Ritual
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Cosmo’s POV
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The night air carried a crisp bite as we neared the eastern ridge. Each breath came out in faint clouds, vanishing into the darkness. The scent of damp earth and moss surrounded us, the towering trees casting long, restless shadows under the silver glow of the moon.
Goob shuffled beside me, his ears flicking nervously. “I still think we should’ve brought, like… I don’t know, a physician or something. Just in case one of us turns into a cursed, half-shifted horror.”
Scraps shot him a glare. “We have a physician. You dragged him into this.”
Goob blinked, then turned to me, realization dawning. “Oh. Right. Cosmo, you’ll patch us up if things go wrong, right?”
I sighed, adjusting my satchel filled with herbs and supplies. “If things go wrong, Goob, it won’t be a matter of patching up.” I gave him a look, firm but not unkind. “This isn’t just some experiment. It’s ancient magic. If we fail, we pay for it. And besides, I don’t even use magic when I usually patch you all up, when you’re sick, when you break a bone, when you show up with concerning bruises and won’t tell me why…”
Goob visibly gulped, clutching his coat tighter. “That’s… really reassuring. Thanks.”
I shook my head, suppressing a small, tired smile, and kept walking.
Boxten led the way, his broad shoulders tense, ears twitching at every sound. He hadn’t said much since we left. His usual gruff commands were still there, but beneath them, there was something quieter. Hesitation? No. Something heavier.
“Here,” he finally muttered, stopping at the mouth of the cave.
The entrance loomed before us, jagged and deep, as if the earth had cracked open just to swallow anyone foolish enough to step inside. A sharp wind howled through the trees, rustling the leaves in restless whispers.
I glanced at Scraps. She stood tall, arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But I noticed her fingers tapping lightly against her arm a nervous habit I’d picked up on over the years.
Goob swallowed again. “So… uh. Last chance to back out?”
Boxten exhaled sharply through his nose. “You’re free to leave if you’re too afraid.”
Goob frowned, his tail lowering slightly. “I never said that.”
Boxten’s gaze flickered toward me for a moment before he turned and stepped inside the cave. No hesitation. No words. Just purpose.
I followed, my heartbeat steady but firm.
This was it.
---
3rd Pov.
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The sound of the forest was quiet and still. Too still. Not a single bird called, no leaves rustled, and even the wind seemed to hold its breath. It was as if the whole world was waiting, watching.
The mouth of the cave yawned open before them like the gaping maw of some ancient beast, jagged stone teeth framing the darkness within. A heavy scent clung to the air damp earth, something metallic, something old. The kind of scent that made your instincts scream to turn back.
Boxten led the way inside, his form swallowed quickly by the shadows. The others hesitated for a brief second before following, their footsteps echoing against the stone.
The deeper they went, the colder it became. The warmth of the outside world faded away, replaced by something thick, something pressing. A silence that wasn’t just the absence of sound it was aware.
Goob shivered. “I don’t like this.”
“No one asked you to,” Boxten muttered, but his voice was quieter than usual.
Scraps moved beside Cosmo, her usual confidence tempered by wariness. “You said this place was important. That the moon’s influence is strongest here.”
Cosmo nodded, gripping the strap of his satchel tighter. “It is. This cave is old, older than the village, older than most of our recorded history. Rituals like this require a place of power. And this…” He gestured around them, at the deep carvings etched into the walls, at the way the cave seemed to breathe around them. “…This is it.”
The carvings stretched from floor to ceiling, winding patterns that twisted and coiled like roots or veins. Some were faded, barely visible, while others were fresh, as if the stone had been wounded only recently.
Goob frowned, reaching out to trace one with his fingers. “What do they mean?”
Boxten’s voice was low. “They’re warnings.”
Goob yanked his hand back.
Cosmo exhaled, kneeling near the center of the cave. The ground was uneven, but a circular indentation had been deliberately carved into the stone, surrounded by more symbols. This was where it had to be done.
“We don’t have much time,” he said, voice steady despite the weight pressing down on them. “Once we start, we can’t stop. No matter what happens.”
