Ashan 116th, 717
Beyond the veil of the mind one would only find emptiness, but not Mal. Salvation was what awaited, and that yearning strain in his heart only yielded to the beat of his paws upon the earth, river stones scrambling beneath his heavy footing. A solemn tone clung to his mind, some wandering musician having begged him to listen.
Am I that inspiring?
Is my story that tragic? How did he know how I fel’, to play in such a way? I don’ deserve ‘ta be admired.
I jus’ wanna escape...
And the woodland forests to the west served to be a loving home, while the Spark within seemed to chastise him at every turn. Even now he could feel his totems calling; when he paid them heed, they only clung tighter. All of this instinctual freedom burned freely within the Etzori Falcon, and he felt the animal presence of his Hyx totem clawing away, as if trying to escape him.
Do I feel this way because I am unworthy?
Even charity to his cause, the Downtrodden, was revoked. He raised his paw and rejected a kindly sum that would have helped. Everyone thought him crazy, but Mal knew he hadn’t earned it. That was what put him over the edge, that and the Coven rearing its ugly head. Everything grew quiet since knowing Thetros, and he spent many a night wondering what the land of the Lothar was like. Could he really go there? Would he be free from his own sins?
I jus’ need to lose my mind.
Blundering out of a thicket, his time-worn form bore numerous scars from the many conflicts and trials associated with the season. A dull ache hung over his mind, and the growl in his throat had grown too harsh; people were afraid. Once again he felt he was losing his mind, but why?
I can Become everything ‘cept who I want to be. An’ it hurts. It fekkin’ hurts. Thetras’ it hurts. I wanna be alone, but I want those folks in this world ‘ta stop their killin’, abandon their greed.
An’ I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I? Wunna them sorts who says one thing, does anotha’ thing.
I’ll run. No, I’ll fly. Fly away, from here, from ‘errything.
I wan’ those two bastards buried in the dirt for all the fekking pain they’ve caused, but why do I gotta be the one to do it?
I’m done.
Eyes growing heavy, Mal’s labored breathing slowed, and his quadrupedal form lumbered through to a clearing. Even now the cool air called to carry him like a delectable chill in Saun. Mal truly loved the freedom flight brought, the therapeutic calm. And so he stood upon that bluff atop a rocky crag riddled with gnarled trees, kneeling down as his body shifted and warped, a tingle running through his body alongside the agony of Becoming something else.
Nearly a bit later a bird stood there, head tilting, eye towards the sky. Experimentally he flexed his wings, feeling the air grasp his feathers like a welcome handshake from a familiar friend, and the raptor he embodied now seemed to be in the back of his mind guiding him with instinct. Already he Echoed the familiar senses of a Hyx, but curiously that presence seemed to recoil.
Mal’s heart stopped.
Thas’ never happened before.
The loving, earthy scent of the world at large graced his nostrils in pristine detail, and his ears picked up on the trifle of a rabbit through brush far away.
I can still hear. I can smell. Why do you forsake me, totem of the Hyx?
What did Vuhl’mathi not tell me about totems?
‘Winging it,’ Mal thrived under experimentation and the natural feel of his Domain magic. However, that Spark seemed to ride on his shoulder, a dark passenger whispering into the collective of minds comprising his repertoire of forms.
Something works against me.
His wings spread out, and in the same swoosh of the outstretched, feathered appendages he pulled his taloned feet up and took to the air. Several flaps ensued as he ascended into the air, gradually rising more and more.
Could the Hyx be rejecting me? I still have its senses...
Worry filled him.
Do Becomers take souls?
Am I holding them back from an afterlife? An’, no-
-No, it can’t be... they haf’ta be someth’ else. Gotta be.
These concerns wrapped around his blanket like a fog as his wings carried him to the West. Robbed of the elation wrought by the pull of his own anxieties, he flapped and swayed over a river of wind in surprise.
Is that why... is it... no...
No, please no. Why do you want to leave? Why do you want to leave me? I’ve never thought’a that before, but ‘ya... ‘ya’re my frien’....
The evidence was there, the way the Hyx let itself Become someone else. The way those animals it became were frightened by the new body. And his eyes felt heavy, but he scanned the tones of orange and purple on the horizon in search of distractions, but found none.
Have I been misled all along?
Has my true family been within, all these Arcs?
