1 CHAPTER 1: Vilkasvir
"Vilkasvir are the scourge of villages. They live only to feed and devour everything in their path. If you encounter one, do not bother running. You either kill it or it kills you."
-Lecture Series 92 by Edeorn Synestra, Paladin S-Class
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Village of Amos, Outskirts of Hammerstain, Eiridan Empire
Ezakem 10 AE
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A cool breeze whipped Nash's face and the cold roof shingles sent shivers up his palms. He cherished the experience, mindfully breathing the fresh air and feeling every bit of his body before the last of daylight completely retreated. The night was about to start.
He squinted at the setting sun beyond the evergreen forest sprawled miles and miles before him. A deep green sea of trees flecked with the occasional white of the previous night's snowfall, Nash knew of the dangers lurking behind that beautiful scenery.
Comfortably perched on the rooftop of a lone windmill, the lazy thump of the structure's blades behind him sang to his ears. Far behind lay the small village the Order commissioned him to investigate.
It's a quaint little town of around eight hundred homes by the kingdom's border. A small settlement just minding its own business and not caring much about the world at large. But it is in these small settlements - far from the bustling commerce of big cities and the consequent protection of Imperial Guards, where most evils strike first.
Nash just arrived this morning. According to the local chief, the attacks started two weeks ago. At least forty people were bitten and have since gone missing.
The sun finally disappeared behind the Shearwall Peaks and darkness crept like a jet blanket from those mountains, through the forest, toward the village. At the light's departure, the trees ahead stirred ominously. A wolf howl emanated from the forest.
Nash finally stood from his perch. He casually cracked his neck side to side, rolled his shoulders and pumped his chest to stretch his back, then took a deep breath. He now stood prone on the rooftop, cape slightly flapping in the wind.
Then they appeared. He sensed them before he saw them. Two hulking figures emerged from the tree line at the base of the hill.
They had bulging muscles on hairy torsos — a cross between man and wolf, supported upright by powerful lupine hind legs. Their menacing eyes unnaturally glowed green on dark wolf snouts with rows of sharp teeth, covered in rabid drool.
Nether, the dark matter of the world openly radiates from their bodies like a black miasma. This miasma envelops their body fur or emanates from it, making it difficult to distinguish where fur stops and Nether starts.
Vilkasvir. Wolf-man monsters. Men and women infected with the Vilkas Nether.
The beasts eyed Nash and began to softly growl. They had locked on their first prey. Their noses had picked the youth's scent from over a mile away. He was going to be their first victim.
Nash's hands deftly found the hilt of his daggers sheathed just behind his waist as he mused. Just two? There should at least be twenty.
Well, this should be quick, he thought to himself.
It did not add up. Vilkasvirs are freaks of nature. They are people who have been bitten by other Vilkasvir. Once transformed, a Vilkasvir loses all sentience and becomes a rabid beast, attacking randomly, its hunger insatiable.
One of the beasts charged and leaped up towards the mill rooftop, covering the distance in one bound.
Normal people surviving a Vilkasvir attack is rare. When faced with one, normal people usually die. It's either the victim dies from the attack, or if they survive, the villagers kill them outright before they can mutate. Thus, normal people getting bitten and surviving to become one later is even rarer.
But Nash is no normal person. His irises flashed yellow as he accelerated his senses. At this, the world began to slow down. The windmill blades behind him gradually slowed their twisting. The birds in the crimson sky seemed to float mid-air.
The Vilkasvir flying before him did not seem affected by the slowing of time, only slowing down by a fraction. Nash expected this. Vilkasvirs are extremely fast. But Nash is faster.
It all happened in four heartbeats.
The beast swiped thin air as Nash easily ducked out of harm's way.
Nash twisted in place in one fluid motion and extended a strong kick upward at the beast's prone chest, pushing it directly to the sky. One beat.
Just as he retracted his kicking leg, he immediately leaned completely back, now afloat on open air, as the other beast dove and appeared right in front of him.
In one moment, he could feel the tips of the beast's chest hairs caress his face, in the next, his palms had dug into the creature's chest as he pushed upward.
The punch also tossed this beast to the sky. But with no stable anchor, Nash was likewise thrown towards the ground from the rooftop. Second beat
He flipped mid-air and simultaneously threw his daggers. The two lupines were just beginning to fall back when he threw them. He landed in a crouch at the same time the blades dug into each of the beasts' shoulders. Third beat.
Nash dashed and caught the first creature just before it hit the ground and the momentum carried both of them into a roll. He laid the beast down then he was on his feet again and caught the other creature a short distance away. Both likewise rolled and Nash fluidly laid the other beast before springing back to his feet. Fourth beat.
He finally let his senses dull back to normal. The beasts lay prone on the ground, growling. Still menacing. But weakening. They had begun to lose their gigantic form, reverting to their naked human forms. A middle-aged woman and an aging man. The daggers had done their job. The two struggled to stand, a dagger deeply embedded in each shoulder.
Nash walked to the man and pulled the dagger from his shoulder. The man screamed in pain just before losing consciousness, but no wound remained where the blade struck. Instead, a dark miasma followed the blade out from the man's flesh. Nash did the same with the woman.
Two prone naked people now lay on the ground before him.
"Now then," he spoke to nobody in particular. "Let's get you together, shall we." He heaved the unconscious woman over her shoulder and laid her next to the unconscious man just beside the base of the mill. The man was no longer breathing but the woman is still alive. In pain. But breathing.
She will not live long, however. Once fully transformed, Nether corrupts the Materia. And even though cleansing it out removes the curse, what is left is a sickly body devoid of substantial amounts of Materia. Nash just hopes the Nether has not yet corrupted her vital organs too much.
"Thank you," the woman hoarsely whispered.
"Where are the others?" Nash asked.
"In... the mountain caves," she replied weakly. "He sends us... just two... at a time."
It made sense. Two is just enough to kill some but not enough to massacre an entire village. Enough to gain attention but at the same time bite and infect a few of the brave souls who dare to fight back. More bitten survivors mean more Vilkasvir to fill the ranks.
Only one type of creature has enough power to command Vilkasvir. Their progenitors.
"Akharim," Nash whispered. A creature of Yehetzara itself.
The woman coughed blood. The Nether has already corrupted her innards. She reached out to him.
Nash took her hand and looked gently into her eyes. She was a young woman, barely in her thirties, beautiful.
Such a waste, Nash thought to himself. Everything concerning Nether is a waste. The blighted matter is a scourge that only infects and destroys.
"Please... take... my... daughter... away," she said, barely a whisper amid agonized wheezes.
"I will," Nash assured.
At this, her eyes finally went blank in a peaceful slumber. She was gone. After having done this several times over, the experience has numbed him to the loss. Another life, gone. Nash closed the woman's eyes and let go of her hand.
