Beasts of Prey: The World of the Viscerebus

By Oz Mari G.

Legends say that in the dawn of time, Prometheus created two beings. First were humans and he gave them fire. Then, he breathed life into the Viscerebus and gave them superhuman abilities, shapeshifting power and the need to consume human viscera. This pitted the two beings against each other. The Vis hunt for sustenance, the humans for survival. Then humans dominated the planet with their superior number and weapons of mass destruction. With 250 million Viscerebus against seven billion humans, the balance of power became disproportionate.To survive, the Viscerebus allowed their existence to fade into the annals of myths, legends and folklore. And the humans stopped hunting the beings they believed do not exist.

For centuries, the Viscerebus lived hidden in plain sight among human societies. In this hidden world, two brothers inherited a tainted name, a deadly disease and a beastly nature. One brother vowed to rebuild their fortune and restore the glory of their name, the other followed their father's heinous path. One woman crossed their path, unaware of her bloodline, and a dark past that threatened well-laid plans.

To be with her, the Veil of Secrecy that bind every one of their kind must be broken and sacrifices must be made. Then the deadly disease kicked in and the countdown to death begun.

In the end, it's a choice between honour or family, the life with the woman he cherishes or her blood that carried their salvation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oz Mari Granlund
• Release date: Mar 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393653165

Oz Mari G.

Born in a province known for butterfly knives, strong coffee and feisty people; raised in a mixed background of agriculture and industry. Her childhood was a combination of rural and urban. By three, she had acquired an incurable reading habit.  As a child, she was a woodland spirit with the power to absorb energy from nature. As a teenager, she had to resort to writing tearful poetry to balance her otherwise happy social life.  One grandfather nurtured her with stories of myths, legends and fantastical beings; another took her trekking. She collected fairy tales, wrote poetry and short stories, and developed an affinity for herbs, spices and trees.  She became an entrepreneur and a proud sales professional when she grew up but remains a storyteller to her core. She finally stopped dillydallying and answered her calling to become a writer. Now responds to Oz Mari G., her pen name..  To contact, her email is [e-mail] Or follow her via Twitter https://twitter.com/GraceGranlund Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ozmari.granlund

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Prologue

M ama, can you read the book to me again?

Jacomina looked at her three-year-old son standing by the door. His arms looked too small for the big, leather book clasped to his chest. She pasted a bright smile on her face.

Sure, my boy. Come and sit beside Mama... She patted the empty side of her bed. Her husband Johan was away on a business trip again.

With a twinkle in his eyes, Harri hurried to her side, as fast as his little feet could manage with the heavy book slowing him down. She lifted the book from his hands and set it down beside her. Harri clambered up the high bed, one leg hoisted to the side as he pulled himself up.

He gave her a hug and a kiss, then settled beside her. His excitement was still the same despite the many times they had read the book which now rested on her lap.

Which story do you want tonight, my love?

The first one, Mama. Our or-gin... Harri was almost bouncing in her bed.

Origin... O... ri... gin... my love.

Yes, that one... start with that one, Mama...

Okay... She opened the book to the first story. "Legends says that Prometheus created men out of mud. He tasked his brother Epimetheus to give them qualities like he did all the creatures on earth. Epimetheus, being slow of mind, left nothing good to men as he had given them all away. So, Prometheus gave his creation the ability to walk on two feet like the gods. And he gave them fire.

But Zeus didn’t want men to have fire, so he took it away. However, Prometheus stole the fire and gave it back to men. As a punishment, Zeus bound Prometheus in Mount Caucasus using unbreakable chains. Zeus then sent a giant eagle named Aetos to eat his liver during the day. The liver would regrow at night. And the cycle repeated for thirty thousand years.

Prometheus called for men to help him, but no one came. In his loneliness, he called them for company, but no one responded. During one of those nights, delirious with pain and misery, he created the first Viscerebus.

He made them out of soil, rocks, and a portion of his liver. He breathed life into them and called the female, Ederra, the beautiful, and the male, Indartzu, the strong.

His liver gave them godlike strength, speed and senses. They also inherited a very long life. To hide them from Zeus, he imbued them with the ability to shapeshift.

But he did not realise that the saliva of Aetos tainted his liver, thus, his new creations inherited the need to consume viscera. So, every so often, to sustain themselves, Ederra and Indartzu hunted humans to survive.

And thus started the conflict between the two creations of Prometheus."

Mama, is that why I cannot be friends with the little girl in the pool?

Yes, Harri. She was human. She smoothed the hair off his sweet, innocent face.