Thinking back, he recalled how he felt when he abandoned the Ne’haer Mastiff totem, how he seemed to feel the call of a dog clawing for its master.
What have I done?
His little heart skipped a beat, and he felt sick. His thoughts became clear, but laden with the undertones of despair.
I threw away... that totem. My totem. I never thought about what might happen.
And now I’m losing my mind, because I have no mind? Is that it?
Immortals, help me. I’ll do what you want, I jus’ don’ wanna go that way.
Please...
That hollow, mournful wail speared through the great, darkening land of twilight. Its majesty was carried by the wind for miles and miles upon miles.
Thetros knows what a mess I am.
Eyes closing, the world went dark and white sparkles of tears rippled on in his wake. When he opened them nearly a bit later, all bleary-eyed, the irises went wide and telescopic on what he saw.
Wass’it?...
His heart-rate quickened. Far, far away, way up yonder and high as all could fly, was the glimmer of something slowly moving in the light.
An Immortal? A wizard? His gaze narrowed, picking apart the foggy picture that came into view as the wind dried away his malaise.
No, thas’ a bird. A really big bird. But why is it shiny?
Adjusting his course, he followed the star for the next several bits, slowly getting closer. His wings began to ache as time went on, but he only pushed himself higher into the atmosphere, where the wind was scarce. Naturally, the Obsidian Panther was happy to oblige its subtle trait to make better use of the scarce air way up in this realm without the earth.
It’s... fek, it’s massive.
Closer now, Mal could tell it barely cared about him. The bird knew him only as some falcon that strayed off-course, his minuscule size hardly a threat at all.
What did I do to deserve this Hunt? Mind drawn to the Immortals, he wondered if some higher power was at play here.
Kara... Care Ham--Korem. Yeah, Korem... no, I know this one. I know it! Bah! The patron Immortal of hunters? What was her name?
I’ve heard her name, must’a been a hundred times in Ne’haer. Fek.
Then it came to him, as his wings carried his body far above the massive titan of an avian.
Ha. How could I forget? Karem. This hunt’s ‘ta you, Karem! And with that silent prayer he kept rising, his wings fluttering, flapping harder to catch up when he fell behind in his ascent.
Can I even take that thing on? Hyx?
The Becomer felt only a deep, resentful cold coming from that presence in his mind.
Hyx? We’re gonna do this. Come on, I’m sorry, dunno what I did, but...
Agh, this is NOT the time ‘ta argue with ‘meself! He tucked his wings in, and barreled down towards inevitable oblivion.
The descent of his fall soon made him a blur, his aerodynamic form rocketing down at a speed that caused the wind to roar around him like thunder to his sensitive ears. That great avian was still distant, but the rate at which it neared was growing at an exponential rate.
I’ll need ‘ta time this righ’.
Hyx? Hyx, I need you, I’m gonna try an’ fek its neck. Is’ gonna hurt. More of that cold shoulder was all he could feel.
He had no choice. He ripped from that totem a torrent of transformative energies, his body crackling. When the fiery-toned bird with its feathers reflecting the dusk turned slightly, it was too late. Paws outstretched, bone claws shifted as Mal made quick changes on the fly, yanking concepts he held within his totems out into the world.
When that great bird met Mal’s body, a racketing noise of grating metal harshly overwhelmed Mal’s ears among the sensations of his breath leaving his body and those sharp feathers digging into his flesh underneath the hastily adapted bronze fur.
What gave him the real impact, however, was the metal he’d adapted into his bones. Mal felt so heavy, and his muscles popped and strained to the extent a growl was forced out of him.
What in the fek? A metal bird? His paws circled around its neck, bronzed claws raking at the feathers, the bird twisting and writhing behind him as he held onto its neck.
The whole world spun as the two went into a nose dive, Mal keeping its head down so it couldn’t maintain flight with so much weight holding on. Feeling the cool sensations of his crimson seeping by, he knew a feather must have pierced a vein. It certainly hurt, but there was an elated thrill to be had.
Is this what you wanted, old friend?
No response.
Wait.
It was subtle, but he felt it.
The hatred. The seething hatred.
I feel unwanted in my own body, accomplishing what few could ever do.
What Mal had not known, was the truth that his totem of the Hyx held no resentment for him. It was merely the amalgam of Mal’s burning, ever-present desire of vengeance against Vuhl’mathi and Vuda, slowly getting corrupted by the mutable ether of his spark as it grew, and then strained into reality through Overstepping many trials ago.
