Wolfsbane: Shadow-Fanged Protector by JadeGretzAI on DeviantArt

***I really appreciate your likes and comments. Thank you so much for your support ***...for more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, catwoman, rogue, samus aran, psylocke, power girl, poison ivy, she hulk, black widow, captain marvel, jean grey, storm, video game fan art, superheroes, comic art, anime and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support Wolfsbane: Shadow-Fanged Protector by Jade GretzEchoes in the MarrowThe scent was a violation, a discordant shriek in the symphony of the city's underbelly. It wasn't the familiar, almost comforting, rot of stagnant water and decay that Rahne Sinclair knew with an intimacy that would have horrified her X-Men teammates. This was something else. A scent of corrupted flesh, of bone ground to dust, and a predatory musk so thick it felt like a physical weight in the air. It was the smell of wrongness, and it coiled in her gut like a cold serpent.Her transitional form was a compromise of flesh and fur, a state of being that was neither fully human nor wholly wolf. Tawny hair, coarse and wild, bristled along her forearms and the sharp line of her jaw. Her ears, now peaked and exquisitely sensitive, swiveled, capturing the faintest drip of water from a rusted pipe, the scuttling of a rat in a distant tunnel. Her senses, a thousand times sharper than a baseline human's, were a double-edged sword in this subterranean labyrinth. They were her greatest weapon, and tonight, they were a conduit for a terror that was as novel as it was profound."Anything, lass?" Colossus's voice, a low rumble that vibrated through the soles of her bare, claw-tipped feet, was a grounding presence in the oppressive dark. His organic steel form, polished to a dull sheen by the flickering beam of his headlamp, was a fortress of a man.Rahne shook her head, her enhanced vision, which turned the suffocating blackness into a world of grays and shimmering outlines, scanning the dripping archways ahead. "Just the stink, Piotr. It’s… it’s a living smell. Like a wound that’s started to think for itself.""Aptly put," came a purring voice from the shadows they had just passed. Kitty Pryde, a ghost in the gloom, phased through a solid wall of brick, her form flickering like a faulty hologram. "I did a sweep of the level above. Nothing. Whatever is making that unholy perfume is keeping to the deep places.""It's the dogs," Rahne stated, her voice a low growl. The disappearances had started a week ago. Stray animals first, then pets snatched from backyards bordering the sewer grates. The media had dubbed the culprits the "Sewer Hounds of Central Park," a lurid moniker for a string of vanishings that had escalated with terrifying speed. Now, people were missing."Mutant dogs?" Piotr’s brow, a solid plane of ridged steel, furrowed. "A pack?""More," Rahne whispered, her nostrils flaring. "Something more." She could smell them, a multitude of them, their individual scents a chaotic jumble that was somehow… unified. There was a harmony in the discord, a single, malevolent will conducting this orchestra of stench.They moved deeper, the tunnel narrowing, the air growing thick and humid. The walls, slick with a slime that seemed to possess a faint, phosphorescent glow, pressed in on them. Rahne led the way, her movements a fluid, predatory lope. She was in her element here, a creature of the dark places, yet the growing sense of dread was an unfamiliar and unwelcome companion.They found the first of them in a cavernous junction where several tunnels converged. It was a dog, or what was left of one. A Great Dane, by the size of its skeletal frame, but the flesh that clung to its bones was a nightmarish tapestry of mutation. Its skin was translucent, revealing a network of pulsating, black veins. Its jaw was unhinged, lined with multiple rows of needle-like teeth. But the most grotesque feature was the mass of writhing, fleshy tendrils that sprouted from its back, each ending in a single, unblinking eye."Saints preserve us," Piotr breathed, his headlamp beam freezing the monstrous tableau.Kitty made a gagging sound, her hand flying to her mouth. "That’s… that’s not natural.""No," a new voice, smooth and seductive, echoed from the darkness of a far tunnel. "It’s art."A figure emerged, stepping into the edge of Piotr's light. He was tall and impossibly thin, dressed in a tattered, velvet smoking jacket that might have been fashionable a century ago. His face was a mask of aristocratic beauty, with high cheekbones and a cupid's bow mouth that was currently twisted in a smile of rapturous delight. His eyes, however, were ancient and hungry."I am the Alchemist," he announced, his voice a silken caress that sent a shiver down Rahne’s spine. "And these are my masterpieces."As he spoke, the darkness behind him began to move. Shapes detached themselves from the shadows, a tide of grotesque canids pouring into the cavern. There were dozens of them, a hellish menagerie of twisted forms. A bulldog with spider-like legs, a poodle whose fur was a mat of writhing worms, a pack of chihuahuas that had fused into a single, multi-headed entity that skittered across the floor on a hundred tiny claws."You did this?" Kitty’s voice was a mixture of outrage and revulsion. "You twisted them into… into these things?"The Alchemist’s smile widened. "I merely… improved them. Unlocked their potential. The mutant gene is such a wonderfully malleable clay." He gestured to the horde, a conductor before his orchestra. "They were lost, abandoned. I gave them purpose. I gave them a family.""And what purpose is that?" Piotr demanded, his fists clenching into massive steel hammers."To cleanse," the Alchemist said, his eyes glinting with a fanatical light. "To purify the city of its filth. And to provide me with… new materials." His gaze lingered on Rahne, a connoisseur's appraisal that made her fur stand on end. "A lycanthrope… oh, the possibilities. Such a perfect blend of human and animal. You, my dear, will be my magnum opus."The horde surged forward, a wave of snapping jaws and clicking claws. Piotr met them head-on, a titan of steel against a tide of flesh. Kitty phased, becoming an intangible whirlwind, her