Tan

THE BALLAD OF VALOK, THE FIRST WEREBAT


Valok wasn't quite like the other vampires in his clan. Whereas over the decades to centuries they grew jaded and uncaring in regard to those they fed upon, he remained a soft touch; loathing to hurt living things, though he needed to in order to survive.
This, among his tendency to whine about said ordeal, made him less than popular amongst his peers.

Thus, he tended to keep to himself, which was surely the only reason they didn't kick him out.

That being said, one day he overheard the elders speaking of werewolves, and their mix of disdain for such savagery mixed with begrudging respect over such brutal strength.
Could they manipulate their own gift in such a way that they could become something similar? Would temporary physical strength be worth the loss of intelligence and awareness?

Valok rushed to the elders, volunteering to be experimented upon.
If he had to eat, he rationalized, he would much prefer not to remember it.

And so, over months, years, centuries, he was experimented upon. Magic was forced into his ancient veins, and his bones were forced to shift and crack in and out of place.
Eras passed, but one day, he passed out during their tests and woke up as if from a dream.

The council was standing around him, unreadable grins on their faces.

They had finally done it, he was told. He had shifted to a feral beast.

He couldn't remember, only feeling an unimaginable ache and exhaustion.

The experiments would go from twice a week to every day, and each time he would drift off and awake exhausted and in agony.

Until one day, he awoke feeling quite different. He staggered, fell, and was unable to catch himself as he found his arms were at once far too long and oddly heavy, not responding to his attempts at movement in the correct way. As he hit the ground, he noticed how... muffled it felt.

Trying to rub at his face, he found he only had wings with no hands to speak of. He was covered in fur. Bright... orange fur.

"Are you... awake?" one of the elders asked, sounding truly baffled.

"Wh..." he tried to respond, only to find his tongue was too large and heavy in his mouth.

"Well! Isn't that something. Can you shift back?"

He had no idea at all how to do that.

He awkwardly tried to stand on his feet - large, taloned, and attached to the stubbiest of legs - and fell once more, prompting a titter from the group around him.

"Still useless, even with his head on straight," one tutted.

"Why...?" Valok finally managed, sitting, defeated, on the floor.

"Why?" one responded. "For the pursuit of the betterment of our species."

"Mostly because it was damn funny," another cut in, and the group broke out into loud, cackling laughter.

It's rare to find anything funny after being alive for thousands of years, after all.
Unable to shift back, Valok was a source of amusement and derision for a few more decades before he finally decided that enough was enough and staggered out of the clan's castle.

Curiously, the sunlight no longer hurt him.
But he still needed to eat.
God damn it.



AND THUS ENDS THE BALLAD OF VALOK. TAKE THIS NEON BAT HOME
-kai