But she was nice, and pretty. And she looked just like us...

We may look like humans, Harri. But we are special. Remember, Prometheus created us from his flesh. We are closer to the gods than the humans. And among our kind, we are even more privileged. Never forget that our name is one of the most important. Be proud to be a Prowze. She kissed him on the cheek.

Yes, Mama. I’m proud of us...

I’m glad. Now, will you sleep, my little prince?

Can I sleep here with you, Mama? I can protect you while papa is away...

She smiled at her valiant boy, her delight. Yes, Harri. You can stay and protect Mama... Good night, my little saviour...

Chapter 1 

Mother’s Day

1987. TWENTY YEARS LATER.

Jacomina Prowze, his mother, looked peaceful in her coffin. In repose, her face lost the ravaged look it carried when she was alive. The deep grooves etched on her forehead, around her eyes and mouth were just faint lines now, Jacob thought. Death was kinder to her than life had been.

His father, the late Johan Brogen Prowze, used to boast to him he won the most beautiful woman in the world and that together, they were the most attractive couple among their kind.

But what is the use of being attractive when it did not save you from being convicted and executed?

Beauty is a disadvantage when your name has shame attached to it...

The murmurings of two women seated in the front pew reached his ears. 

Jacob glanced in their direction. He had no idea who they were, but they knew who he was. The women stopped talking when they caught his gaze. He turned back to viewing his mother’s coffin when the ladies stood up and moved to the back of the room. 

The low pink and white flower arrangement set on the glass cover of her coffin caught his attention. It complemented his mother’s serene face. The lavender ribbons that flowed beneath the blooms had names written on it. He lifted the silky ribbon to check, it read, Harri and Jake.

Hmm... Harri’s last flowers to their mother.  

Jacob glanced at his brother; Harri now sat in brooding silence in the corner, grim and unresponsive. The death of their mother devastated him. Harri had doted on her. 

A furry body rubbed itself against Jacob’s trouser legs. It was his Mama’s wheaten Scottish terrier, Ruffus. The dog looked up at him with forlorn eyes as he picked it up. The plump body squirmed up his arms, its warm, wet tongue touched his chin. Ruffus glanced towards his mistress, cradled within the white satin and mahogany. The pup gave a mournful yip. His mother’s dog seemed to understand the demise of his favourite human... no, person. 

Jacob walked to the other end of the room, away from his brother Harri. There was no need to have two morose sons in the same corner. 

Poor things... Does the younger one know about their family... history? Another murmuring reached his ears.

He walked on as the memories of that day came flooding back. 

He was in the living room, seated on the cold marble floors. Scattered by his knees were the remains of dismembered butterflies and beetles. He just pulled the wings off the dragonfly he caught earlier, when the Iztaris knocked on their door.

His mother’s face lost its colour when she was told who the visitors were. She looked like she was expecting the visit for some time. The Iztaris came to tell her they had arrested his father, Johan Brogen.

Harri was sixteen then, while he was a curious four-year-old. His brother took him by the hand and led him to his room so he would not overhear the discussion of the adults. Harri had bribed him with a cherry lollipop to stay put, but he spied on the adults anyway, with the lollipop perched in his mouth. 

Harri didn’t find out about their father’s habit until that visit. He, on the other hand, knew since he was three when he overheard his father brag about it to his mother. Johan Prowze was so proud of his ability to avoid detection and fool the Iztaris, and by extension, the Tribunal because they had no clue a harravis was among them. The word intrigued him, and he remembered it was in the big, old book that his mother used to read to Harri and him. The illustration was most helpful.  

There was no plausible defence for his father, no possibility of denial, as they caught him consuming the heart of a hapless female Viscerebus he killed. After a quick trial and few days later, the Tribunal convicted, and the Iztaris executed his father. 

I heard Johan had VM... Do you think that was how Jacomina died? one gossiping woman asked another. 

I don’t think so. VM symptoms take at least ten to twenty years to manifest. Johan got into the practice only about four years before his death. It’s too soon. It’s more likely she died of a heartbreak. She was so in love with him, replied another gossiper. 

I never understood what she saw in him. He’s from a common stock. She’s a Prowze...

Well, he was extremely handsome...

And what did he bring to the Prowze name? Harravis’ shame and the association to Visceral Metastasis... No amount of good looks is worth that taint...

The rumour of the disease followed their name ever since his father got convicted. Visceral Metastasis, being one of the two primary dangers of harravis habit. The other was death by execution. His father had hit the misfortune jackpot, then bequeathed them the dishonour and the disease.