disruptive touch causing the mutant dogs to flicker and short-circuit. Rahne, however, stood her ground, her senses overwhelmed by the cacophony of scents, sounds, and the sheer, undiluted malice that radiated from the creatures.Then, one of them broke through the line. It was a whippet, sleek and unnaturally fast, its skin a patchwork of smooth flesh and iridescent scales. It lunged for Rahne, its jaws gaping. Instinct took over. She met its charge with a snarl, her own form shifting, elongating, the wolf within her rising to the surface. She was a blur of fur and fang, a primal force of nature unleashed.The battle was a maelstrom of violence. The sewers echoed with the clang of steel on bone, the sizzle of disrupted matter, and the savage symphony of snarls, yelps, and the wet tearing of flesh. Rahne was a whirlwind of destruction, her claws and teeth a deadly extension of her will. She fought with a ferocity that bordered on ecstasy, the thrill of the hunt, the dance of life and death, coursing through her veins.But for every one she brought down, two more seemed to take its place. They were relentless, a seemingly endless tide of monstrosities. And through it all, the Alchemist watched, his expression one of detached amusement."You see?" he called out, his voice easily carrying over the din of battle. "You fight with such passion, such… animal grace. But you are a blunt instrument. I am an artist."He snapped his fingers, and the horde’s attack shifted. They were no longer a disorganized mob. They moved with a chilling, coordinated precision, a pack of wolves directed by a single, cunning mind. They flanked Piotr, their combined weight threatening to overwhelm even his immense strength. They anticipated Kitty’s movements, herding her, trying to force her into a solid state.And they swarmed Rahne. She was buried under a writhing mass of mutated flesh, their claws and teeth tearing at her. She fought back, a feral hurricane in the heart of the storm, but the sheer numbers were beginning to tell. Pain, sharp and hot, lanced through her as a dozen sets of jaws found their mark.Her mind reeled, the auras of the creatures a nauseating assault on her senses. But then, through the fog of pain and rage, she felt something else. A flicker of… fear. Not her own, but theirs. It was a faint, almost imperceptible undercurrent in the river of their malice, but it was there.She focused on it, pushing past the pain, her mind a razor-sharp scalpel dissecting the sensory input. And then she found it. A single thread of scent, a unique note in the discordant symphony of the horde. It was the scent of the Alchemist, but it was… inside them. A part of them.He wasn’t just controlling them. He was a part of them.With a final, desperate surge of strength, she threw off her attackers, her roar of defiance echoing through the tunnels. She ignored the rest of the horde, her eyes, glowing with an amber light, fixed on the Alchemist. He was the heart of the beast, the mind that animated this legion of horrors.He saw the change in her, the dawning realization in her eyes. His smile faltered for the first time. "Clever girl," he murmured.Rahne didn't hesitate. She launched herself at him, a tawny streak of pure, untamed fury. He sidestepped with an unnatural grace, his hand darting out, his long, pale fingers brushing against her arm. A jolt of cold fire shot through her, and her body seized up, her muscles locking."I am not without my own… enhancements," he purred, his other hand reaching for her face.But he had made a fatal miscalculation. He had assumed that his control over his creations was absolute. He had not accounted for the primal bond of the pack, the instinct that drove them to protect their own.As his hand neared her, a low growl rumbled through the cavern. It did not come from Rahne. It came from the horde. They had stopped their attack on Piotr and Kitty. Every single one of them, every pair of mutated eyes, was now fixed on the Alchemist.His scent was on her. She was one of them now. She was part of the pack.The Alchemist’s eyes widened in dawning horror. "No," he whispered. "They are my creations. They obey me."But the scent of his own artifice, now mingled with the raw, untamed essence of the wolf-woman, had created a new, unforeseen masterpiece of chaos. The horde, their minds a maelstrom of conflicting commands, turned on their creator.The first to reach him was the Great Dane, its tendrils of eyes swiveling to fix on him with a baleful glare. It lunged, its unhinged jaw clamping down on his arm. The Alchemist screamed, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror that was quickly drowned out by the chorus of snarls and growls as the rest of the horde descended upon him.Rahne, the paralysis receding, watched in stunned silence as the Alchemist was torn apart by his own creations, a victim of his own twisted art. The horde, their master gone, their unifying will shattered, turned on each other, a whirlwind of self-destructive fury.Piotr and Kitty joined her, their faces a mixture of shock and relief. "What… what happened?" Kitty asked, her voice barely a whisper.Rahne looked at the carnage, the writhing mass of mutated flesh consuming itself. "He made a mistake," she said, her voice raspy. "He made me part of the pack."The terror of the night began to recede, replaced by a profound sense of weariness. But as she looked at the dying remnants of the Alchemist's horde, a new, unsettling thought took root in her mind.The Alchemist had said he had unlocked their potential. He had called them his family. And for a fleeting, terrifying moment, as she had been one with them, she had felt it too. A sense of belonging, of shared purpose, however twisted and monstrous.A shiver, not of cold, but of something far more unsettling, ran down her spine. The echoes of the marrow, the whispers of the blood, were a language she was still learning to understand. And tonight, in the stygian depths beneath the city, she had heard a new and terrible dialect. One that she knew, with a chilling certainty, she would hear again. The city had many dark places, and many more lost souls waiting for an artist to give them form.

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