Jon's Inner Animal- Part 1

Jon Talbain does what any self-respecting werewolf should do and gets swole! Like previously stated, this is going to be a two-parter, so enjoy a little early Halloween next month to see what happens to Jon next. Thanks again for your support, everyone!
                          ************************************************************************

No one trained harder than Jon Talbain, because no one had more to lose than Jon Talbain. As a werewolf, he had two natures; one of humanity and nobility, the other of animal savagery. Training meant he was more in-tune with his humanity, but it was a double-edged sword. He grew stronger all the time, which only meant, if he ever did lose control, the more damage he would do. So, the werewolf was locked in a vicious cycle; the more he trained, the stronger he became, and the more he had to train to keep himself in check. 

It was a perilous way to live one’s life, filled with stress, fear, and doubt. As a powerful Darkstalker, there were few outside threats Jon truly feared, but there was always a sliver of dread that, when he looked in the mirror, he would see something truly monstrous. He hadn’t seen his human face in decades, stuck as a half-man, half-wolf monster born to kill and trained to fight. What friends he had were other Darkstalkers, or children too innocent to understand why they should be afraid of werewolves. Any chance to see his human face again was one Jon was willing to take, and that’s why he found himself so tempted as he loomed over the merchant’s stall, a heavy iron belt in his hand.

In a small, underground part of London that catered to Darkstalkers and other creatures of the night, a merchant selling ancient, enchanted items had caught Jon’s eye, particularly the “Belt of True Self,” as the vendor called it. 

The werewolf growled softly. “This is supposed to turn me into ‘my true self’? What does that mean, exactly?”

The merchant, a weedy little man with pointed ears and sparkling eyes, smiled brightly. “Oh, it’s only a little trinket that can turn someone into their proper form- who they are on the inside, you understand? Who they always wanted to be, you get me?”

Jon stroked his chin. “And how can I trust you?”

“Ah, come on, big boy, do you Darkstalkers trust anyone?” the merchant grinned. “Look, if there’s anything wrong with the belt, just come see me again- I’ll be at my stall.”

Jon Talbain sighed, nodding. “Alright. I’ll take it.” Before he left, however, he reached across the stall, grabbing the merchant by the throat and hefting him up in the air with one hand. His white and dark blue fur stood on end as he bared his fangs. “But if this is a trick, or you think you’re being funny, I’ll find you and beat you over the head with your own stall. Savvy?”

“Yes!” the merchant gasped, legs kicking in the air. “Crystal clear!”

Jon set him down, nodded, and left without another word. 

The werewolf kept to the dark corners and back alleyways of London, where he was staying, for now. The loft he was renting was small, but well kept- Jon wasn’t an animal, after all. He stood before a mirror in his bathroom, a shaggy, hulking beast staring back at him. His shining golden eyes were the only truly human part of him left, and he glanced at a picture pinned next to the mirror, of what he looked like before his curse ensnared him in his wolf form, seemingly forever. He had an idea of the person he wanted to call first when he was human again; they were long overdue for a date. Smiling fondly, Jon girded the heavy belt around his waist and took a deep breath, screwing his eyes shut. He waited… and nothing happened. He opened his eyes, snarling at the wolf looking back at him. 

“Bah! Useless piece of junk. It’s just a stupid belt, how could I let myself get taken in like that?” he muttered darkly. But then, his pointed ears twitched; the sounds of a fight. He poked his head out the window and looked down, spotting two children being cornered by three burly men that were menacing them. When one of the men struck the children, Jon growled. “Oi!” 

The werewolf took a running start, slipping out of his window as he leapt across the alleyway, claws digging into the brick edifice to hold him steady. He deftly landed on the street, casting his shadow over the thugs. “I’ll only say this once, ya bunch of bleedin’ blighters- disappear. You touch them kids again, I’ll beat you with your own severed hands.”

 The three brutes turned on Jon, shivs raised. They looked slightly apprehensive about taking on a werewolf, but still, they lunged for him. Jon was too fast, however; the werewolf was like a silver streak in the alley, effortlessly dodging the thugs and slashing his long claws, raking their backs as they rushed by. It was an extremely one-sided fight; Jon Talbain was a peerless fighter, after all, and these three criminals threatening children were hardly anything special. But in this fight, Jon felt a near euphoric rush of power. His limbs tensed, his lean, hard muscles rippled, and then bulged as he lunged for one of his opponents. 

“Oh, no- you ain’t gettin’ away from me that fast, darlin’,” Jon snarled as his hand clenched onto the slowest thug’s shoulder, yanking him back. Bearing his fangs he hoisted the man up, the fear in the thug’s face illuminated by the moonlight. In that moment, Jon Talbain didn’t realize how large he loomed. His arms were corded with powerful muscles, his chest surged as he growled, and his sprawling back was close to filling the alleyway. His tail swished over trunk-like legs that had left his pants in tatters, the pavement cracking beneath his feet. 

“Listen, ye little scab. I ever see you in my streets again, menacing kids, they won’t find whatever bits I leave behind of ye, get me?” Jon snarled.

“Y-yes! Yes, whatever you say, just- let me go, please!” the man begged.

The hulking werewolf growled again before letting his prey drop, the criminal scurrying out of sight as fast as his legs would carry him.

Taking in a deep sigh, Jon braced himself to turn to the kids. “Y’alright?”

The two children, a waifish boy and girl, slowly rose, looking at Jon with wide, curious eyes. Slowly, they nodded, then began inching away.

The werewolf tried to give a comforting smile. “Just try to be careful in the future, yeah? I might not be able to get to you as fast next time.”

The two nodded, then ran around the corner, opposite from their attackers. Jon’s smile fell a bit- he had probably scared them witless. He then glanced up at his apartment window, and began to climb.

“Hey, mister!” 

Jon looked down, spotting the girl poking her head around the corner with a small smile. 

“Thanks.”

The wolf grinned. “Anytime.” As she ran away, Jon dug his claws into the wall, hauling himself up. But when he reached his window, he tried to force himself inside- only to manage about half his torso. “What the-?”

Now that the adrenaline of battle had passed, Jon looked himself over and his eyes went wide. He dropped to the ground, spreading more cracks in the pavement with the impact. In the moonlight, his silver and blue fur caught the heightened size of his body, the power coursing through each chiselled muscle swelled with an experimental flex. His bicep pumped to the size of a pumpkin and his torso spread out wide like wings. He was nearly twice the beast he was before, and the werewolf felt a gnawing sense of dread mixed with thrill. He had never felt so strong, but that usually came with a price. He then looked down at his belt and scowled. It wasn’t any tighter than when he put it on, and he tried to pry it loose- only to find that it wouldn’t budge.

“Damn me for a fool, I’ve been tricked! The bleedin’ thing is cursed!” Jon snarled, his mind already racing with dreadful possibilities- if he grew like this, either because of the fight, the full moon, or any other sort of trigger, how much bigger would he get by the time this was all over? Darker thoughts came to him, too, about what this meant if his true self was simply a bigger, stronger werewolf. Heart pounding, he raced for the black market, golden, glowing eyes scanning the crowd. He retraced his steps, following familiar scents, until he recognized the row in the market where he had first found the pedler. Rushing as fast as his powerful legs could carry him, Jon skidded to a halt; instead of a stall or pointy-eared merchant, he was met with a vacant lot. 

“Bollocks!” Jon muttered, punching the air. “Oh, alright, merchant. I don’t know who ya are or where you hail from,” the werewolf muttered darkly, crossing his powerful arms. “But I’ll find ye. And if you’re going to play games with me, I hope getting me mad was worth it.”