Goob gulped audibly. “Even if something goes wrong?”
Boxten’s gaze was sharp. “Especially if something goes wrong.”
Silence stretched between them, the unspoken tension settling deep into their bones. The cave didn’t just feel ancient it felt hungry. Like it had seen this before. Like it had been waiting for them.
The ritual was about to begin.
The cave seemed to exhale around them, the air thick with something unseen, something ancient. The deeper they stood within its maw, the heavier it felt like the stone walls themselves were pressing inward, listening, waiting.
Boxten stood at the center, his presence commanding, his gaze sharp and unyielding. Shadows danced across his face as the torchlight flickered, casting jagged shapes against the uneven rock. His ears twitched, attuned to something beyond what the others could hear.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he reached for the bottles of blood, each labeled with their names in dark, inked symbols. The liquid inside gleamed in the dim light, thick and rich with power. One by one, he uncorked them, the scent of iron flooding the chamber, mixing with the damp earth and something older something almost rotten, buried beneath layers of time.
Goob swallowed hard, his nose wrinkling. “Ugh… That’s… a lot.”
Scraps shot him a sharp look. “Don’t start.”
Boxten ignored them, steady as ever. He carefully poured each of their offerings into a larger, blackened glass bottle, the combined blood swirling together into a deep, unnatural shade of crimson. He held it up for a moment, watching the way the liquid clung to the glass, thicker than it should have been.
Then, he began to shake it.
The cave responded immediately. The air trembled, a low, thrumming sound vibrating through the walls, beneath their feet, in their bones.
Boxten’s voice was the next thing to cut through the suffocating silence. He chanted, his words ancient and guttural, a language that scraped against the mind like claws on stone. It wasn’t meant for mortal tongues it belonged to something older, something buried deep in forgotten places.
As he moved, his body shifted slightly with each syllable, swaying almost unconsciously, as if guided by unseen hands. His claws tightened around the bottle, his grip unwavering, even as the air around him thickened, pressing inward, demanding attention.
The symbols on the cave walls pulsed.
Not just from the flickering torchlight but with something alive.
Cosmo stiffened. He could feel it, an unseen force slithering through the air, curling around his limbs like invisible vines. His fur bristled, every instinct screaming that this was wrong, that they shouldn’t be here, that something was watching.
He swallowed the unease and focused on Boxten.
The chanting grew louder. The cave’s breath hitched.
Goob shuffled closer to Scraps, his voice barely a whisper. “Uh… I really don’t like this.”
“Just stay quite okay?” Scraps muttered, her arms crossed tight over her chest. But even she wasn’t unaffected her sharp eyes darted to the shifting shadows, her usual confidence tempered with unease.
Boxten’s voice rose sharply one final phrase, spoken with force.
Then, silence.
The cave seemed to hold still, as if considering.
And then, the earth groaned.
The cave held its breath.
That deep, resonant sound had not faded it still lingered, pressing against their skulls, vibrating inside their ribs like something alive, something crawling just beneath the skin.
Boxten moved with precision, his claws dipping into the thickened blood as he began outlining the ritual circle. Each stroke of his hand carried purpose, carving symbols that had not been spoken aloud in generations. The blood smeared against the cold stone, unnaturally dark, glistening like oil in the flickering torchlight.
He traced a shamanic circle first a foundation. But within it, he carved something more.
The pentagram.
Then three smaller circles, each carefully measured, drawn in deliberate, unbroken lines. When he finished, he poured the remaining blood into the center of each.
The scent was suffocating now, thick with iron and something else, something acrid, something old. It clung to their throats, coated their tongues.
Goob took an uneasy step back. "I I don’t know if I wanna do this anymore," he muttered, voice wavering.
Scraps shot him a glare, but even she wasn’t unaffected. Her arms were stiff at her sides, fingers twitching slightly. “Too late for second thoughts.”
Boxten ignored them both. His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he stepped back, observing his work. The cave was darker now, as if the ritual itself had drawn the very light from the room, swallowing it whole.
Then, the blood moved.
It slithered.
Not quickly. Not all at once. But slowly wrongly. The way something dead might twitch long after it should have stopped.
