The Salvatore Saga, Greatest force In The World.(Book 3 The New World)

Damon Salvatore, known as Doc, was an ancient creature who had lost his world long ago. Since then, he had been unable to find love. He had always been a healer, tending to the needs of others. When his wife, the last of her kind, had to return to the Rainbow Islands to help create a new world, Damon did what came naturally to him - he healed. He was also a veterinarian and a human doctor, offering his services to those in need.

But as humans began to rebuild their cities above ground, technology became an integral part of his life. He no longer remembered his truest love, his first wife, but her strawberry scent would sometimes haunt his dreams. He would wake up, longing for that scent, but it had faded from his memory. Being an ancient creature was not easy, and the passing millennia had erased her face and voice from his mind. Only faded memories remained, and he knew they too would soon fade away.

Despite her writing memoirs and him keeping them for centuries, they would soon become nothing more than stories conjured by his own mind when he read those books. She had written extensively, chronicling her past and sharing the knowledge they had gained. But Damon knew there was nothing he could do to retain his fading memories. No spell or magic could help him hold on to what little remained of his past. The books sat neatly on the bookshelf, untouched for ages, preserved by his magic, a reminder of what he was losing. 

He was abruptly awakened from his reminiscing and funk by the piercing sound of his phone's beep. Groaning, he fumbled in his jeans pocket to retrieve it, the soft fabric brushing against his fingertips. With a flick of his thumb, he opened the message, revealing disturbing news about a feral shifter. The scent of urgency hung in the air as he read on - this particular shifter had not only killed two humans but had also feasted upon them before attacking the innocent cattle. A deep sense of regret washed over him as he realized he would have to end its life.

It saddened him to think that there were so few supernatural beings left in the world, but this shifter had crossed a line. Its feral state left no room for redemption. The best course of action, for both the creature's sake and the safety of others, was to put it out of its misery. The shifter was wounded, unable to move, and continued to pose a threat to humans. While not all shifter-human encounters resulted in a death sentence, this one's behavior, coupled with its injuries, left little hope for a different outcome.

Nevertheless, he clung to a glimmer of hope. Damon had his clinic, his sanctuary, where he could uphold his code. Mixing a lethal cocktail of powerful anesthetic, sedative, and muscle relaxant from his own fangs as a vampire-shifter hybrid, he prepared for the task ahead. The dart he would use had proven effective in most cases, but there were instances when the shifter's resilience surpassed his expectations. In those rare instances, he would bring the wounded creature back to his clinic, desperate to help, even though the odds were stacked against them. The sickness, infection, and the shifter's weakened state usually sealed their fate.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as he heard footsteps drawing nearer. Soon, a young boy, barely 18 years old, appeared at the door, interrupting his thoughts.

"Hey, do you have to go, Doc? What's going on?"

Damon looked up, to his protégé, Freddie, whom he had rescued at the tender age of 8 and raised as his own. Freddie now had his own place and was dating a girl.

Damon's voice carried a tinge of sadness as he replied, "It's a feral jaguar, Freddie. It has killed two humans, attacked cattle, and it's wounded. Sadly, these situations are rare, but I'll be back tomorrow. There's nothing urgent here right now. You can handle things in my absence."

Freddie nodded, having assisted him in the clinic for years. He understood the gravity of the situation. 

Damon unzipped his coat, feeling the cool breeze brush against his skin. He made his way to the drug cabinet, the scent of medicine filling the air. Carefully, he retrieved the darts, the smooth metal, cool in his hand. He loaded two of them, a precautionary measure in case the first shot missed, though it rarely did. He had little other kinds of darts with him but what he had read about this; he did his kill cocktail accordingly, trying to kill them as fast and painlessly as possible.

With his trusty pickup truck parked nearby, Damon knew it would be able to transport the carcass. As per usual, he planned to conduct an autopsy and use his magic to transform the beast into its human form, ready to be shared on the internet. The return of the internet had brought humanity back to the surface, with underground cities not being as bad as they seemed. The cables running beneath the sea had ensured a connection, and Damon often thought back to those times.