He clung tighter, not out of the thrill of the Hunt, or to hasten the destruction of his prey, but to feel the pain. His prey just screeched in equal parts fury, surprise, and terror.
I want to hide.
Thetros, what am I doing?
And as the whirl of colors below spun his gut until it fluttered, he felt the beast below quake. He heard it gurgle, and a moment later he knew the bird had evacuated the contents. Mal, too, was dizzy, pressing his head down into the coat of steel daggers as his mind spun.
I don’t feel so good...
So high up, the world below looked vast, but the earth was calling for a kiss. The date wouldn’t be Mal, no, the date was with an Ardor, and the two were on a crash course for the rocky hillside of a mountain flanked by deep forest.
His innards squeezed and tightened, but that was enough for Mal to bring up his lunch and promptly lose it. At least the wind whipped his fur clean. The resulting emptiness and the foul taste in his mouth brought with it a crushing, starkly pessimistic idea.
Why not do nothing? Let the earth claim my body?
All I’ve ‘Become is hurt.
Caving under the pressure, a squealed howl left his bestial lungs as he squeezed ever tighter, truly wanting this.
If I could just spin into nothing!
A flash blitzed across his mind. The memory of his own reflection, his original Self, and then another, the Hyx. Then Nightshade Eld, her wings beating to lift him up as some shadowy horror let go of his legs.
No,
It was enough. He saw the reason in fear, and as his heart raced he let go a ticks before impact. The Ardor couldn’t right itself in time, he knew, but could he? Unleashing the Falcon now, he felt something rip away inside that felt ominous and grave, but he ignored it. Life and death.
He unfurled his wings, breathless as the land hurtled up to slap him with pure physics. But he caught the air, his descent slowed, even with the cuts in his feathers and legs. It was by no means pretty, but when he hit the ground it wasn’t terminal. He lay there a mangled mess, gasping for air with a hiss from his beak. All he could hear was a sharp ring, and all he could smell was the iron scent of blood. His blood, in differing qualities, Hyx and falcon.
And the blood of his prey.
What’ve you done, Mal?
It was a cool chill creeping up his spine.
Am I dying?
No, he wasn’t bleeding anymore.
My bones are broken.
Sherlock Bird turned his head slowly, realizing he must have popped some of the muscles in his neck severely, because it hurt good. Real good. The Ardor was a silent, stalwart beast over a boulder. The temptation to give in was still hanging on to his mind, but he had his reasons to cling to life over death.
Whatever awaits me, I’m not ready for it. He tried moving, but all he could do was flutter a mangled wing.
That’s not good.
And so, he resolved himself to using that power.
This isn’t going to end well.
At first he thought to his Hyx, calling upon the totem. All he felt was a sad chill, and a rumble of angered emotion stabbing into his mind.
...
He tried again...
You’ve... you’ve abandoned me?
No answer, not even a stray feeling. This crushed him, and he found himself gagging in sickness and debilitating mental agony all over again.
I’ve lost a friend... Immortals help me, I’ve lost someone. Someone close, but do you even understand?
Chrysalis, he knew, could be accomplished with the boar, which would produce enough strength to harvest a totem from the metal bird. Chrysalis, however, would not heal his heart, his broken bond. But he tried anyway.
It’ll all be aw’righ’.
It’ll be okay.
After an eternity of scouring pain, his body grew out and he listened to the deafening silence of the world around, his body thrumming with some sort of seemingly soured energy. More than ever, Mal felt totally and eternally wronged.
Hrrrnnnng.
Honnnnggk.
Noises and squeals filled his mind as he got onto his feet, a wild look of fear in his eyes.
Nnnhhhgh.
He could think, but he couldn’t. His very soul could not formulate the speech, he couldn’t even think straight. No inner voice to guide himself, he could only feel what needed to be done. Guided by his own intent, he rose and gored apart the neck of this great beast, tearing apart the feathers which left scrapes on his tusks. The flesh beneath was softer, the bone even more so. It took a lot of work, but he had himself the necessary bits of spine, feather, and blood to create what he desired.
But he had no hands.
Hnnfgggrrr!