Cosmo’s breath caught in his throat. “Boxten ”
“I know,” Boxten muttered, tense.
The blood pulsed.
Throbbed.
And then, it screamed.
Not with sound. But with feeling.
A sharp, searing pain exploded through their skulls, a pressure behind their eyes, inside their teeth, inside their very bones.
Goob dropped to his knees, clutching his head. “What-what the hell is this?!”
Scraps gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay upright, but even she staggered under the weight of it.
Boxten barely flinched, but his grip tightened into fists, claws digging into his palms. "It's reacting. The blood is waking up."
Waking up.
The words made Cosmo’s stomach turn. He stared at the ritual circle, at the way the blood twisted and coiled, moving in ways it should not…could not.
Something pulsed beneath the cave floor.
A heartbeat.
A heartbeat that did not belong to any of them.
The air turned thick and wet, the scent of decay curling into their lungs. The torchlight flickered erratically then, one by one, they went out.
Total darkness swallowed them.
The cave breathed again.
But this time, it wasn’t the wind.
It was something else.
Something was here.
Something watching.
The eye sat in the darkness massive, unblinking, too wide, too wet. It did not blink. It did not move. It only stared.
Cosmo felt the weight of its gaze sink into his skin, pressing deep into his chest like fingers curling around his ribs. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t look away.
Boxten, however, didn’t hesitate.
He forced his attention down to the scroll in his hands, his grip tight enough to shake the fragile parchment. The words old, ancient, forbidden seemed to shift and writhe under his gaze, the ink swimming as if alive.
A sharp, rattling breath escaped his lips.
“…You three,” he said, voice low, barely above a whisper. "Step into the pentagram. Kneel."
His tone left no room for argument.
Goob flinched, his tail curling tight against his legs. “Boxten, I I don’t ”
“Now.”
Goob shut his mouth, swallowing hard.
The three stepped forward.
The blood at their feet was no longer still. It moved, writhing like slick tendrils, reaching, stretching, curling at their heels like it wanted to pull them down.
Boxten continued, his voice tense.
“Take the bottle with your own blood.” His eyes flickered toward them, glowing faintly in the darkness. “And drink it.”
A silence.
Thick. Heavy.
Scraps clenched her jaw, staring at the thick, darkened liquid inside her bottle. “This… this is insane.”
“It’s what the ritual requires,” Boxten murmured, not meeting her gaze.
Cosmo held his bottle carefully. He could feel the warmth still inside it. His own blood.
Goob whimpered. “This is a joke, right? Drinking our own blood? That-that’s not-”
Boxten cut him off. “And cry.”
Goob froze. “What?”
Boxten’s expression was unreadable, his grip tightening around the scroll. He read the words again, his eyes tracing over the ancient script as if hoping it would change.
But it didn’t.
“The ritual requires pain,” he murmured. “Regret. Grief. The blood must carry more than just our essence it must carry our suffering.”
His claws curled against the parchment.
“We drink it. And we cry.”
Another silence.
Goob trembled, staring at the bottle in his hands like it was poison. “Boxten… I don’t think I can-”
“Then leave,” Boxten snapped, his voice sharp.
Goob flinched.
Boxten exhaled slowly, his expression tightening. “This isn’t just a ritual. This is transformation. You can’t become something new without leaving something behind. That’s the price.”
His gaze flickered toward the others. “So drink.”
Scraps was the first to move.
She knelt. Slowly.
She lifted the bottle to her lips.
And she drank.
The liquid was warm. Thick. Bitter, with a taste of metal and something she couldn’t place. It slithered down her throat in a way that felt wrong, like it wasn’t meant to go back inside her body.
But she didn’t stop.
She didn’t flinch.
Goob watched, horrified.
Cosmo took a slow, measured breath. Then, without another word, he did the same.
Goob was the last. His hands shook violently as he raised the bottle to his lips.
He gagged on the first sip.
But he swallowed.
And then-
The screaming began.
It wasn’t from any of them.
It was inside them.
A wail that ripped through their skulls, through their bones, through the deepest parts of their souls.
