It is a really old story; few say it is a legend, and few say it had happened exactly like this.
The origin of werewolves, the origin of Alpha's, Beta's, and Omega's.
There were humans, and the world was at peace—more than it was now, at least.
Then the world ended, just like that. Apocalypse like.
Magnet fields acted out, tsunamis, earthquakes—what you can imagine. Many died, part of humanity evolved, part of the animals evolved, and a war between these evolved races broke out.
At the end, it were only three groups that emerged. Every one of these groups had only survived because they knew the importance of working in a team or a pack. Every other evolved species was mercilessly erased from this plane.
The winners were evolved wolves, evolved humans, and normal humans. Evolved humans paired up with normal humans, what we call 'Betas' emerged.
Now it gets a bit sick: evolved humans and evolved wolves paired up as well, the result were werewolves.
The strength of a mighty animal paired with the looks and intellect of humans. But even when they look human most of the time, they have the wolf nature—that still breaks forth with extreme agitation, extreme pain, or a change in the magnet fields, which happens especially at full moon.
We have ruts and heats with Alphas and Omegas that come forward; we have a society dominated by the strongest. We have so many traits from our furry ancestors, as we have gotten from our human side.
Meanwhile, many generations later, a full moon would agitate Alphas, but they wouldn't necessarily turn. Not even with extreme pain, we would turn now. But the urge to run was still there, as were the ruts, the mate-thing, and the marking, which were deeply settled within Alphas and Omegas, for example.
An Omega had the urgent need to be marked, smelling pheromones was like going under a spell for them.
Alphas were not as affected and looked down on this weak behavior; it was also, part of why they hated us.
If it really came to an Alpha and Omega mating, it would nearly be something that took place between animals, the pregnancy, and birth would also turn out the same way. An Omega would birth between four and six children, in extreme cases even more. The chances of getting an Omega out of such a pregnancy were 80/20. The 20 were an alpha or beta. That is too low for it to be worth it.
Werewolves killing their offsprings before they could even prove themselves was a disgrace. So, who would want to get a bunch of more Omegas into this world, with such a low possibility of getting an Alpha? The whole purpose in life for alphas was the pack, and the succession.
An Omega could never get pregnant by a Beta or a normal human, nor from a lower-ranked werewolf.
No woman can be an Omega. No woman can be an Alpha.
The most sought-after species for mating for Alphas were low-ranked werewolves, which would climb the ladder when chosen, or betas.
Every pack had betas, the second-hand man of the Alpha, mostly the spouse. The position of the second in command would never be given to someone who was able to become an Alpha. Also, a reason for the naming.
Anyway. This is what the world had turned into, the legend of the origin.
When I finished with work, I waited at the side entrance for the pup. He didn't come, and I was torn between going home to see if he had gone there without me, and waiting.
It became dark already, but my feet didn't move away. If I changed the place, maybe we would miss each other. I am the older one, I have to wait.
Maybe he had a change of mind, it happens. Savoring the last moments with his friends sounded more fun than going home in a cockroach nest with the stuttering janitor, I would understand that.
Just....I think I would be a bit sad.
I took a bit of chewing tobacco and put it in my mouth, liking the nicotine. My meal today had only been that undefinable stuff, and I should go search for food. I had managed to dye my fur, so I can easily go to scavenge through the vicinity and get good stuff out of the trashcans behind the restaurants, better than everything I could buy or was able to cook.
The longer into the night, the more the chances for the food to either be taken away by real stray animals, or for them to turn bad. Like some other trash landing on them, things that could spoil them, raw chicken or anything. It was also dangerous for us canines, so I had hoped I could go home soon.
I saw someone limping to me, not seeing the face because it was shadowed by the light behind him. Still, I was sure it was the pup.
Walking to him, I saw him all bloody.
So he hadn't forgotten to meet up.
Poor pup, things went south sooner than I had expected.
I took his arm and put it around my shoulder, helping him home. Neither of us spoke, but I felt him relaxing a bit at my touch. It felt wrong to ask anything, now the most important thing was to patch him up and put him to sleep.