He didn’t want to dig himself deeper, but he had to. His body warped and shifted as he pulled himself back to humanity, such an alien concept now with the way his thought process was stunted. When the transformation was complete he knelt there, thoughtless save for the occasional grunt. Then he looked down, and he saw the midnight fur of the Obsidian panther bristling in the wind. He turned his hand over to look at his palm, and the vague, alien sight of a blend of human hand and dark feline pads stared out at him, claws upon the nails.
Further up his arm, he saw that the fur was blotched and silvery in places, though the rest of his body was hidden beneath the garb of his Etzori uniform decorated in totems hanging from his body in many places. He tried saying “fek” but all that left his lungs was a yowl laced with anger. Long, wispy ears like those of the Hyx splayed back in the wind as he rose, a long and spindly tail trailing through the caress of grass behind.
He had to make the best of things. He would have thought he was a monster, could he think the words.
Hnnnggghhrrahk.
The form reminded him of Vuhl’mathi. But he only knew he hated the man, and he hated the similarities. His thoughts were simpler now, guided by instinct, but he knew enough to hunch over those gory bits and start assembling the totem with his fingers and bronzed claws to aid him, the whole of his patterned body feeling lithe and light.
The Hyx no longer cared for him. He had been forsaken, but still he held the totem and its resentment in his essence-stained paw and squeezed in longing, only to rise and thrust ether into the totem he’d just fashioned from a creature with steely wings. He set off to go find a place to meditate, to sort himself out, and to spend a Trial connecting with the creature within.
And as the Breaks went on in the howling hollow he found to hide himself, he only knew he was something else now. Would he ever find his mind again? All he knew was to Become more, to Become all he could ever be, and the bird he later learned to be an Ardor had been acquired. A new friend. But he still felt a hole where passion should be.
Beyond the veil of the mind one would only find emptiness, but not Mal. Salvation was what awaited, and that yearning strain in his heart only yielded to the beat of his paws upon the earth, river stones scrambling beneath his heavy footing. A solemn tone clung to his mind, some wandering musician having begged him to listen.
Am I that inspiring?
Is my story that tragic? How did he know how I fel’, to play in such a way? I don’ deserve ‘ta be admired.
I jus’ wanna escape...
And the woodland forests to the west served to be a loving home, while the Spark within seemed to chastise him at every turn. Even now he could feel his totems calling; when he paid them heed, they only clung tighter. All of this instinctual freedom burned freely within the Etzori Falcon, and he felt the animal presence of his Hyx totem clawing away, as if trying to escape him.
Do I feel this way because I am unworthy?
Even charity to his cause, the Downtrodden, was revoked. He raised his paw and rejected a kindly sum that would have helped. Everyone thought him crazy, but Mal knew he hadn’t earned it. That was what put him over the edge, that and the Coven rearing its ugly head. Everything grew quiet since knowing Thetros, and he spent many a night wondering what the land of the Lothar was like. Could he really go there? Would he be free from his own sins?
I jus’ need to lose my mind.
Blundering out of a thicket, his time-worn form bore numerous scars from the many conflicts and trials associated with the season. A dull ache hung over his mind, and the growl in his throat had grown too harsh; people were afraid. Once again he felt he was losing his mind, but why?
I can Become everything ‘cept who I want to be. An’ it hurts. It fekkin’ hurts. Thetras’ it hurts. I wanna be alone, but I want those folks in this world ‘ta stop their killin’, abandon their greed.
An’ I’m a hypocrite, aren’t I? Wunna them sorts who says one thing, does anotha’ thing.
I’ll run. No, I’ll fly. Fly away, from here, from ‘errything.
I wan’ those two bastards buried in the dirt for all the fekking pain they’ve caused, but why do I gotta be the one to do it?
I’m done.
Eyes growing heavy, Mal’s labored breathing slowed, and his quadrupedal form lumbered through to a clearing. Even now the cool air called to carry him like a delectable chill in Saun. Mal truly loved the freedom flight brought, the therapeutic calm. And so he stood upon that bluff atop a rocky crag riddled with gnarled trees, kneeling down as his body shifted and warped, a tingle running through his body alongside the agony of Becoming something else.
Nearly a bit later a bird stood there, head tilting, eye towards the sky. Experimentally he flexed his wings, feeling the air grasp his feathers like a welcome handshake from a familiar friend, and the raptor he embodied now seemed to be in the back of his mind guiding him with instinct. Already he Echoed the familiar senses of a Hyx, but curiously that presence seemed to recoil.
Mal’s heart stopped.
Thas’ never happened before.