The eye blinked.
The blood in the circle pulled.
Something inside them snapped.
And then
They began to change.
The eye wailed.
It had no mouth. No lips. No throat. And yet, its voice filled the cave, a sound that didn’t belong in this world. It rang in their skulls, rattling through their bones, clawing into their minds like nails scraping against raw nerves.
It cried.
Thick, sluggish blood leaked from its pupil, sliding down in grotesque streaks, dripping into the circle. The moment it touched the ritual markings, the earth trembled.
Goob screamed first.
His body twisted.
Something inside him tore apart, like his flesh was being peeled from his bones, then stitched back together wrong. His hands curled, his claws scraping deep into the stone beneath him. His breath came in ragged, choked gasps. His veins burned.
Scraps' scream followed, her body convulsing, her back arching as if something inside her was pulling at her spine. Her limbs stretched, her muscles tightening, her bones bending in ways they shouldn’t. Every nerve in her body was alight with searing agony.
Cosmo's head snapped back, his lips parting in a silent scream before the sound finally ripped free a sound that wasn’t human, wasn’t wolf, wasn’t anything natural. It was wrong. Impossible.
And the eye watched.
It stared wide, unblinking its color shifting from pale white to a deep, cursed crimson.
The air inside the cave thickened, choking them, sinking into their lungs like they were breathing something alive.
The blood circle moved.
The markings on the ground twisted, pulsed, bled. The symbols shifted, warping into something ancient, something that had no place in their world.
Goob’s fingers snapped.
His arm lengthened, his joints grinding, his spine jerking forward in a sudden, horrific lurch. His scream turned wet, something thick and dark bubbling up his throat.
He was changing.
Not shifting. Changing.
This wasn’t the smooth, natural transformation of a werewolf shifting forms. This was forced, like something inside them was being ripped apart and rebuilt from scratch.
Scraps clawed at her chest, gasping, choking. She could feel it her own ribs moving. Expanding. The muscles around them stretched like they were being peeled back and reassembled.
Cosmo shuddered violently, his eyes rolling back, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His hands clenched at his throat as if something inside was choking him, rearranging him, suffocating him with his own existence.
And still-
The eye wept.
It mourned.
It watched.
It judged.
But the ritual wasn’t over.
Not yet.
A thick gray fog slithered across the cave floor, creeping toward the three figures still writhing in agony. It moved unnaturally, like something alive, wrapping around their bodies like a pair of chained hands dragging them deeper into an unseen abyss.
Boxten staggered back, his breath hitching. His instincts screamed at him to do something, to move, to stop this. But the fog pressed against him, thick as tar, making the air heavy making it hard to breathe, to think, to see.
The fog wasn’t just air. It was something else.
It pulsed. It whispered.
And when it touched his skin, it burned.
Boxten hissed, clutching his arm, but his eyes never left the others. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, his claws digging into his palms.
This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.
Something was wrong.
Goob let out a sharp, broken sob, his body still twitching violently within the blood-drenched circle. His limbs spasmed, his back arching, his mouth opening in a scream that never made it past his lips. The fog coiled around his throat, slipping between his teeth, into his mouth, down his throat forcing its way inside him.
His eyes rolled back, the veins in his skin turning black, twisting, bulging beneath his flesh. His fingers clawed uselessly at the fog strangling him, his breath coming in wet, desperate gasps.
Scraps was next.
She fell forward onto her hands, her nails scraping against the stone. Her shoulders shook violently, her body trying to fight whatever force was inside her. But the fog wrapped around her spine, slithering under her skin like it was searching for something deeper.
Her jaw snapped open, too wide, unnatural.
A horrible crack echoed in the cave as her neck twisted sharply to the side then back again. Her limbs twitched, jerked, distorted. Something inside her body was breaking, shifting, forcing itself to take shape.
It was using them.
Cosmo barely moved, his body shaking uncontrollably. His breathing had gone shallow, erratic. The fog had wrapped around his chest, pressing down, pressing in, like it was trying to crush him, reshape him, absorb him. His fingers twitched against the ground, clawing at nothing.
Boxten’s stomach churned.
