Larry Correia - Monster Hunter Alpha

“Mr. Smith had some weird tastes in home decor.” Puzzled, Earl approached the bones cautiously, knowing from experience that just because something was dead didn’t mean it might not try to murder you. Yet it was not some fierce undead, just a bunch of bones held together with stainless steel rods. It was a museum-quality display. The skull leered at him, grinning with long teeth, that despite their condition, still appeared razor sharp.

“At first I thought this guy had his-self a dinosaur-you know rich folks. But that ain’t no dinosaur, now, is it, eh? It’s got a wolf’s head. Poached and skinned enough of the things to tell,” Aino said. “Oh, don’t give me that look, Heather. What’re you gonna do? Cite me? Look at the skull. That’s a wolf’s skull on a man-shaped body. Sound familiar?”

“It’s a werewolf, all right.” Earl circled the stand, studying how the bones came together. “Just not like any I’ve ever seen.”

“Because it’s the size of a moose.”

“It ain’t just the size. You should see a warg some time.”

“What’s a warg?” Aino asked.

“A real pain in the ass to potty train,” Earl muttered. He lit a cigarette as he paced around the fossil, scowling at the oddity. You can’t study monsters for a century and not learn a thing or two about biology. These looked like werewolf remains, but they were wrong in more ways than just the size. The claws were thicker and too curved. The jaws were longer. The joints were wrong. Though werewolves could run on all fours for short bursts, they were primarily bipeds. Though the stand had this thing upright, it appeared it would be much more comfortable with all four paws on the ground. “I’ve seen a lot of monsters in my day, but I don’t have a clue what this thing is.”

Heather spoke up for the first time. “It’s old.”

“Probably.” Earl examined the creature’s outstretched arm. The bones were remarkably thick. If it had the regenerative abilities of a werewolf, it would have been a nightmare to fight. “Hard to tell when it died.”

“No, I mean it’s really old. I can sm-” Heather glanced over at Aino. “I just can tell. This thing is ancient.”

Earl knew her nose was telling her things far beyond her logical comprehension. “How old do you think?”

“Well, I don’t actually know.”

There was knowledge, and then there was instinct. “Give me your best guess.”

Heather seemed embarrassed. “I’ve got a feeling this thing was hunting wooly mammoths, if you get my drift.”

Not for the first time, Earl found himself missing his werewolf senses. He’d forgotten just how unaware humans were about the world around them. If only he could-Earl caught himself. Don’t be an idiot. After longing to be free of the curse for a lifetime, now by some miracle he’d got his wish and only a few hours later he was whining about it. Hypocrite.

Turning his attention back to the task at hand, Earl followed the creature’s forearm down to the extended claws. Just like a werewolf. This was no paw: it was a hand, fingers, and an opposable thumb. It took him a moment to realize what was wrong.

There were only three fingers. The pinky was missing. It wouldn’t seem so odd, except that the skeleton was remarkably complete. The bone had been sheared off, but he couldn’t tell if that had been before or after it had died.

A fragment of his dream broke loose. The cigarette fell forgotten from his lips. It was as if the dead bones were covered in muscle and sinew, skin and fur. It was a living, breathing monstrosity, thrashing against the thick ropes that bound it to heavy stones. A lone warrior stepped forward to chain the monster’s soul, while an army of men pulled on the ropes, dragging the mighty claw up, for the warrior to place his own palm against it.

He blinked, and the vision was gone. Hesitantly, Earl extended his hand until his palm touched the cold bone and steel rods. It was the image of the amulet. It was the beginning.

“Holy shit…” Earl stepped away. He rubbed his face in his hands. This wasn’t some mere museum decoration. This was a sacred object. For the Alpha, this was holy ground.

“What is it, Harbinger?” Heather asked quickly.

“It’s the first one,” he whispered. Just like the images from when the Alpha had torn the curse from his soul; this was the beginning. He turned toward Heather. “This is how the curse started!”

“So, it’s a caveman werewolf?” Heather asked.

“No. This was never a human being. People think of werewolves as a cross between a man and a wolf, but they’re not. The behavior is wrong. The features are wrong. It’s a cross between man and something, all right, but something different than a wolf. Similar, but something older, stronger. Something extinct. Something worse. ”

Aino scratched his stubbly face. “I don’t get what you’re saying.”

Heather instinctively knew. “This thing started as a wolf, but got twisted. Corrupted somehow.”

“There are other shapeshifters out there. All sorts. Man and animal combined, but none are near as savage as the werewolf.” Earl finally stopped and stared right into the ocular cavity of the huge skull. “Look at it! It’s-”

“Beautiful.”

The voice had come from above. Earl spun around as Aino’s light flickered up. Nikolai Petrov leaned over the upstairs railing, haggard, with dark circles under his wild eyes. Earl reached for his Thompson but knew it was too late. The Russian gave a small, fatalistic smile as he casually pointed his strange rifle at Earl’s face. “Place your weapons on the ground. Slowly.”

Nikolai had the drop on them. Earl complied, sliding the sling over his head and putting the Thompson on the carpet. He must have snuck in an upstairs window. Distracted by the bones, none of them had even heard him coming. Heather and Aino were hesitating, but Earl shook his head at them. With Nikolai’s inhuman reaction times, they’d be dead before either could lift their guns.

“Sidearms as well.” Nikolai was wearing a bloodstained coat and a shirt that had been torn to rags. The ribcage was visible through his too-pale skin. Nikolai was little more than a walking skeleton. Their battle had taken a fierce toll. “You should have finished me when you had the opportunity, Harbinger.”

Cursing himself, Earl tossed his revolvers on the floor and slowly raised his hands to a position of surrender. “If somebody hadn’t set me on fire, I would’ve.”

“Yes. Fortunate. I should just shoot you now, but-” Nikolai suddenly grimaced, as if in terrible pain. Earl tensed, ready to go for his revolver, but Nikolai’s gun did not waver. The Russian’s face turned red as he rapidly blinked. “I have to know why. Why did you do it? After all these years, why did you break our truce?”

“I didn’t do any-”

Nikolai jerked, the muscles of his face twitching hard. “Shut up!” he shouted, spit flying from his lips. “Shut up!”

“I was trying to answer your question.”

“Not you, idiot,” Nikolai snarled, steadying himself against the railing. “ Him. I asked you a question, Harbinger. Answer me.”

Nikolai’s lost it. “Well, I will if you’d quit yelling,” Earl said, using the calmest voice he had. “Make up your mind.”

Nikolai moved the rifle slightly and blew a hole in the carpet a few inches in front of Earl’s boot. The gun was suppressed, but the sound still made a resounding THUMP in the enclosed space. “No more games. Why did you kill her? She’d done nothing to you.”

“I have no idea who you’re talking about,” Earl said.

“You came all the way to Sklad to rip her apart.”

“Where the fuck is Sklad?”

“It was my home!” Nikolai roared. The next bullet winged Earl’s leg, just barely creasing armor and scratching flesh. Earl flinched. Heather cried out. His minotaur-hide jacket might stop a rifle bullet, but regular Hunter armor wouldn’t. Earl knew the next one was going through something vital. The scratch burned and let loose a thin trickle of blood.