...

The reason behind all sins.

The souls of fallen angels.

The fate of mankind.

He looked into his own eyes, until the beast broke the stare and padded off slowly, with her still on it's back.

Closing his eyes, thinking of her, quelling his rioting heart, he breathed deep.

And pulled the trigger.


May 1, 2005
Wonderland. We're all mad here! :D
You already know what I think. ._.

Brilliant, beautiful, some other complimenting b-word. Silvar > Everyone. ._. Everyone just got rightously pwned.


Wonderful job, baby! <3


Vampire Fish
Jan 1, 2005
Fleet Street

Whoa, that was....stupendous. :D

Full o' suspense, conflict, and awesomeosity. Really kept me glued to the screen. The whole love-thus-need-to-protect was amazing. -gives Silverazy hat- Great job! =D


I don't like bugs!
Jun 23, 2005


"Is this real life."


It was like...


This pwns.

j00 pwn.

-gives bonus point-


Hooray! Hooray!
Dec 24, 2004
Good job Silver. The best piece I've read from you yet! I just wish I could write something like that. All scary like...
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