Half of a Whole

Carson

~A/N: Chapter has been edited.~

CARSON

Carson walked through the busy marketplace slowly, studying the people around him carefully. The place was full of people in all directions. Great for businesses he supposed, but not that great when you're trying to spot someone slightly unusual. It was too easy to blend in in a big crowd.

He was fully focused on getting this mission done. The sooner it was over, the sooner he'd be able to get a good night's sleep. Carson was a werewolf and he had much higher endurance, stamina and strength than the average human, but 8 days in a row without sleep was starting to get to even him.

He observed the various tent-shops and scowled. Most likely than not, his target had no need to be in a marketplace to being with. It was a shame that he couldn't be everywhere at once. At least he had a team to help divide and conquer.

His earpiece buzzed and one of his teammates said "The coast is clear here. No unusual activities detected. Over."

Others reported the same. He narrowed his eyes. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. They were looking for a bloody witch, the nastiest and vilest of creatures, overpowered and fickle minded.

"No witches here either" Carson told them matter of factly "Standby in your posts. Over."

Carson entered a restaurant and ordered some takeaway food. Pitterdam Port seemed to be a completely normal town so far. Although he knew that appearances could be deceiving, he still envied the humans around him. Everyone seemed to be out with their families, friends or lover. He was the only person by himself. He didn't have a family, not anymore. He lost his parents when he was seven and his life has been a pain in the ass ever since. Not a day went by that he wasn't reminded what had been taken from him.

Although most werewolves shifted into their wolves late into their teens, Carson shifted into his wolf form for the first time at the age of nine. If he hadn't shifted so prematurely, he would've surely been dead now. Some days, when his hatred dulled down and memories of better days plagued his mind, he wondered if dying back then would've been so bad: at least he would've been with his parents.

Most days he was angry. They had died so painfully and so in vain. All because of witches and their love for wars. Their need to subjugate and control other species like humans did with cattle. Everyone was a pawn in the games witches played amongst themselves. He could not forgive their irrational wickedness. Not after witnessing firsthand the destruction of whole packs and hundreds of broken families as a result of their frivolity. Not after losing everything to them.

Not only Carson's parents were killed in a meaningless war among witches, but they were also tortured using ancient curses. The curse passed onto their offspring once they died. Since then misfortune, death and tragedy followed Carson wherever he went. Just when he deluded himself into having any semblance of a normal life, the curse came into effect and there he was again, at the bottom of the barrel. A never ending fight.

He was only nine years old when his pack learned about the curse placed on him and kicked him out. The alpha of his pack had abandoned him in the woods and tied him to a tree trunk so he couldn't follow him back to the pack. Carson almost died from starvation. It was the hatred in his heart that kept him alive, he simply refused to die before exacting revenge on this cruel world for everything it had done to him. He prayed to the moon goddess to let him live until he avenged his parents' deaths. His prayers were answered and he managed to barely survive that winter in the woods by shifting into his unstable wolf form.

Carson was found on the brink of death by Vlad, his uncle. Vlad had come for his only nephew as soon as he returned victorious from another war. Vlad had taken Carson right under his wing and raised him like his own. His uncle was an authoritative, unmoving old man, hardened by wars and loss of his family, friends and mate. They were all each other had left and Vlad was unwilling to lose anymore of his people. His uncle joined an underground secret organisation that comprised of rebels and people who wanted to end the Witches' rule. People tired of death, famine and misery brought by the thousand year old Witch dynasty. Vlad was one of the elder-leaders of the movement. Carson had been enrolled into the movement's warriors system at the age of 10 and slowly he had become one of their best fighters. His uncle told him he was so proud of him and that had kept him going.

Yet, life was never normal for Carson again. The curse caused him to lose many friends and bury many comrades over the years. Death and suffering stalked him like an ever present shadow in his life: invisible but horrifying in its reminders. Although Carson was respected for his strength and intelligence, his comrades always kept their distance from him, even on missions, they never fully trusted him and easily resented him. Slowly he became a loner: no one wanted to befriend him, no pack wanted him and understandably so. At one point he stopped trying to fit in. It suited him just fine: if you didn't have friends or a pack, they could never backstab you or abandon you like his old pack did. And it was enough that he was alive and could avenge his parents, making the world a better place for future werewolf generations in the process.

Carson often found himself thinking about his mate. He felt bad for her. Sometimes he even prayed that he was mate-less out of guilt, because deep down he wanted the very best for her, she deserved someone normal. He was no good for her. The agony twisted his gut painfully, he was already miserable but thinking of her made him more miserable. The one person who would accept him unconditionally, he just couldn't have her. He was cursed. He would have to reject her for her own good. That hurt more than anything else.

All because of those goddamned evil creatures who crawled up of Hell. He didn't believe witches could ever coexist peacefully with other species. They would never be able to stop using their wicked powers to harm others, to entertain themselves, to fight selfish wars in shows of dominance. They played gods with people's lives and treated other species as less than. They were the scum of this earth and as far as Carson was concerned, every single one of them deserved to be bunt at the stake.

He wasn't alone in that. Not at all. There were many unknown secret movements against the witches' rule other than the organisation he grew up in. There was an understanding between the supernatural species when it came to witches: they all had enough of being enslaved and used for centuries by a species that thought of themselves as superior just because they had more power.