Sunday Morning May 22nd, 1845. Upper Canadian Wilderness.
The harsh winds of winter still spun through the trees like fading spirits, carrying the curse of the vicious influenza virus and other diseases.
If Victor focused his senses, he could smell the sickness in the spilled blood beneath the melting snow. Native tribespeople were dying slow and painful deaths.
He focused on other things. Despite his job, death wasn't something he enjoyed witnessing. So, he worked quickly. The forest was a brutal and efficient place. He had to be the same.
The moment he caught the musky odor of moose, he was on the move.
He was fast on two legs, but it felt better to move on all fours. Scents hovered lower to the ground and made tracking easier. Not to mention, he could stay hidden under the forest bushes and bulk. He was tall for a fifteen year old.
His father never forgot to remind him.
As he ran through the forests in a blond blur, his senses mapped out the forests for him.
Bears were waking in caves nestled in mountains above him. To the east, birds circled a battlefield of dead soldiers and natives. To the south, he could smell buffalo grazing the fresh spring grass. His stomach turned. He fought against the pull of his instincts and left them for the natives.
After clearing six miles of forestry, Victor rested atop a cliff overlooking more dense forestry. A massive bull-moose itched its new antlers on a thin shafted tree.
The scratching sound echoed through the forest, drawing other predators.
None were as fast as him.
Or silent.
In nothing but a pair of dirtied torn up jeans, Victor jumped off the cliff, swinging from tree to tree until he landed on a branch directly above the moose.
The bull paused, scenting the air as its ears twitched and—
Victor landed on the bull and ripped its throat out with his claws. As it's blood spurted, the fight left the creature fast and he wrestled it to the ground.
Quick. Efficient. Brutal. Like the forest.
He stood over the dead bull with clawed hands bathed in blood. His muscles thrummed with energy. His gums itched with the urge to bite into flesh and blood.
With a shake of his head, he pushed down his instincts and prepared to head home. Stopping only at the smell of something upwind.
"...fuck." Victor growled.
In his bloodlust, he stopped paying attention to the forest.
A deep chuffing sound echoed through the forest.
From behind a collection of evergreens making a wall of green needles, a large grizzly bear emerged.
It's fur was matted and sat over dense muscle and fat in dusty clumps. The bear groaned and grunted. It's black button nose twisted as it scented the dead moose at Victors feet.
Victor looked up at the sky, eyeballing the sun and its position there to get an idea of the time.
"Father will want to begin praying at church soon. I have to be home before that starts. We're also out of meat, so I can't give this up."
Victor hopped over the moose, placing himself in front of his kill.
The bear roared in pure hunger and challenge. Victors lips twitched as he felt the urge to do the same. To unleash that same primal anger and desire for the whole world to hear.
His fathers voice echoed from the darkest depths of his mind.
"There's demons in all of us, Victor. We're born sinners. Filthy, foul, sinners. It's up to every one of us as gods children to live in his image. Banish that demon. Tear it out and strike it down!"
Victors anger was lit ablaze. His amber eyes went slitted like a cat on the hunt. His fingers burned the from phantom pains of his claws being ripped out with rusty pliers.
He snarled and pushed his retractable claws out to their full length. His skin tightened as his muscles bulged and pushed against his scarred skin.
The bear stood up, reconsidering its target that was once a bloodstained boy and now stood more clearly as something more. Something feral and wild blooded. Something untamed and beastly.
The bear charged.
Victor lunged, faster than the bear by a long shot.
He tackled the bear and took the beast through a tree in an explosion of wooden shards and uplifted roots.
On the ground, Victor bit into the bears neck. The pressure of his fangs tearing through flesh felt good on his gums. The blood was hot and energizing.
The bear thrashed and rolled before throwing him off.
Victor flipped through the air and landed on his feet. Like a cat.
Deep cuts ran along his back and chest. Already knitting themselves closed.
The bear charged again.
Victor turned and ran. With the bear chasing behind him, he climbed up a tree and back -flipped off the bark, landing on the bears back.
Immediately, the bear stood up and roared, trying to buck him off.
Victor leaned into the beasts foul furred back and wrapped his arms around its thick throat.
On two legs, the bear ran backward and slammed him into a tree, weakening his grip enough to shake him off.
Victor hit another tree before hitting the ground.
The bear was on him immediately, covering his entire body in its savage bulk and tearing him apart.
At least that's how it looked for the first few seconds. Then, the bears savage assault slowed until it went limp and the life drained from its eyes.
The bears massive body twitched and turned until Victor stood up from underneath, lifting the bear overhead with one arm before tossing it aside. Blood covered him all over.
Upon the bear rolling onto its back, it was revealed that its entire midsection was torn to shreds. No heart or organs. Busted open ribs. It looked like it ate a bomb.
Victor grabbed his left arm and snapped it back in place with a grunt.
A howl in the distance had him turning around to face the pack of wolves behind a few trees..
"Bears all yours. My brothers like moose more anyway." Victor said before walking away from the dead bear.
The wolves were on the carcass immediately, completely unbothered by him walking by, dragging along a moose carcasses casually.
An hour or so later and Victor was out of the densely packed Canadian forestry. He walked through grassland mostly, split by beautiful blue rivers and colonial settlements in the distance. Too distant for the working men to see a teenage boy the size of a man dragging along a butchered moose. He swam in the rivers and ate a few fish to wash the blood off. At least then he didn't look like a blonde haired native painted for war.