Cosmo’s blood.
It had started to rise from the ground.
Not in droplets. Not in a pool.
In tendrils.
Moving. Reaching. Searching.
It didn’t drip. It didn’t spill.
It crawled.
The crimson tendrils slithered over Cosmo’s skin, sinking into his veins, merging into him like something desperate to return home.
Boxten’s vision blurred for a moment, his breath catching. No.
This wasn’t right. This wasn’t right.
The symbols on the ground were moving.
They weren’t supposed to move.
They were alive.
The blood that had once been drawn so carefully into precise sigils and runes had begun to twist and distort. The shapes bent, cracked, reformed into something else.
Something older.
Something hungrier.
The eye watched.
Its weeping intensified, its tears of blood pooling into the markings below. The cave walls shuddered, the air growing colder, heavier.
A new sound rose from the depths.
A he heartbeat.
Not one.
Not two.
Three.
They were out of sync. Unnatural. Too fast. Too slow. Too wrong.
Boxten felt pressure against his skull, a dull, gnawing force that made his head throb. His claws dug into his palms, the pain grounding him, keeping him from spiraling into the sheer wrongness of what was happening.
He shut his eyes.
Out of fear.
Out of disgust.
Out of the overwhelming certainty that they had done something that could not be undone.
The cave was silent now.
No more screaming.
No more weeping.
No more movement.
Minutes stretched on, thick and suffocating, before Boxten dared to open his eyes again.
The eye that wretched, bleeding, ever-watching eye was fading. The fog that had wrapped around the three like choking tendrils began to dissolve, retreating into the cracks of the cave floor as if it had never been there.
And then
He saw them.
Goob.
Scraps.
Cosmo.
Boxten's breath hitched.
They looked... human.
No fur.
No claws.
No tails.
No ears.
Just bare skin, trembling, drenched in sweat and blood.
Goob weak, disoriented let out a shaky breath before his eyes rolled back, his body going limp.
“Goob!” Scraps snapped out of her daze, immediately rushing to his side. She was panting, her limbs still trembling, but she forced herself to stay upright as she caught Goob’s unconscious form. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, trying to keep him steady. Even in her rough state, her instincts as an older sister overpowered her pain.
But Cosmo
Cosmo suddenly lurched forward, body convulsing.
Boxten barely had time to react before Cosmo gagged violently, his entire frame trembling
And then, he puked out blood.
Thick. Dark. Too much.
Boxten’s stomach dropped.
“Cosmo!” His voice was sharp, urgent, as he rushed to him, dropping to his knees. His hands hovered for a moment, unsure where to touch, where to hold, what to do.
Cosmo’s entire body shook uncontrollably. His breathing was ragged, uneven, shallow. More blood dripped from his lips, staining the cave floor. The sight made something deep inside Boxten twist painfully.
Boxten reached out, gripping Cosmo’s shoulders, his claws no longer sharp enough to cut skin.
Cosmo’s body was warm.
Too warm.
Like a fever had overtaken him, burning him from the inside out.
Boxten’s eyes darted over him, searching for the changes.
And there they were.
Cosmo’s figure had stayed the same his height, his build, his face. But
His fur was gone.
His ears.
His tail.
Everything that had once made him a werewolf had been stripped away.
And his eyes
His golden eyes.
Once bright, once so full of life.
Now they were amber.
Dull. Dim. Unfamiliar.
Boxten stared.
His chest felt tight.
Something was wrong.
This wasn’t just a transformation.
This was a loss.
A deep, irreversible loss.
“…Cosmo?” Boxten’s voice was quieter now, cautious, afraid.
Cosmo’s fingers twitched, a slight, barely noticeable movement. His breaths came shaky and uneven, each inhale sounding like it scraped against his throat. He shifted, weakly, as if every muscle in his body had been wrung dry and left hollow.
Slowly painfully he lifted his head.
His amber eyes were unfocused, glassy, as if he were looking through Boxten rather than at him.
And then
He spoke.
“…Boxten?”
His voice was frail.
Tired.
Raspy.
It sounded wrong.
