"At long last, my experiment is finished."

Garvan takes off his goggles, showing his large pale blue eyes, which are ringed by dark circles from many restless nights, giving him the appearance of a raccoon. His eyes contain a beastly thrill and glee.

"However, it has yet to be put to the test. If there are any adverse effects, I need to make sure it's effective." he says. His eyes turn sharp with seriousness and determination; Similar to that of a hawk during a hunt.

He has crescent-shaped ears, a hooked nose, thin lips and a sharp chin that pairs well with his snow-white hair covering his head cascading down to his neck.

Sweat drips from his hair as he is panting heavily like the rattling of a chainsaw. He's wearing a pair of purple leather gloves and clutching a glass bottle. The luminous green liquid within the bottle can be seen plainly.

Darkness rules most of this domain, excepting the counter, which is guarded by few light bringers; Candles wield their swords of light and fend off the darkness that threatens to devour the whole place. Reinforcement isn't available and will never be, for this domain possesses no windows for light to pass through.

The walls are damp and chipped, covered with symbols, the floor is covered in sand and chalk, as though he had been drawing pentagrams.

On the high counter, rests a transparent beaker covered in black liquid. Two stones owning the same trait as the liquid bottled up in the beaker - lightless. Five vessels of that murky liquid lines alongside them.

Behind the counter is a small table, on which sits an egg-shaped stone and a human skull.

A scroll has been tied to one of the candles, and is burning in an unearthly blue light.

The room has a certain charm about it.

The items on the counter seem logical in terms of having been gathered for a ritual, but the atmosphere they create is not that of a logical ritual.

His respiration returns to normal after he eventually calms down.

Thud! Thud! The crimson oak door, which is covered in cobwebs and antique markings, makes a thudding noise. Garvan can't tell from here, but the noise sounds like someone racing about.

"Hello?" he calls out with a trembling voice, and braces himself for what could come next.

The door bursts open in the next second, blinding him with numerous enormous, towering hooded figures wearing dark red robes and wielding large curved blades.

"We are the Emperor's Shadow Soldiers. We're on the lookout for anyone involved in witchcraft. We're looking for you right now."

The term "Shadow Soldier" connotes "immediate execution."

Garvan feels fear rising up inside him, as he is outnumbered and unprepared. There isn't much he can do when faced with the might of the Empire's military.

He attempts to come up with any way out of this, any flaw the Shadows could have. The only thing on his mind is the outcome of his experiment.

Before the Emperor's Shadows can do anything, he swallows the potion whole.

As the potion takes effect, his body trembles and shakes, and suddenly his mind blanks out, falling to the monstrous black of darkness.

Gradually, as the ray of consciousness passes through the membrane of his sight and dissolves, every cell in his brain gets preoccupied with decoding the complexity of the reality's equation, and his consciousness returns.

A throbbing pain emanates from his temples. His skin is covered in a cold sweat, and he pants heavily, gasping for breath. He looks around, blinking heavily.

Everything seems to be spinning. His head feels like it's about to split in two, as though an invisible hand reached inside and is twisting all his organs.

He closes his eyes, and opens them again. A pool of blood flooding the floor is spread across the stones.

Spinning, he looks at the door to his lab, where the bodies of the Shadows lay sprawled like fragments of puzzle pieces on a jumbled board game.

One of them is missing an arm, though it could be tethered to the other side, bent in an odd way.

He tries to rise up but falls down again. He clenches his teeth and tries again, this time able to stand on his forearms. His vision is blurry as he staggers to his lab's door.

He takes a deep breath, and steps outside. A low growl boils out from inside his throat. He pants heavily, and looks around.

He is in awe of the situation and wonders, "What the....what is going on? This potion...it must've...."

"It's most likely a metamorphosis into a werewolf. I had no desire to murder them. I'd never assassinate men in my own nation, especially law enforcement men. Transformation is impossible without such control."

Garvan can't believe what he's done; it's like he's done the crimes of a maniac who isn't fit to walk the face of the earth and has no plans other than destruction; he's filled with uncertainty and regret.