His father kept them far from the others for a reason.
One of the few good things he'd done.
Their house was a farmhouse stationed beside a lake. It was mundane and beaten by the elements. No more than an upgraded log cabin with a wooden fenced in field for sheep and working dogs that went crazy at his arrival.
"Morning." He said as he passed them. The sheep hugged the far side of the fence at his arrival.
Through the windows he could see shapes moving. Through his nostrils, he could tell who was who.
Everyone was up and he was right on time.
The door opened suddenly and out came a man. He was a large man— huge really. He stood at seven feet tall with big hands and a thick golden brown beard. His hair was short and his eyes were hard. He looked over Victor with a tight lipped expression. An expression no father should have for their son.
"Well would you look at what the cat dragged in…." He joked.
Victor said nothing.
"You know the drill, boy. Get that thing over to the skinning table, wash your hands and come inside. I'll meet you in the basement. We need to get ready for church and you are far from presentable."
Victor felt a chill run up his spine. The cold stopped bothering him a long time ago, though.
He dragged the moose around to the side of the house beside the skinning and quartering equipment and stepped into his home.
It was smaller. Smaller by the day at the rate he was growing.
He felt sick. He could smell the stone floor of the basement from where he stood. The dried blood and flesh and hair and—
"Kyle! Did you take my sausage?!"
"I'm bigger than you, Jimmy, that means I'm hungrier than you. Victor and dad eat more than us cause they're bigger."
"You're not that much bigger. You're just being greedy."
"Haha! Greedy like the wolves, you bet!"
Victor's mind went to a happier place as he listened to his twin brothers.
He walked down the hall, not making a sound as he spread his toes and walked on the balls of his feet.
James and Kyle continued talking as he slipped into the dining room.
James was positioned to face the entryway. Kyle had his back to it so he didn't see Victor sneak in.
"Victor's eating like a bear these days. Dad needs to make him hunt more— I'm tired of two sausages for breakfast. I won't get bigger eating like this." Kyle growled.
James stopped replying and grinned as he met Victors eyes. He wiped his nose as he smiled. Still sick.
Victor held a finger to his lips.
James nodded. He was the oddball.
He wasn't aggresive or angry or psychotically devoted to Christ like the rest of the Creeds. He took after their mother. He was loving and helpful to the point of being spineless. His dark hair was recently cut and washed. He even wore a clean navy blue button up and brown overalls.
His twin brother Kyle also wore overalls, but one of the straps was torn and the shirt he wore was stained.
"James, why are you being so quiet?" Kyle asked.
James pointed up at Victor.
"Oh no!" Kyle dove at his plate.
"Yes." Victor caught Kyle by the collar of his button-up and pulled him away from his plate.
He grabbed the sausages off the plate and passed them to James.
"Father would tell you stealing is a sin." Victor said as he loomed over the squealing wild child.
"I'll beg for forgiveness at church!" Kyle snarled. "Please! I'm starving!"
"We're all starving." Victor replied.
Kyle jumped out of Victors grip and faced him as he stood barefoot on the wood floor. "Well, what the hell!"
Victor crossed his arms and watched him with stoic amusement.
James snuck the sausages back onto Kyle's plate.
"You're strong, Victor. You're the strongest man in town. I hear people talk about it every Sunday. Why don't you just kill a bunch of buffalo! We could eat meat all year— I bet those Indians do that."
"I bet they don't." Victor replied. "They believe in harmony with nature last time I checked. That's why they don't like us."
"Ahh! Who cares!" Kyle protested.
"Father does. Greed is a sin, Kyle." Victor said plainly.
"You're such a lap-dog, Victor!" Kyle snarled.
"And you're the big bad wolf, right?" Victor asked.
Kyle grinned. His canines looked longer.
Victor's stomach turned—
"Victor!" Their father yelled from the depths of the basement. "Get down here, now!"
James dropped his eyes and started to breathe heavier.
Kyle was back on his plate scarfing down his food like an animal.
"I'll be back." Victor left the dining room. He eyed down the stairs leading to the basement.
For a moment, he was a child again, no older than his brothers. His nails had just started to thicken and sharpen into claws to the point of being impossible to ignore. Whenever he got scared, they'd extend out of his fingers. So everytime he was around his father basically. He could still feel his tears running down his face like raindrops. His knees shook at the sound of the chains rattling and pliers clicking. His father sang hymns all the while. He sounded so excited.
It was a twisted dichotomy that made him dizzy with dread.
That was years ago.
Now it was home. Just another day.
He headed down the stairs.
His father waited beside a massive wooden chair with steel clamps for the arms and legs. A headpiece was built into it as well with locks and metal bars. Dried blood redened the wood.
Hundreds of bloody claws and teeth littered the floor like the bones of the dead.
"You scared to remove your demons on the lords day, boy?" His father, Zebediah, asked.
"No, father." Victor replied.
"Then come, take your seat." Zebediah demanded.
Victor did so.
As his father locked him into the chair, he spoke.
"Now, it is in a demons nature to be deceitful, spiteful, nasty things. On this day, during this sacred mission, I ask you, Victor Creed, my lost son, what is your nature?"
"My nature is to banish my demons, father." Victor said with tears in his eyes and a blank expression.
Zebediah grinned, "Amen."