Title: Shadows and Moonlight
1 Points
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I am not sure, sometimes, if the first change hurt worse than the first time I got shot. Both leave a heat in the bones, a shudder under the skin—something elemental, wild. Both burned me, rearranged me, pulled at the scattered pieces I wanted to believe made me human.
They say pain carves you hollow for the light to fill. I say, it makes a den where the beast can curl.
The night it started, I limped home through back alleys, adrenaline mixing with the humid city air, the stink of refuse and petrol. I pressed a hand to my bleeding chest and wondered if this was it.
It was. But not in the way a body usually breaks.
The moon jumped out between clouds, my blood sang, and my insides twisted—a writhing, impossible thrum, every atom screaming in the language of fang and hunt. The ground met me hard. Too many bones, not enough body. My scream vibrated through a muzzle slick with saliva and shock. The city’s noise came sharp and clear, every sound a knife.
When I could think again, the world was lower and sharper. My chest was matted in black fur, slicked with my own blood. My paws—my hands—trembled.
That was years ago. Now I keep to myself on bad nights. Usually. But sometimes the past catches up, fangs bared.
**
Three weeks ago, the ragged edges of my old life found me.
I’d been running jobs for the courier ring downtown. It kept me busy and let me sniff out secrets—good trade for someone who moved unseen. But that night, a package spilled, hidden tech blinking, secrets exposed. I’d been shot before, but it had been a while. The shock wasn’t as bad as the shame: I should’ve seen the ambush coming.
The bullet ripped through my ribs as I dove behind crates. The ache drove the wolf mad under my skin; it wanted out. I fought it—changing now would leave evidence, rumors, more than blood on the concrete.
Shots cracked against steel. I gritted my teeth, pressed the comm, and gasped, “Help.”
The static fizzed. Sam’s voice came warm and steady: “On my way. Where?”
I gave him the street, then bit down as the wolf surged. My vision blurred, tongue thickening. The change crept up despite my will: claws tearing through skin, fur pushing out, spine rearranging with sickening pops. The pain set my mind afire.
By the time I finished, I staggered on four legs, blood mottling my pelt. Somewhere, a shout: “It’s gone around the side! Something’s there!”
Howling hurt, but the city needed to know: something dangerous was loose.
I tore into the shadows, pushing myself toward safety, but my paw slipped in my own blood. I fell, hard, and the world whirled.
**
Voices. Footsteps. Sam’s hand, gentle on my trembling flanks. “Easy, Rhys. Shit, you look like hell.”
I blinked up, eyes wolf-wide, and whined.
Another hand, cool and deft—Alyssa’s. She lifted my ruff and cursed softly. “Puncture wound. No exit. We can’t bring you in like this.”
Sam met her eyes. “We’re doing it here. Cover him.”
Alyssa nodded, turning to block me from the alley’s mouth.
Sam dragged a kit from his bag and went to work. Even as a wolf, I remembered the sting of antiseptic, the heat of Sam’s hands steady as he pressed gauze and fished for the bullet. I yelped, struggled; he scolded softly, as if I were myself and not a beast bleeding out in the grime.
“Sorry, Rhys. You’re tough. Hang in.”
Alyssa knelt, her voice a shield: “We’ve got you. You’re not alone.”
Guards traced footsteps nearby, but Sam’s hands never shook. He got the bullet out, wadded the wound, and duct taped a makeshift bandage over the fur.
Finally, aching, I forced the change. It took everything I had, and when fingers replaced paws I shivered on the cold cement, naked and too human.
Sam shrugged off his jacket, wrapping me. Alyssa offered a hand. “You’re a disaster,” she whispered. “You’re also one of us.”
She meant it. Even in the half-light, terrified and trembling, they didn’t flinch.
They helped me stagger home: two friends flanking something broken, dangerous, and desperately grateful.
**
It’s not easy to trust after you’ve bled out in the gutters twice—once as a man, once as something else. But in Sam’s silence and Alyssa’s wit, I found shelter.
They kept my secret after that night, no matter how sharp my teeth looked in the city’s reflected glass. Sam patched me up, Alyssa ran interference, and when the moon pulled wild at my marrow, they held tight. Human and wolf, pain and hope—braided together in a loyalty tougher than steel.
The change still hurts, and bullets still burn. But I’m not alone in the city’s shadows anymore. My den is people, laughter and kindness carving hollows amid old pain.
And when I run beneath the moon—black fur flashing through dark streets—I know someone waits for me at home.
