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Fic Update: Wolfbann

Chapter 2 - With Fangs and Fury

Fandom: Dishonored Ship: [Eventual] Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Synopsis:MORE WEREWOLF AU. Corvo needs to stop being stuck in prison, so let’s fix that. After that, this is gonna get hella canon-divergent, friends. Notes: I changed the name because I now have a concrete idea of where the story is gonna go. Wolfssegner is now Wolfbann! Wolfssegner will appear as the title for a later installment. >w>

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Dunwall, the capital of Gristol in the Empire of the Isles, is ruled by a single major clerical body: the Abbey of the Everyman. Their main stance is simply the opposition of the Outsider, a figure which they believe resides in the Void and from which all chaos is born. Anything leading to or originating from the Outsider is deemed heretical; bonecharms and runes carved from whales, for example, are a sure sign of heretic activities. Bearing a mark, or a sigil tattoo, was another easy way to identify a follower of the Outsider.

And the presence of magic -- of the ability to disappear, possess or even change shape -- is the highest sign of Outsider influence, one to be eradicated immediately.

So Corvo Attano, for all the horrid joke his life has become, cannot understand why he's still alive.

It is a constant ache to continue to live. After he had… had changed, Burrows had done everything in his power to lock Corvo up, throwing him in his pit of a cell, muzzle on his face, kicked like a dog and fed only scraps to survive off of. He could feel his body lurch and spasm -- something under his skin sang and thrummed and wanted so desperately to come out -- but he would only get through half of a blissfully painful transformation before he was tackled, thrown against the wall, his weakened body forced to let go and recede. He would look up, his red and bleary eyes meeting those terrifying, glowing orbs, teeth bared and fur bristling as he pushed Corvo hard against the concrete.

“You are an abomination,” a voice would say, resonating in his head. “And you do not deserve to live.”

And yet, here he was, his weakened state still lingering, carrying the name of a bird, the body of a monster, still clinging to the desecrated life of a man.

He had heard the stories, of course, when he was a child. Of whales that grew fur in the moon and walked on land, of cursed humans forced to transform at night. They would howl and scream and do the bidding of the Outsider; his mother had warned him to stay clean and good, because if not he would join them, the Outsider's whale-wolves. But he had never really believed her: when he grew up, he learned the howls he had heard over the mountains were nothing more than real wolves, lost in the Serkonan jungles. And then in Dunwall, the howls were replaced with the barkings of the Overseer wolfhounds, and he forgot the stories of his childhood, even while raising a child of his own.

Now, he wished he had remembered and taken stock in the tales his mother had warned him of. And in that dank and dreary cell, starving and weak, he couldn't help but wonder what he had done to be cursed with the wrath of a god.

------

“Rise and shine, pit hound,” a gruff voice of a guard said from down the hall, filling his stomach with sickening dread. Corvo looked up and over, eyes trying to adjust as his nose instinctively -- so many things felt instinctive now, things he didn't understand yet and nobody was around to explain to him -- sniffed, the intake of breath giving more than his other senses ever could. There was the stench of the usual guard but another musk hung under that, one he didn't recognize. He narrowed his eyes, body tensing, fist clenching.

When the shadow of a guard passed over his door, he did not rise and he did not shine, much to the armed man's disappointment.

“You have a special visitor today,” he slurred out, amusement coloring his thick words. Corvo's head inclined, trying to get a better look at the man; was something wrong with him? He inhaled through his nose again and finally identified that heady, wooden, sharp stench-- alcohol. It had been a long time since Corvo himself had drank much more than a glass of Cullero Red, shared with the Empress at court, but wine was noticeably sweet, the blow of fermentation softened by the enticement of fruit. Whatever this man's feet was unsteady on, it was made.of much heavier stuff than a fruit of the vine.

Corvo took the time to look the man up and down, and the guard paid little attention to him in his liquored state. Instead, he hummed under his breath, beckoned a friend over, and started to undo the lock.

“Yanno,” he spilled out, and Corvo wrinkled his nose in response, the stench rolling off the guard now bordering offensive, which was saying something, given the state of his cell. Regardless, as the door swung open and the man staggered in, Corvo jumped to his feet, limbs already vibrating with alertness. But the guard ignored him, continuing with whatever he was doing, ignoring Corvo entirely.

“We figured -- me and the boys -- that leaving you here in like this is getting damn boring. A heretic wolf? Think of the entertaining possibilities…”

Corvo watched him, ready to jump out of his skin if needed, body itching-- but whatever excitement he was starting to build was dashed as a second guard hulked into view, blocking the entrance.

And by his feet stood a growling, snapping, snarling pit hound.

Corvo looked down at the dog just as the dog found him and suddenly, it was lurching against the leash, barking, jumping up to go for the throat.

“So we figured if you're gonna be treated like a pit hound, why not fight one?”

Corvo backed up just as the guard backed out, releasing his friend's dog on Corvo in his tiny cell.

Corvo's breath hitched as the large dog became a fury of fang and fur. Before Corvo could really move, long teeth sank into his arm, immediately drawing blood. His heart pounded in his ears, muffling the laughing of the guards, their drunken cheering, and something dark and deep in his chest begged to come out.