The loving, earthy scent of the world at large graced his nostrils in pristine detail, and his ears picked up on the trifle of a rabbit through brush far away.
I can still hear. I can smell. Why do you forsake me, totem of the Hyx?
What did Vuhl’mathi not tell me about totems?
‘Winging it,’ Mal thrived under experimentation and the natural feel of his Domain magic. However, that Spark seemed to ride on his shoulder, a dark passenger whispering into the collective of minds comprising his repertoire of forms.
Something works against me.
His wings spread out, and in the same swoosh of the outstretched, feathered appendages he pulled his taloned feet up and took to the air. Several flaps ensued as he ascended into the air, gradually rising more and more.
Could the Hyx be rejecting me? I still have its senses...
Worry filled him.
Do Becomers take souls?
Am I holding them back from an afterlife? An’, no-
-No, it can’t be... they haf’ta be someth’ else. Gotta be.
These concerns wrapped around his blanket like a fog as his wings carried him to the West. Robbed of the elation wrought by the pull of his own anxieties, he flapped and swayed over a river of wind in surprise.
Is that why... is it... no...
No, please no. Why do you want to leave? Why do you want to leave me? I’ve never thought’a that before, but ‘ya... ‘ya’re my frien’....
The evidence was there, the way the Hyx let itself Become someone else. The way those animals it became were frightened by the new body. And his eyes felt heavy, but he scanned the tones of orange and purple on the horizon in search of distractions, but found none.
Have I been misled all along?
Has my true family been within, all these Arcs?
Thinking back, he recalled how he felt when he abandoned the Ne’haer Mastiff totem, how he seemed to feel the call of a dog clawing for its master.
What have I done?
His little heart skipped a beat, and he felt sick. His thoughts became clear, but laden with the undertones of despair.
I threw away... that totem. My totem. I never thought about what might happen.
And now I’m losing my mind, because I have no mind? Is that it?
Immortals, help me. I’ll do what you want, I jus’ don’ wanna go that way.
Please...
That hollow, mournful wail speared through the great, darkening land of twilight. Its majesty was carried by the wind for miles and miles upon miles.
Thetros knows what a mess I am.
Eyes closing, the world went dark and white sparkles of tears rippled on in his wake. When he opened them nearly a bit later, all bleary-eyed, the irises went wide and telescopic on what he saw.
Wass’it?...
His heart-rate quickened. Far, far away, way up yonder and high as all could fly, was the glimmer of something slowly moving in the light.
An Immortal? A wizard? His gaze narrowed, picking apart the foggy picture that came into view as the wind dried away his malaise.
No, thas’ a bird. A really big bird. But why is it shiny?
Adjusting his course, he followed the star for the next several bits, slowly getting closer. His wings began to ache as time went on, but he only pushed himself higher into the atmosphere, where the wind was scarce. Naturally, the Obsidian Panther was happy to oblige its subtle trait to make better use of the scarce air way up in this realm without the earth.
It’s... fek, it’s massive.
Closer now, Mal could tell it barely cared about him. The bird knew him only as some falcon that strayed off-course, his minuscule size hardly a threat at all.
What did I do to deserve this Hunt? Mind drawn to the Immortals, he wondered if some higher power was at play here.
Kara... Care Ham--Korem. Yeah, Korem... no, I know this one. I know it! Bah! The patron Immortal of hunters? What was her name?
I’ve heard her name, must’a been a hundred times in Ne’haer. Fek.
Then it came to him, as his wings carried his body far above the massive titan of an avian.
Ha. How could I forget? Karem. This hunt’s ‘ta you, Karem! And with that silent prayer he kept rising, his wings fluttering, flapping harder to catch up when he fell behind in his ascent.
Can I even take that thing on? Hyx?
The Becomer felt only a deep, resentful cold coming from that presence in his mind.
Hyx? We’re gonna do this. Come on, I’m sorry, dunno what I did, but...
Agh, this is NOT the time ‘ta argue with ‘meself! He tucked his wings in, and barreled down towards inevitable oblivion.
The descent of his fall soon made him a blur, his aerodynamic form rocketing down at a speed that caused the wind to roar around him like thunder to his sensitive ears. That great avian was still distant, but the rate at which it neared was growing at an exponential rate.
I’ll need ‘ta time this righ’.
Hyx? Hyx, I need you, I’m gonna try an’ fek its neck. Is’ gonna hurt. More of that cold shoulder was all he could feel.