Cosmo’s voice had always carried a warmth, a quiet strength even in his gentleness. But now, it was thin, stripped raw, like something had been taken from him.
Boxten felt his throat tighten.
He didn’t think. He just acted.
His arms moved on their own, pulling Cosmo close. Tight. Desperate.
Like he was afraid to let go.
Cosmo let out a weak, startled hum, but he didn’t resist. His limbs felt heavy, barely able to lift, but somehow, his hand found Boxten’s back. His fingers pressed against him, sluggishly patting in an attempt at reassurance.
Boxten barely noticed.
His mind was reeling. His chest felt too tight, too full, too empty all at once.
This was wrong.
Cosmo’s hand, once firm and steady, now trembled against Boxten’s back. His touch was different his claws were gone. His pads, once rough and calloused, were now soft, too smooth, too human.
Cosmo let out a quiet, tired hum. His fingertips brushed against Boxten’s fur, and for a brief second, his dazed mind latched onto the sensation.
Soft.
Was this what it felt like?
Was this how humans felt when they touched a werewolf?
His fingers curled slightly, gripping weakly at Boxten’s fur, as if grounding himself.
As if testing if this was real.
Boxten didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
His arms around Cosmo tightened ever so slightly.
His mind screamed at him…
---
Two Hours later
---
The den was quiet.
The only sound was the crackling of the small fire in the corner, its glow casting flickering shadows along the walls. The air smelled of damp earth, herbs, and lingering blood.
Cosmo and Scraps were recovering, their breathing steadying, their bodies adjusting to the brutal shift they had endured. Goob still hadn’t stirred, his exhaustion so deep that he barely twitched when Scraps tucked the fur blanket around him.
Boxten hadn’t moved.
Hadn’t let go.
Cosmo lay against him, his head resting on Boxten’s shoulder, his body unnaturally still. He wasn’t trembling anymore, but his fingers still curled weakly against Boxten’s fur, as if some part of him feared slipping away.
“…Boxten.”
Boxten’s ears twitched. He hadn’t realized how tightly he was holding onto Cosmo until he felt the slight shift, the quiet murmur of his name.
Slowly, hesitantly, he loosened his grip but only slightly.
“Are you in pain?” Boxten’s voice was low, rougher than usual. He wasn’t sure why he even asked. It was obvious.
Cosmo huffed softly, a ghost of his usual amusement, but it was strained. “That’s… an understatement.” His voice was still raspy, thinner than before, and it made something in Boxten’s chest ache.
He shouldn’t sound like this.
He shouldn’t feel like this.
Boxten clenched his jaw, his ears pinning back slightly. “I’ll get you more herbs.”
Cosmo shook his head weakly. “Not yet.” His fingers gripped at Boxten’s fur, just enough to keep him there.
Boxten froze.
“…Cosmo.”
Cosmo swallowed, his throat clicking. His new amber eyes flickered open, their color duller in the firelight. So human. Too human.
Boxten hated it.
“…I can still hear it,” Cosmo murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
Boxten stiffened.
“Hear what?”
Cosmo’s fingers twitched against him. His breath shuddered as he closed his eyes.
“…The eye.”
Boxten felt his fur bristle.
His arms, which had begun to slacken, tightened again.
“Cosmo…” His voice dropped lower, more urgent. “The eye is gone.”
Cosmo was quiet for a long moment. His breathing hitched.
“…No.” His voice was softer, almost like he was afraid to say it out loud. “It’s still there. Watching.”
Boxten’s grip on him was firm now, his claws subtly digging into Cosmo’s sides, grounding him.
He knew Cosmo. He knew how logical he was, how he didn’t say things unless he meant them.
So why did this feel so wrong?
“…You need to rest,” Boxten muttered, but there was an edge to his voice. A warning. A plea.
Cosmo hummed weakly but didn’t argue. He just pressed his forehead against Boxten’s chest, exhaling slowly.
“…I’m human now,” he whispered, barely audible.
Boxten’s breath hitched.
His arms tightened again.
“…Yeah.” It came out almost bitter.
Cosmo didn’t say anything else.
Neither did Boxten.