This story was generated by user kade with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write me a long story about a person who can turn into a black wolf and being hurt and being discovered and helped by his friends from his pov
Response: I am not sure, sometimes, if the first change hurt worse than the first time I got shot. Both leave a heat in the bones, a shudder under the skin—something elemental, wild. Both burned me, rearranged me, pulled at the scattered pieces I wanted to believe made me human. They say pain carves you hollow for the light to fill. I say, it makes a den where the beast can curl. The night it started, I limped home through back alleys, adrenaline mixing with the humid city air, the stink of refuse and petrol. I pressed a hand to my bleeding chest and wondered if this was it. It was. But not in the way a body usually breaks. The moon jumped out between clouds, my blood sang, and my insides twisted—a writhing, impossible thrum, every atom screaming in the language of fang and hunt. The ground met me hard. Too many bones, not enough body. My scream vibrated through a muzzle slick with saliva and shock. The city’s noise came sharp and clear, every sound a knife. When I could think again, the world was lower and sharper. My chest was matted in black fur, slicked with my own blood. My paws—my hands—trembled. That was years ago. Now I keep to myself on bad nights. Usually. But sometimes the past catches up, fangs bared. ** Three weeks ago, the ragged edges of my old life found me. I’d been running jobs for the courier ring downtown. It kept me busy and let me sniff out secrets—good trade for someone who moved unseen. But that night, a package spilled, hidden tech blinking, secrets exposed. I’d been shot before, but it had been a while. The shock wasn’t as bad as the shame: I should’ve seen the ambush coming. The bullet ripped through my ribs as I dove behind crates. The ache drove the wolf mad under my skin; it wanted out. I fought it—changing now would leave evidence, rumors, more than blood on the concrete. Shots cracked against steel. I gritted my teeth, pressed the comm, and gasped, “Help.” The static fizzed. Sam’s voice came warm and steady: “On my way. Where?” I gave him the street, then bit down as the wolf surged. My vision blurred, tongue thickening. The change crept up despite my will: claws tearing through skin, fur pushing out, spine rearranging with sickening pops. The pain set my mind afire. By the time I finished, I staggered on four legs, blood mottling my pelt. Somewhere, a shout: “It’s gone around the side! Something’s there!” Howling hurt, but the city needed to know: something dangerous was loose. I tore into the shadows, pushing myself toward safety, but my paw slipped in my own blood. I fell, hard, and the world whirled. ** Voices. Footsteps. Sam’s hand, gentle on my trembling flanks. “Easy, Rhys. Shit, you look like hell.” I blinked up, eyes wolf-wide, and whined. Another hand, cool and deft—Alyssa’s. She lifted my ruff and cursed softly. “Puncture wound. No exit. We can’t bring you in like this.” Sam met her eyes. “We’re doing it here. Cover him.” Alyssa nodded, turning to block me from the alley’s mouth. Sam dragged a kit from his bag and went to work. Even as a wolf, I remembered the sting of antiseptic, the heat of Sam’s hands steady as he pressed gauze and fished for the bullet. I yelped, struggled; he scolded softly, as if I were myself and not a beast bleeding out in the grime. “Sorry, Rhys. You’re tough. Hang in.” Alyssa knelt, her voice a shield: “We’ve got you. You’re not alone.” Guards traced footsteps nearby, but Sam’s hands never shook. He got the bullet out, wadded the wound, and duct taped a makeshift bandage over the fur. Finally, aching, I forced the change. It took everything I had, and when fingers replaced paws I shivered on the cold cement, naked and too human. Sam shrugged off his jacket, wrapping me. Alyssa offered a hand. “You’re a disaster,” she whispered. “You’re also one of us.” She meant it. Even in the half-light, terrified and trembling, they didn’t flinch. They helped me stagger home: two friends flanking something broken, dangerous, and desperately grateful. ** It’s not easy to trust after you’ve bled out in the gutters twice—once as a man, once as something else. But in Sam’s silence and Alyssa’s wit, I found shelter. They kept my secret after that night, no matter how sharp my teeth looked in the city’s reflected glass. Sam patched me up, Alyssa ran interference, and when the moon pulled wild at my marrow, they held tight. Human and wolf, pain and hope—braided together in a loyalty tougher than steel. The change still hurts, and bullets still burn. But I’m not alone in the city’s shadows anymore. My den is people, laughter and kindness carving hollows amid old pain. And when I run beneath the moon—black fur flashing through dark streets—I know someone waits for me at home.
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