Raven Wülfe (EXTREME CONTENT WARNING)

Story by ZeHell-ScythefanToo

WARNING: This story contains bestiality, unbirthing (a.k.a. vaginal vore), gore, and various technical definitions of rape, among other various lesser fetishes such as lycanthropy (why is this not a tag?), transformation, and startling supernatural scientific realism. It can also be considered a horror story, in horrific elaboration. Read at bonerrific peril.

This is something I started nearly two years ago (1y9m if you really must be pedantic), but dropped about halfway here and worried not about it over other writing pursuits. I asked myself, why did I really start this thing? Certainly it is a dark piece, one that explores the deep reality of the mind and what sorts of terrible nightmares that might form in one... I should believe any writer possesses one of these, myself here and now the proof of such a case. Either way, for as much horror there is in violence, there is an equal amount here to be found in depravity, so perhaps it is best described as base for its true values. It's also somewhat ambitious, hence the length, and I also honestly just wanted to get it finished, seeing as it was about 87% of the way to completion before I wrapped the ending together within all of the time currently spent in September; berate me harshly if any certain part feels too rough, for everything past the elevator falling (you'll see) is new and I wanted to do less overall proofreading and more just getting this the hell out there for whoever might like it. You know who you are. Please enjoy, if you aren't sickened by unfortunate and sometimes sanguineous consequences.

You can read this on my site (fancy reader) (plain text), or click the spoiler below to continue...

Bright lights, brighter than the gaze of a solar system. Idle suspension in the air, a feeling of floating where there was no friction yet no escape. Tubes monitoring all systems, facilitating breathing, nutrition, waste expenditure, and God knows what else needed to be piped in or out. A break from routine as glass in front of me is suddenly shattered, signaling my freedom to the world beyond... The gutteral sounds of men as their throats are torn or severed, bringing them to quick, merciful deaths... These were my only memories of the world, followed by blurred abscondment and several lights bearing down on me. How I managed to lose any I had previously, I could not fathom; the only memory I absolutely knew, the one that still rings true to me no matter how the thought is presented or the concept is formed, is a single word - one I must have continually repeated no matter what trials I had been through, no matter what challenges I'd been forced to less than consciously overcome. 'Raven'... Yes, my name is Raven. Beyond that, I knew not where it came from, nor how it suits me now in this new reality; any presumptions I may have had of life have been swept, and any knowledge of location or affiliation was permanently lost to me. My name is Raven, and I am a furred beast of destruction - a predator of all, and prey to too few; this fact dawned on me as I swallowed the remains of a man I'd captured, presumably one who wanted me to return from whence I came. I followed a smart decision in stripping him of his clothes and picking the flesh clean from his bones, scattering some in false directions and taking off without following in any set path; I was light upon my feet and the ground was not muddy. Some part of my brain told me that should the earth be muddy, the wiser course would be to take to the trees. This insight both frightens me and is my only semblance of survival, for it is a voice I do not ever remember hearing before my... consciousness. 'Remember' is such a strange moniker in this context, and yet it is the only word I can find. I do not question further.

Back then, when I lost myself to the instincts, followed fight and flight as a devout would a religion, I had awoken to a brash apprehension of what I was and how I would follow that into a world I no longer understood aside from what my brain told me: nourishment, sleep, and survival. I awoke after fleeing the dreaded men upon a clifftop, one overlooking a modern town of some regard that presented only the barest of tinglings to a mind I could no longer contact; when I rattled my bones and stood from the spot where I lay to find the vista before me, I looked forth, felt that same phantom tingling attempting to pull memories from some location wiped, then dropped to my hands and knees and vomited. My stomach prodigiously entertained the grass of the hilltop with the leftovers of a half-digested meal, one I now stared at with heady, sober temperament and all of the cognizations that came with it. I looked myself over from this crawling position, finding the swinging prot

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