He has been serving the country as an alchemist for 15 years at the age of 27. In numerous ways, he has aided the country's law enforcement and soldiers.

His innovations take on new meaning as he serves his country. That's the primary driving aspect for him. In a fight-or-flight circumstance, however, self-defense takes precedence.

He intended to use Werewolf's might to subdue the Shadow Soldiers and then depart. He didn't think he'd lose control, though. As a result of this, he is overwhelmed with regret.

As he walks down the path, he starts to process everything.

"I must not transform until I can handle it fully. I have to find a way to control myself."

Then, he pauses for a moment.

"If there was werewolf metamorphosis, I'd have the [Appraisal] skill at the very least. Let's have a look at myself. Appraise!"

--Activate Skill [Appraisal]? [YES]/[NO]--

Abruptly, a voice comes from the back of his head.

"What was the voice, incidentally?

I trusted I had heard an unusual voice. Is there anybody there?"

That, in any case, doesn't appear to fit.

"It's not so much that someone is here as it is that words are arriving in my head."

The voice is unintentional; calling it synthesized, as it would be if it came from a machine, is potentially the most appropriate description.

Garvan says, "Yes."

{Appraisal level 1 has been activated}

-- *At this level, you can only appraise yourself--

"Fascinating. I've read this, but experiencing it in real is truly something amazing."

He decides to appraise himself.

Immediately, a status windows pops up in his mind that only he can see.

***Stat:

Title: Werewolf (Level 1)

Sanity: 10

{Skill: Appraisal level 1}

{Skill: Life}

{Skill: Speed recovery level 1}

{Skill: Sprint level 1}

{ Skill: Hyper leap level 1}

{Skill: Enhanced Senses level 1}

[Mana: 20 Life: 15

Speed: 30, Strength: 15,

Durability/defense: 20, Stamina:30]

Spell Slot: [Charm level 1: Costs 2 mana.]

[Illusion level 1: Costs 4 mana

Fireball level 1 : Costs 6 mana]

[Thunderbolt level 1: Costs 8 mana]

[Spells need to be chanted in this level]

(Werewolf form: All these are available.)

(Human form: Only Mana and Speed points are active. Only half portion of the speed is accessible in human form: 15)

Spells are all available in human form.)

(Appraisal skill is available in human form.)****

"Fancy indeed.This is incredible! I've memorized, practiced, and attempted to use these spells numerous times over the years with no success. In exasperation, I gave up hope at one point. I can now put them to use."

(He failed in past due to the lack of mana.)

'And what's this sanity thing? I suppose it has something to do with my control over....'

His branch of thoughts gets cut short by a sound.

There are footsteps from behind and Garvan turns to see a city guard and an elderly man approaching. “Seize that one!" As he points at him, the old man croaks. “He is the assassin!"

"Me? I... I could never!" Garvan sputters. "I was blanked out."

The old man speaks with conviction.

To make matters worse, Garvan's hands are all supplemented by blood. 'This does not appear to be a good situation', he believes.

The guard locks his gaze on him and draws his sword from its sheath.

'My speed is 15 points, which means I should be able to escape. Let's put this into action.' Garvan thinks.

Garvan uses his newly found agility stat to run.

"Stop, Demon!" A scream emanates from behind

Garvan flees as swiftly as he can.

He comes to a halt to relax when he is some distance from the location.

'Though my agility is high, my stamina in human form is low. I must rest a bit.'

He takes a deep breath and calms down.

'What did that old fool see?' He marvels at himself.

Garvan recognizes that it doesn't matter right now. He has made himself the main suspect, if not the only one, by escaping. Medieval justice moves quickly. He could be dancing at the end of a rope by breakfast if he's caught.

There hasn't been a broad alarm sounded. If he dashes for the outside wall gate immediately, he might be able to get out of the city. But then what? He knows this city better than anybody else, and fleeing would only make him more vulnerable.

What does he do?