PTSD.

CHAPTER TWO— Karina Agafonov.

My flight to Russia was a quick one and in no time I bought a tram ticket to my hometown, Khabarovsk — the coldest town in Russia. After waiting for about thirty minutes, the tram eventually arrived. I entered the tram and the first thing I observed was its emptiness. No one was in the tram; no one, except me, but I didn't give a thought to it and sat down by the entrance of the door, resting my head on the seat next to me.

My mind traveled far-away.

Once the train stopped, I got down, expecting to find my town in one piece, but getting there, I got the shock of my life. My once beautiful town was now a shadow of itself. It was a ghost town in smoke and ashes — this I couldn't fathom. Khabarovsk was in the deepest part of Russia, far away from where the war was taking place, so I expected it to be a safe place.

I dropped my load by the railside and walked further into my town as I prayed desperately that I was only hallucinating and my town was in one piece. My leg moved faster than my mind and my eyes scanned the whole area at the same intervals with my heartbeat. I got to where my family house was in less than a few minutes and I was distraught, perplexed, and flabbergasted by the ruins of my house.

My knees collapsed on the ground at the unbelievable sight and I began to dig into the ruins, calling out my parents and siblings names in an attempt to see if I could still save them. "Mother," I shrieked out loud, carrying the burnt woods that had fallen. "Father! Mila! Sasha!"

I got no response. No sign of life and after a few hours I stopped searching and broke down as I came to the realization that they could all be dead and I wouldn't be able to find their bodies because they were all bound to turn into ashes. I didn't know what had happened, however I could relate it to the war; but it pained me deeply. It felt as though a gazillion thorns were poking at my heart without a moment of rest.

My tears began to cascade down my eyes as I stood up from the floor and began to take slow strides into the thick forest next to Khabarovsk. The name of the forest was Temnyy — and legend told it to be the homes of lycans before their sudden extinction.

I was in the forest in no time and I fell to my knees, weeping, letting my emotions overflow because I had to room to cup it in anymore. My family death already left me devastated beyond repair, it made me realize that really; there wasn't anything to live for on Earth anymore. Not only did I lose the majority of my comrades in war, but I was also discharged from military services because I lost an arm, and then, my family was cleared of the face of Earth — and I hadn't even spoken to them in ten years, leaving me with nobody to bury. A lot was happening, not only to the world, but to me, and I decided that I had already reached my peak.

Enough was enough.

A weak yell escaped my lips as I rose from the floor, walking further into the forest. I couldn't stop yelling and hitting myself with my robotic right arm. I was in pain physically but the pain of the heart overwhelmed me. I felt anger and I felt pain, and I knew I couldn't make my anger beautiful and my pain sweet. As I continued walking further I began to hear voices in my head.

"You could have saved them, your comrades." I heard one say and I screamed again, falling to the floor.

The voice was right, I should have saved my comrades and prevented them from getting eaten but I was a coward. I couldn't do anything to help them because I was dumbfounded and busy saving my own ass.

"It's your fault your family died," Another voice said in Russian. "If you were home in Russia, they would still be alive."

That statement made me stop walking. The voices were saying nothing but the truth. If I was home in Russia, given my excellent combat skills, I could have saved them from any impending danger.

I muted the voices in my ear immediately once I saw a thick cordage made of tree bark on the floor. I waltzed over to it, picked it up and decided to use it to end it all. To end the unbearable aches I felt in my life.

I climbed a thick tree in the forest and tied the bark climbing cordage against it, and without hesitation, I hung myself.

The choke the branch had against my neck was excruciating — it made me grunt out in pain, in contrast, it couldn't be compared with the pain of the heart. As I felt my consciousness slip slowly from my body, my sight began to feel fuzzy, and I expected my heartbeat to drop but rather it drummed loud against my chest.

Death was slowly approaching and I decided to welcome it, because only it could take my pain away. The rope unexpectedly snapped, leaving me to fall to my butt on the ground.

I coughed and groaned loudly in pain and wondered what could have made the rope snap. . .or who could have made it happen.

Then I saw a silhouette at my front. I examined the person at my front as I stood up, and one thing I knew was that the person wasn't human at all.

"You shouldn't try killing yourself," his voice was stern and deep. "if I hadn't saved you, you'd be dead right now."

"I never asked you to save me, did I?"

I scrutinized my gaze at him and studied him, ruminating on who he could be. I knew for a fact that he wasn't human nor werewolf. He was different, both his appearance and his aura. He had distinct yellow eyes that could be convinced as being hazel with golden fleeks, he looked similar to a werewolf but what made me know he wasn't one was his protruding canine and his build.

While werewolves were average human size before transition, he looked more like a heavily trained soldier, but what really gave him away were his canines. They made me know what he really was even though it sounded spooky. He was a Lycan — a creature thought to be out of extinction since the time dinosaurs walked on Earth.

According to legends, Lycans were werewolves; but they were more powerful, undefeated, intelligent, fiercer, stronger and deceitful than any werewolves could ever be. Unlike normal werewolves who walked on four paws, Lycans walked on two, and early philosophers who were unfortunate to meet them described them as ruthless and fearful creatures. Lycans were also regarded as the creators and gods of werewolves.

He moved towards me, an unreadable expression on his face as he was about to stretch out his hands to my face. My survival instinct kicked in and with my good arm, I punched him in the center of his face, kicked him in the place the sun never shined and began to run away as he fell to the ground in pain. He was a danger and threat to Earth and if they were back into existence and walking the earth in numbers, then Human lives were in a greater danger than the one caused by the war.

Lycans were nothing compared to we fragile Humans; and under minutes they could wipe out humanity. I had to alert major securities or military personnel as soon as possible before he caught up with me.