He pushed it down, to the best of his ability. He didn't want to give in, to transform, not because of a dog. But the hound was trained, relentless; its long jaws bit at him again and again, fur bristling as it tore chunks from Corvo's arm. He tried to pry it off, but the blood just ran away from its mouth and its jaws tightened, digging strong fangs in, refusing to let go.

The hound growled and pulled. The guards goaded and laughed. And from somewhere against that blur of pain and searing flesh, Corvo snarled.

He would later blame instinct. That unstoppable force driving him now, telling his body what to do, superseding his mind’s control. There was so much that was instinctual now--the way he snapped up rats that wandered too close, the way he went limp when the large grey wolf pinned him down, the way he sometimes sang, calling for someone anyone out there besides him.

The way his claws grew just to rip a dog off of his arm, sending it across the room in a bid to save his own life.

His body trembled and the growl rolled out of him as his back hunched and ears and fur and tail and muzzle all simultaneously sprouted. The dog whimpered where it hit the wall, but courage was bred into it; it growled and barked even as Corvo's frame grew, bulking out and shadowing the dog even as it lunged again for the thick fur growing on his neck. Corvo dropped to all fours, roaring and shaking as his body erupted, moving to throw the dog off again. His jaws snapped -- but they were nothing more than a blunt object against the protective cage of a muzzle that rendered his fangs useless.

But Corvo was only getting bigger -- and the muzzle wasn't growing with him. The leather against his head strained and pulled, and he shook his head again, an unearthly screech erupting out of him that gave even the trained pit hound pause.

Even as Corvo's mind fled, his body was vaguely still aware of the dog barking, lunging for his face once again. It's teeth connected with leather and pulled away; the stretched skin snapped against his face but the pressure finally released and relief filled him, his fangs flashing, jaws clashing, finding muscled bone as they close down and crunch .

The blood filled his mouth and washed hot over his tongue as the dog screamed, howling in pain. Instinct and energy coursed through Corvo and he bit down, again and again, relishing in the snap of bone, in his screaming prey, in his jaws causing a kill, the promise of food, of energy, of life, he could live with this, liveliveLIVE--

Shouts registered in his long, sound-sensitive ears, followed by the jingling of keys and tearful cries. Corvo turned, a rumble deep in his throat as he prepared to defend his prize, his prey, as a guard rushed the cell. He was so much smaller than Corvo now, who was finally --blessedly-- fully transformed. He reached the ceiling, a whale-sized wolf of folklore, and if perhaps he had been sober the guard would have realized how stupid it was to enter a cramped cell with a fully-fledged Outsider Monster, how ludicrous it was to step in between a wolf and its meal.

The shots rang out, feeling like hot stings against Corvo's abused and rage-filled skin. He turned his bloody head to the guard, the man's face filled with tears as he looked to his dog, his prized fighter, now long gone, the life running out just like hers did and suddenly, memory bubbled up unbidden and Corvo shuddered.

Trapped. Framed. Changed. Ruined. Monster. MonstermonsterABOMINATION.

He opened his mouth and howled, his cry like pained whalesong, screeching and eerie and like no sound and animal should ever make. The guard paused, frozen and terrified against the power of his pain.

The open door of the cell suddenly swam into view, and Corvo held onto his sanity long enough to understand what this meant, how he could take advantage of the drunken guard's hubris. He turned from his meal and leapt, ignoring the yells, ignoring the sharp smell of fear and piss as he surged toward the door, willing his body to finally, finally…

Be free!

Corvo choked and and whimpered as a part of him dissolved into smoke, allowing his hulking frame to slip through the too-small door frame. His arms reached out and the guards screamed in terror, as the monster of a wolf emerged from the cloud, dust and ash coalescing back into the solid form of muscle and bone and fur. Corvo was left panting from exhaustion and surprise but he did not wait, couldn't afford to think of anything but freedom, of getting out, of willing his powerful new legs to move to anywhere but here.

He smoked through the rooms in a fevered, instinct-driven fury, not looking back as his tongue lolled out, his eyes bulged, his nose leading the way to the yard, to the sky, to the smell of river water just beyond--

A howl, hungry and excited, sounded out. Corvo froze, heart hammering, brain reeling.

The Royal Executioner. He was coming. And his tone was after blood.

Corvo's pace quickened, his lupine body powered by adrenaline as it continued to surge forward, ghosting through doors and past guards in a cloud of dust and fur and light. He just wanted to get out and his instincts -- his will to live -- refused to let him die here.

Claws crashed against the floor of the courtyard as Corvo landed, hard and heavy, his eyes turned skyward for the first time in months. His nose pointed to the stars and inhaled , taking in the outside air of Dunwall, and his heart sang, his joy palpable as he let out a small howl to the sky.

If he had been human, or had his wits, he would have known such a cheer would have attracted attention, giving his position away. It was stupid to celebrate before the night was won.

But as thick, heavy paws jumped over the ramparts and into the yard, the Wolf named Raven suddenly realized the grave mistake he had made.

Glowing eyes. A bristling, upright frame. And a growl to match the anger in those long fangs.