Their mother never discussed her disease with her boys for a reason. So, these people would suffer from unrequited curiosity for a long time because they would never find out his mother died of it, and that both Harri and he would, too. For now, they could waste their time commiserating and speculating.

Ruffus squirmed in his hands and yelped. Jacob did not even notice the little dog had been wanting to escape his tightening hold. He placed it on the floor and watched it run to Harri. But his brother was staring unseeing at the scene outside where the setting sun had cast an orange glow. Ruffus stood on his hind legs and leaned on Harri’s knee, its tail wagged in entreaty.

But Harri paid him no attention. The dog gave up and wandered underneath the coffin, flopped itself on the corner, rested its head on its paw and sighed. Ruffus was right, funerals were tiresome, with the cloying scent of flowers and aura of false sympathy.

After another glance at his brother, still sullen in his corner, he left the room. Jacob had no inclination to socialise with distant relatives and acquaintances. It seemed their need to gossip was stronger than the call to be polite. 

He would rather sit in the car in solitude, in perfect freedom to do what he wanted. Their driver saw him come out and rushed to open the slate grey limousine door. Jacob slid at backseat, the leather upholstery sleek and lemon scented. He noticed a small leather box in the seat corner. It was easy to miss. It had the same shade as the car upholstery. The brass rivets on the edges and the distinctive wolf’s paw latch gave it away. 

Mrs Henning handed it to Harri this morning. Their mother wanted them to have it upon her passing, but they both ignored it earlier. The funeral arrangements occupied Harri’s mind. While he was not interested, then.

Now the box beckoned.

It looked old, with the faded bottom edges and aged scratches in places. The leather was matte but polished. He lifted the lid and peered inside. Crimson velvet lined the box, and the interior smelled of patchouli. 

Old man fragrance. 

On top was a leather-bound journal with the monogrammed initials of his father stamped onto it. There was a large oil stain near the clasp. 

What thoughts did Johan Brogen Prowze write in the leaves of this diary? 

He picked it up and flipped it open. 

Three pages on and his heartbeat had quickened. There was more to Johan Brogen’s harravissing habit than what he knew. 

HARRI RUBBED CIRCLES on his temple to ease the pounding in his head. It was the only pain he could relieve; his jaw and chest ached, his emotions in shambles. He could not sleep, and it was painful to think and feel.

The surrounding murmurings rubbed him raw, but he did not want to engage with the gossiping hoard in his mother’s funeral. 

The view outside turned as gloomy as his world. Dark clouds hovered and threatened a downpour. He kept his eyes focused on the big elm tree outside. The hiss and undulations of the swaying leaves silenced the chatter in his brain. It gave him a measure of calm and control. 

Johan’s trial was the talk of town...

Yes, the trial of the century...

He killed so many...

One of my cousin’s friend’s best friend was one of the victims... 

Harri’s stomach clenched as the events flashed in his head like reels stuck in a faulty projector. He conversed in his mind with the nameless women gossiping behind him about his father’s case.

It was a quick trial... a matter of days... 

Yes. Eleven days from arrest to execution. 

​... three years, they said. He had admitted to various disappearances...

Correct. That’s what his father said. But he was deep in the habit ten times longer. He was just not getting caught. Until he got careless.

... the Supreme Tribunal dissolved their business... it was how he killed so many undetected...

It was true. His father travelled often because of their logistics business. He timed the hunt the night before departure to his next destination. The Supreme Tribunal dissolved the company name, JJBP Logistics, but allowed the operations to continue under a different one, PIK Logistics. Their service was crucial to the global operations of their kind, and the Supreme Tribunal did not want that disrupted. He had been managing PIK Logistics for eight years now. 

​Those poor boys... a harravis father, they said he had VM infection too... I wonder if Jacomina...

...no, we would have known if she had it...

​Yes, his father infected their mother, and they inherited it as well. Their mother tested positive, but the Tribunal accorded her the right to keep her diagnosis a complete secret because they considered her a victim of her husband’s treacherous act. However, she remained under close supervision by the Medical Commission of the Tribunal. Her name was on the confidential watch list until the day she died.

The lie his father told turned out to be a smart thing. The timeline insulated him and Jake from being suspected of having a VM infection.  

Those boys were lucky Jacomina did not get infected, or they would have inherited it too...

... they said it was very painful...

... my husband was a doctor... no record of her going to the hospital for treatment....

