Withered Foxy Novels & Stories

The path I marked is gone. I swallow hard and turn away. Suddenly, a small shape scurries at the edge of my vision. I blink and gasp. It’s Snowflake, my childhood pet fox, white fur shining even in the dim light. My heart leaps with relief. “Snowflake?” I whisper, reaching out. But as I step closer, the beautiful fox’s body rots before my eyes. Its fur falls away like dead leaves, revealing flesh crawling with worms and bones breaking through the skin.

I asked myself in my head, my mind racing. Turning the page, the book revealed more about fox spirits, their abilities, similar to werewolves but they were far stronger, depending on the number of their tails. They could generate fire or lightning from their mouth or tails, shapeshift, possess a person’s body and create illusions to manipulate and outsmart their opponents.

Everyone sighs deeply in relief when I hear the wheels screeching on the asphalt, indicating that they’re gone. Beware of the Fox? These four words are keep playing on my mind even Francois is long gone. Fox? FOX Fuck! François Oscar Xavier. François Oscar Xavier is the Fox.

"I'm going to be sick." Cressida turned around from the front seat, blinking. Then she picked up a small, elegant diffuser from the center console. "You're not allergic to this scent, are you?" I saw what she was holding. A Silvermoon Herb diffuser. It was an herbal product used to stimulate a wolf's spirit. To a healthy wolf, it was just a pleasant aroma. But for a wolf with spirit decay, it triggered a violent rejection. He remembered. Seven years ago, I told him once that this scent made me sick.

Samuel instead of telling resorted to showing as he opened a big, old book with a lot of hand-painted images of all the different kinds of wolfs. "Your friend already has a wolf. That is what brought her back to life. The life force of a blessed wolf."

A loud scream erupted from the storm. Immediately after, the red fox flew out of the fray, landing like a fallen maple leaf. The gray wolf slowly emerged from the dust. The calico cat stared, stunned, until she saw the long bleeding scar on the wolf’s face and realized what had happened. The fox tried to rise several times to continue the fight, but failed. Soon, it turned into a red light, returning to the boy’s body. Gaining the fox’s strength, the boy’s complexion improved, and he began to show signs of life.

My wolf wanted to howl in response to missing his mate, but I had to control my feral side because I didn't want anyone to know how badly I was missing her. A small movement in the bush behind me caught my attention. The red-furred fox looked at me in horror, and my adrenaline rushed to dangerous levels. I leaped forward for it and managed to grab it by the throat. I tore its skin open and played with the contents inside the body. My wolf could breathe properly again after killing another animal.

Naafiri said with a smile as if he had already won in his mind. However, Naafiri failed to notice that the eyes of the werewolves next to him, staring at the little white fox, were becoming increasingly frenzied. No one would dare deny the allure of the king's promise, and the little white fox was the best shortcut. "Come on, will you hand it over willingly, or shall we take it from you?" Naafiri took a step forward, eyeing the little white fox in my arms. The fox, sensing danger, hid in my clothes once again.

Her expression hardened with understanding, and without hesitation, she squared her shoulders and stepped toward the first corpse—the one with a gaping hole in his torso. I watched as her eyes glowed and flames burst forth. This time, the fire took on a blue hue, clearly stronger now that she’d finally eaten. At first, the body refused to ignite. Without accelerants like gasoline or kerosene, it took time. But eventually, the fire caught, its hungry tendrils licking up the limbs, curling over the corpse like a vengeful spirit. At least once a werewolf caught fire, it would burn all the way to the bones, leaving nothing behind.

I did not give them time to regroup. I opened my core and released the cold. Not the absolute zero I had used in the garden, but controlled and really precise. The frost spread across the ground, covering the path, the trees, the rocks. It reached the foxes and climbed their legs, their bodies, their tails. They tried to flee, but the cold was faster. One by one, they froze, their bodies locked in mid-stride, their amber eyes still burning with terror. The largest fox, the silver-streaked one, struggled against its prison. I walked toward it, my footsteps silent on the ice.