The Executioner had arrived.

Corvo was large. This was a fact: he filled his cell, he was too big for regular doors, dwarfing human and hound alike. His weight was close to a metric ton. And yet, at full form, the executioner was even larger still. A giant of a dog, he lived up to the old folkname of whale-wolf.

He stood up and the power of him had Corvo shrinking back, the magic of his form something a mere Turned wolf could only dream of having at their disposal.

“You are not going to leave.”

The pressure of his bidding crashed into Corvo and he wheezed, his smaller body unable to handle the onslaught. He whined, claws flexing, tail tucking. The wolf stalked forward, the magic of him crackling, and Corvo bowed to it.

“What a foolish, stupid thing you are. Just like every other Turned, ” he snarled out, drool dropping, teeth gnashing. “You do not deserve this power. You do not deserve to live.”

Corvo whined, body shaking, ears down, not meeting the gaze of the monster before him. But as he stalked closer, something invariably stronger than even the Great Grey pulled on him, yearned for him, and he gasped as the energy from its source flooded him.

Get out. Climb. Defy him and find Me.

Corvo's eyes shot open and he panted, body paralyzed between two forces pushing against him. He looked up just in time to see the other wolf pull back, readying his practiced killing blow.

Come and find Me! You are not his, but MINE!

Corvo's claws shot out, smashing into the larger Wolf’s face with a resounding crash. Fur flew and skin peeled away, leaving angry red lines behind on a snarling muzzle. But Corvo doesn't stick around to admire his handiwork: instead he was leaping, his legs carrying him upward, towards the ramparts, towards the night sky and freedom.

The snarl followed him, loud and angry. The shots of the guards rang out. Hot bullet pricks turned into a spreading fire but still Corvo surged upwards, long strong claws scrabbling for purchase against smooth and heavy stone. He ignored everything around him but his instinct and a pull greater than himself telling him to come, to live, to belong.

He reached the top of the building and sang, the cold night air a blessing against his cursed and battered flesh. Below him, the compound erupted into chaos; more shots rang out, some finding their mark, others ricocheting off the stone.

But Corvo didn't care; finally, he was free. He was tired and wounded but finally he was out and as he leapt into the Wrenhaven River, his body and mind disengaged and let the river wash him away the cursed Coldridge Prison.

------

“Your life has taken a turn, has it not?”

Corvo gasped and jerked awake, drawing breath so fast his whole body spasmed. As he did, the world under him shifted before righting again, rocking back and forth quickly. A soft, tired voice was talking to him, muffled in his ears, hard to understand. But when the gentle hand touched his shoulder he jerked back and away, instinct taking over. His lip curled, the snarl ripping out of him before he could stop it, but the face of the boatman next to him is soft and worried, not scared or threatening.

His was certainly not the face of a Coldridge guard or the Royal Executioner.

“Woah, woah, easy there, Lord Corvo,” he said gently, hand still outstretched towards Corvo as his other steadied his rocking boat. Corvo took a breath and looked around, trying desperately to right himself and understand what was happening.

He was in a boat. A small boat: wooden and rickety and powered by whale oil, it was perfect for traveling down the Wrenhaven and navigating its many tributaries. He looked up and down the huge expanse of water and his breath evened out as he saw that wherever he was, it was far away from the Tower and its cold, hate-filled prison.

Corvo chanced a glance back to the man. His lids hung heavy and he had grey hair, wrinkles, and mutton chops -- but a small smile was also there, laced with worry. No fear wafted from the man and Corvo squinted.

“Who are you?”

Corvo's voice was rough from disuse and abuse for who knew how many months locked in Coldridge. He winced at the sound of his words, and then again as his tongue rolled over teeth that felt to thick and heavy for his current human mouth.

“Samuel Beechworth, at your service, Lord Corvo,” the boatman said with a smile and the sweep of a sitting bow. “Couldn't believe when I found you half-drowned and half-naked among the reeds downstream from the prison. You've been giving the Lord Regent quite the run-around these last few days with your escape, you know.”

Corvo took a few moments to digest that. He looked down at the clothes he was wearing now; a nondescript pair of slacks and suspenders over a few well worn shirts. They smelled foreign, and he couldn't stop the way he nose curled as he pulled at the fabric.

Sam laughed, noticing. “Couldn't let you die of the plague, Corvo. Luckily, I had a few spare outfits stashed in the boat. Hope you don't mind the temporary dressings, I haven't exactly dried out your fancy Protector coat yet.”

Corvo didn't mind, but it didn't stop his muddled head from reeling, still desperately trying to play catch-up.

“Is that how you know who I am?”

“Oh, well that, and I don't think there's a person in all of Dunwall who doesn't know your face by now, Corvo. You've been a wanted man since the Empress died.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three months now, sir.”

Corvo choked and turned to Sam so fast, the boatman barely had time to register his surprise.

“Emily-- What about Emily?” His wrecked voice cracked and something inside him suddenly burned with a deep-seated need to protect. “Where is she?”

Sam looked nervously at Corvo, and his face said everything Corvo dreaded knowing.

“I was mighty afraid you'd ask, sir. The thing is, is that… Nobody knows.”