However, memories of his love, who had blown her mind apart, plagued his thoughts. He wondered where she was now, if she had managed to piece herself back together. It was painful for Damon to think of her, so he tried to let time erase her from his mind. Instead, he kept in touch with the other Salvatores, occasionally gathering to talk and share a drink.

Starting the car, the engine roared to life, its familiar sound comforting to Damon. He drove through the jungle of Bolivia, amazed at how quickly life had flourished. The vibrant colors of the trees and the sounds of chirping birds filled the air, creating a wonderful atmosphere. Damon reveled in the discovery of new species, witnessing evolution in action. No longer did he see himself as a beast or a monster; he had embraced his vampire shifter hybrid nature.

After several hours, Damon found a suitable spot to park the car. As he stepped out, he felt the soft earth beneath his feet. Muttering an incantation, he cloaked the car, making it invisible to the feral creatures that roamed the jungle. With the grace of a predator, he ventured deeper into the jungle, his senses heightened. Though his bloodlust gnawed at him, he kept it at bay by feeding on the strong, evil creatures he kept as prisoners in his cellar. To him, they were nothing more than bloodbags, necessary to sustain his existence. 

As he cautiously moved forward, he soon caught sight of the first evidence of this feral creature - a repulsive, putrid pile of excrement. The odor, distinct to a shifter but not that of a jaguar, wafted towards him on the breeze, causing a wave of sickness and weakness to wash over him. He steeled himself, knowing that these were not pleasant smells to encounter. He could sense the creature's pheromones, not just its scent, permeating the air. Seeking cover, he found a suitable tree with a dense canopy that would shield him from view. With a quick and efficient climb, he perched high above, readying his rifle. From this vantage point, his vampire vision would allow him to detect any movement and swiftly take aim. A muttered spell cloaked him further, as the scent drew nearer.

Meanwhile, she trudged on, her weariness and hunger growing. Humans did not satisfy her palate and only left her with a painful stomach ache. Her instincts told her that cattle would be a better option for sustenance, though she couldn't explain why. A persistent pain in her side hindered her progress as she struggled to drag the carcass of young Wagyu beef to her nest, her makeshift refuge. Her left hind leg refused to cooperate, making every movement an arduous task. Yet, she pressed on, driven by the desperate need to survive.

She was not inherently evil; she simply yearned to find solace and safety, her true self hidden away in the depths of her being. It would not wake up despite how much she needed it to wake up. It was too strong for her to rouse. The pain and confusion she had endured over the years had left her scarred, both physically and emotionally. But she was almost there - just a little longer and she could rest, recover, and replenish her strength. With hope, she expected the eventual fading of the pain, though it often took an agonizingly long time for her body to fully heal. In those moments, anger would consume her, twice driving her to lash out at humans who had crossed her path, only to discover their inedibility.

Damon glanced over and spotted a creature slowly approaching. It dragged a lifeless calf, not too small, but definitely dead. Damon shook his head, a mix of pity and determination swirling in his mind. He aimed, his fingers tightening around the trigger. The creature's limp body revealed its emaciated state, a huge gash marring its flank. Its hind leg seemed dislocated, a painful sight to behold.

Damon wondered how a creature in such a condition could hunt, but then again, wagyu cattle were docile and abundant. He squeezed the trigger softly, a faint pop breaking the silence. The creature yelped, a sound so eerily human. It stood for a moment before collapsing into a heap, a red dart lodged between its ribs. The dart had found its mark, piercing the lung or heart, instantly affecting the creature. That human-like sound was merely a reflex, a desperate attempt at survival. Damon steeled his heart. It was nothing more than a reflex.

As pain washed over her, confusion filled her mind. She had been moments away from reaching her nest, and now this searing pain in her flank left her weak and struggling to breathe. She tried to blink, to move, but the pain overwhelmed her. The sound of something approaching caught her attention, and in a feeble attempt to calm herself, she tried to purr. But her purr was feeble, her strength waning. She was scared, in pain, helpless. 