Her VM symptoms manifested two years ago. She refused to go to the hospital for the treatment. She did not want the stigma added to their already tainted family name. One shame is enough, their mother had said. And she endured the pain. 

She self-quarantined during the last two months of her life. Not because she was contagious, but out of a sense of maternal protectiveness. She did not want her sons to know of her agony. Her efforts were in vain, though. Harri still heard everything. He just pretended not to, for her benefit. 

During her last few days, she had locked herself in her padded room as she writhed in pain and tried to keep it quiet so as not to upset her sons. He suffered with her every minute of the day until the end. 

Now, with his mother gone, the weight of his responsibilities pressed down on him. A business to run, a brother to raise, a name to resurrect, and a burning vow in his heart uttered to his mother’s ears just before she drew her last breath. 

IT SURPRISED MRS HENNING to see Harri outside of his office. It was a welcome change to the familiar scene that greeted her every day since Jacomina died. Usually, Harri could be found at the office-library, quiet, brooding and buried in work. He would be there when she arrived at seven in the morning and would still be hard at work when she left at seven in the evening. And from what the family’s long-time butler, Deke Aatazaan said, Harri would keep at it until past midnight. The young man had spent the weeks after his mother’s death cooped up in the office-library.

It made her smile to see Harri out in the garden. The mild morning sun gilded his skin as he soaked it up. The sunshine would ease the grief that still clouded the boy’s heart. Harri needed his ionsu.

Perhaps Harri had begun to accept and adjust to the reality that he would be both mother and father to his younger brother Jake, the head of his family’s business empire, the captain of their future.

She had planned to retire with her husband, Verrill, in two years, but she did not have the heart to leave Harri alone to handle all the upcoming changes in their lives. Their mother, Jacomina, wanted them to move across the globe, to forge a new life, build a new future completely free from their Prowze past.

She wished the move would also bring a new light into Harri’s bleak life. A woman who could bring him joy. The boy needed a reason to be happy. Harri had been too focused on achieving the promise he made to his mother without thinking whether those goals were his own heart’s desire.

She did not want to interrupt Harri’s ionsu moment with the sun. His Animus must have been starving for it.

Ah... Harri’s replenishing his spirit with light... It’s about time. I was wondering how long he was going to ignore his need for it. I am glad he succumbed... Deke said beside her. She did not notice him when he approached. A credit to his light-footedness.

I agree with you. The boy’s body sorely needs it. Perhaps the turning point is around the corner...

Yes, let us hope so... Jake is another matter, though. Deke glanced at the direction of the bedrooms.

Why? Is Jake still in deep mourning?

No. On the contrary, he had been acting as if his mother’s death was a minor inconvenience to his daily routine. He seemed more relieved than in grief. Deke sounded concerned and alarmed at the same time.

She noticed the same whenever she saw Jake, but since she seldom interacted with the youngest Prowze, she did not feel qualified to make an assessment. Jake preferred to be on his own most of the time, a behaviour normal to twelve-year-old boys.

Maybe he has a different way of grieving. And the relief came from not having to see and hear his mother’s suffering anymore. That was stressful for anyone, let alone a child...

Maybe... Deke sighed and left her to ponder upon the doubt in his response.

HARRI SAT DOWN HEAVILY on the old leather chair that used to belong to his father. It squeaked a little in protest, a testament to its age. Around him were rows of bookshelves full of old, dusty, leather-bound tomes that smelled of antiquity, prominence and past glory. 

The office-library, a repository of the Prowze family history, was shadowy on one side and bright on the other where the sunlight from the lawn streamed in. Citrus fragrance from the lemon trees growing near the opened French doors perfumed the air. 

He leaned back against the comfortable and familiar leather support of the old chair; his knee pressed against the ornate hardwood table in front of him. The pair were his work partner since his father died eight years ago.

Harri ran his fingers over the small, well-worn carving on the table. It was an image of two flying horses pulling a caravan behind it. Their company logo, a beautiful image meant to convey their logistics business perfectly. 

His father nicknamed the horse in the foreground as Iowan, and the other one as Killian. They were his and Jake’s second names. The caravan represented their legacy being pulled to the highest heights.

The dark natural patterns in the wood, polished to perfection, gleamed. He had spent days on end, sometimes sixteen hours non-stop, working behind this table. The furniture was his partner in the struggles and the triumphs in those years. The company was a regional player when it was under his father’s command. He made it a global force in eight years. 

The table was both a solace and a distraction. Now, it represented an even heavier responsibility. 