Damon descended from the tree, releasing the spell on his car. He approached the fallen shifter and the lifeless wagyu carcass. There was no point in leaving it here. The carcass was of decent size, and since there were no identifying marks left on the cattle, and it had been killed by the shifter, he decided to take it.

As he crouched next to the shifter, he was taken aback by what he heard. The creature's heart was still beating, its feeble attempt to purr tugged at his heart. Damon gently stroked the shifter, realizing it was a female, an even rarer find. She fought to hold on, but Damon knew the dart had struck her heart, sealing her fate. He decided to perform an autopsy and then transform her into her human form, hoping someone would recognize her.

In a murmured confession to himself, Damon muttered, "Just once, when I encounter a female shifter, I have to shoot that damn dart into her heart. But it is what it is."

With the dead cow loaded onto his pickup, Damon smiled to himself, knowing he would have Freddie chop it up.

Then he carefully unfolded the heavy tarp, its rough texture scraping against his calloused hands. The scent of dust and decay mingled in the air as he positioned the tarp next to the lifeless creature. With a solemn touch, he ran his fingers along its emaciated body, feeling the protruding bones beneath his fingertips. Slowly, he maneuvered the creature into the waiting tarp, his grip tight on its corners. Dragging the tarp and its burden towards his pickup, he paid no attention to any lingering signs of life. Once there, he lifted the tarp and creature into the backseat, the weight pressing against his weary muscles.

Before starting the car, he stowed his rifle in the backseat beside him, its metal cold against his skin. As the engine roared to life, he embarked on the journey back to his clinic. Over the years, he had encountered various shifters, unsure of their true numbers in the world. Some Salvatores had provided him with leads, giving him hope that this creature's true identity could be uncovered once it returned to human form.

Closure for someone, he thought sadly. Although he regretted ending her life, the creature had been on the brink of death, her injuries severe and her body frail. He convinced himself it was an act of mercy, sparing her further suffering. Still, he couldn't help but wish his aim had been slightly off, giving him a chance to save her. Females were a rarity, and Damon couldn't deny his occasional yearning for companionship.

After several hours, darkness blanketed the landscape as he arrived back at his clinic. The night air carried a faint scent of antiseptic, hinting at the sterile environment within. He had encountered a few more ferals along the way, their growls and snarls now silenced by the drugs he had administered. They had perished instantly, leaving him with a series of autopsies to perform. It kept him occupied, providing a chance to glean new insights.

Each examination was conducted with the utmost respect, always transforming the creatures back into their human forms afterward. He meticulously captured photographs, uploading them to the internet for his fellow Salvatores to study. The pictures served as a visual record, offering additional information to those who sought it. He refrained from delving into the reasons behind their feral state, focusing instead on the post-mortem tests that estimated their age. Most of them, he discovered, were remarkably old, their minds snapping under the weight of time. 

He parked the car, the engine humming softly as he glanced over and saw Freddie emerging from the cart. The scent of exhaust lingered in the air. He stepped out of the car, his voice heavy with fatigue, a weariness that seemed to seep into his bones. He had become a killer instead of a healer, a role he never anticipated. But he accepted it for what it was. 

"There are four shifters," he muttered, his words tinged with regret. "Three males and one female. That poor female is in terrible shape. Put them in the freezer. I need a shower before I can even think about making dinner or something."

Cooking had always been his solace, a way to distract his mind from the weight of the lives he had taken. 

He wearily made his way inside, the creaking of the door accompanying his steps. Freddie followed, the sound of wheels rolling over the rough pavement echoing in the silence. The cart would be with carcasses, a macabre collection that needed to be unloaded. Freddie headed towards the back of the pickup truck, ready to begin the grim task. 

It was unfortunate that the responsibility fell on Doc's shoulders, but he knew what needed to be done. Doc was a wise man, always doing everything in his power to help others before himself. Freddie couldn't help but smirk, realizing that he was one of those rescued souls. A little orphan boy, taken in by this ancient creature with a heart so big it seemed to carry the weight of his haunted past.