On it was a stack of papers that Mr Henning, their family lawyer, asked him to attend to. It had sat at the corner of this table for months. He was reluctant to touch it, but as Mr Henning said, he had delayed it long enough. It was time to act on her will. 

The echoes of his twelve-year-old brother’s measured treads along the hallway interrupted the unpleasant thoughts. Jake entered with a serene expression and sat down on the chair across from him. 

Harri felt a twinge of worry for his younger brother. Jake never expressed grief, not during the funeral, and as far as he knew, Jake had not shed a tear afterward either. 

You sent for me? What are we going to talk about? Jake brought him back to the issue at hand.

Jake, we need to make a move on Mama’s will... He nudged the papers towards his brother. 

Jake ignored it; his eyes were on him as he waited for his next words.

Do you have any preference between Malaysia or Singapore? Remember, Mama wanted us to move to one of those countries. It is closer to our headquarters, and a better place to start over. He prepared himself for Jake’s objection. Moving to a new home would be stressful, especially this soon after they buried their mother. 

Jake’s expression remained speculative as he chewed mildly at the inside of one lip. Can I think about it? I want to learn more about those countries. I will let you know in the morning which one I prefer. Jake’s tone was almost cheerful.

He frowned. What is going on with him?

He felt a kick of premonition, but he pushed it aside with a deep breath. 

Okay. A day or so will not matter, he said.

Jake jumped to his feet, eager to leave. 

Jake? Are you alright?

Jake inclined his head, his gaze questioning, then shrugged. Sure... Everything is okay, Harri. Don’t worry... And he left his office with the same unruffled demeanour as he came in. 

Jake might be twelve years younger than him, but he had the mind and the air of a much older person. The sense of foreboding deepened. Harri could not put a finger on it, but there was something in his brother’s manner and state of mind that bothered him. 

It raised the hairs at the back of his neck.

HARRI FLICKED THROUGH the incident report sent to him by the warehouse manager. Their client had a missing cargo and his team traced where it was. It was missing alright, but not from their end. He would meet with the client in two days, and he wanted to familiarise himself with the timeline of the transaction.

The door creaked open, admitting his brother. He knew it was Jake by scent without lifting his eyes from the document. 

Is it dinnertime, Jake? 

I have chosen where to move, Harri, his brother said without preamble.

Oh... He looked up, which one did you choose? 

Singapore. Jake already turned his back on him, to return to where he came from. 

Wait... He stood up and followed his brother to the dining area. Why Singapore? Jake seemed so final in his choice. 

Jake glanced at him without slowing down, Why not? Jake pulled out the chair, his usual seat, and sat down. Their staff stood by the side of the table, ready to serve them.

He followed suit and sat in his usual place across from Jake. But why? What weighed on its favour? He wanted to know the reasoning behind Jake’s choice. For Harri, either country would do. 

Their staff ladled soup in his bowl, and then on to Jake’s. A mixed scent of cream, ginger and clams wafted from the bowl. 

Jake shrugged and spooned chowder to his mouth. Nothing special. It’s just... smaller... easier to get familiar with. At his frown, Jake added, it has the right... facilities. 

Harri found his brother’s response vague, but Jake seemed indifferent to his own choice. Perhaps Jake just tossed a coin in the air. 

Alright... Harri spooned soup to his mouth. It was rich and creamy, exactly how their mother used to make. He did not realise he was hungry until the first spoonful hit his tongue and the smell of the freshly baked bread reinforced it.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. The warm sour dough bread complimented the chowder very well. The crust was crunchy, the inside chewy. It reminded him of rainy days, cold winters and cuddles by the fire.

Are you okay with moving, Jake? This question was on the forefront of his mind. He wanted to know how he could make the process easier for his younger brother. Prometheus knew he found it challenging.

Uh huh... Jake nodded; he was busy chewing. His brother still acted as if uprooting their lives was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps in his youth, Jake was much more adaptable, unlike him. At twenty-four, he was apprehensive of this move. 

AS THEY BEGAN THE PREPARATION for Singapore, Jake’s indifference had changed into excitement. While Harri was glad about this, Jake’s undue elation at the prospect of living in a country halfway across the globe made him feel uneasy... and suspicious.

Perhaps I should follow Jake’s lead and be more positive about it. A new country, a new culture, might be what they need to begin afresh and shake away the misfortune that plagued them.

Harri shook his head to clear the build-up of doubts in his mind and focused on the parcel in his hand. The thick royal blue envelope carried the logo of the Supreme Tribunal. It was a stylised, intertwined letters of S, V and T embossed in gold, black and crimson.

This symbol