He had no choice. He ripped from that totem a torrent of transformative energies, his body crackling. When the fiery-toned bird with its feathers reflecting the dusk turned slightly, it was too late. Paws outstretched, bone claws shifted as Mal made quick changes on the fly, yanking concepts he held within his totems out into the world.
When that great bird met Mal’s body, a racketing noise of grating metal harshly overwhelmed Mal’s ears among the sensations of his breath leaving his body and those sharp feathers digging into his flesh underneath the hastily adapted bronze fur.
What gave him the real impact, however, was the metal he’d adapted into his bones. Mal felt so heavy, and his muscles popped and strained to the extent a growl was forced out of him.
What in the fek? A metal bird? His paws circled around its neck, bronzed claws raking at the feathers, the bird twisting and writhing behind him as he held onto its neck.
The whole world spun as the two went into a nose dive, Mal keeping its head down so it couldn’t maintain flight with so much weight holding on. Feeling the cool sensations of his crimson seeping by, he knew a feather must have pierced a vein. It certainly hurt, but there was an elated thrill to be had.
Is this what you wanted, old friend?
No response.
Wait.
It was subtle, but he felt it.
The hatred. The seething hatred.
I feel unwanted in my own body, accomplishing what few could ever do.
What Mal had not known, was the truth that his totem of the Hyx held no resentment for him. It was merely the amalgam of Mal’s burning, ever-present desire of vengeance against Vuhl’mathi and Vuda, slowly getting corrupted by the mutable ether of his spark as it grew, and then strained into reality through Overstepping many trials ago.
He clung tighter, not out of the thrill of the Hunt, or to hasten the destruction of his prey, but to feel the pain. His prey just screeched in equal parts fury, surprise, and terror.
I want to hide.
Thetros, what am I doing?
And as the whirl of colors below spun his gut until it fluttered, he felt the beast below quake. He heard it gurgle, and a moment later he knew the bird had evacuated the contents. Mal, too, was dizzy, pressing his head down into the coat of steel daggers as his mind spun.
I don’t feel so good...
So high up, the world below looked vast, but the earth was calling for a kiss. The date wouldn’t be Mal, no, the date was with an Ardor, and the two were on a crash course for the rocky hillside of a mountain flanked by deep forest.
His innards squeezed and tightened, but that was enough for Mal to bring up his lunch and promptly lose it. At least the wind whipped his fur clean. The resulting emptiness and the foul taste in his mouth brought with it a crushing, starkly pessimistic idea.
Why not do nothing? Let the earth claim my body?
All I’ve ‘Become is hurt.
Caving under the pressure, a squealed howl left his bestial lungs as he squeezed ever tighter, truly wanting this.
If I could just spin into nothing!
A flash blitzed across his mind. The memory of his own reflection, his original Self, and then another, the Hyx. Then Nightshade Eld, her wings beating to lift him up as some shadowy horror let go of his legs.
No,
It was enough. He saw the reason in fear, and as his heart raced he let go a ticks before impact. The Ardor couldn’t right itself in time, he knew, but could he? Unleashing the Falcon now, he felt something rip away inside that felt ominous and grave, but he ignored it. Life and death.
He unfurled his wings, breathless as the land hurtled up to slap him with pure physics. But he caught the air, his descent slowed, even with the cuts in his feathers and legs. It was by no means pretty, but when he hit the ground it wasn’t terminal. He lay there a mangled mess, gasping for air with a hiss from his beak. All he could hear was a sharp ring, and all he could smell was the iron scent of blood. His blood, in differing qualities, Hyx and falcon.
And the blood of his prey.
What’ve you done, Mal?
It was a cool chill creeping up his spine.
Am I dying?
No, he wasn’t bleeding anymore.
My bones are broken.
Sherlock Bird turned his head slowly, realizing he must have popped some of the muscles in his neck severely, because it hurt good. Real good. The Ardor was a silent, stalwart beast over a boulder. The temptation to give in was still hanging on to his mind, but he had his reasons to cling to life over death.
Whatever awaits me, I’m not ready for it. He tried moving, but all he could do was flutter a mangled wing.
That’s not good.
And so, he resolved himself to using that power.
This isn’t going to end well.
At first he thought to his Hyx, calling upon the totem. All he felt was a sad chill, and a rumble of angered emotion stabbing into his mind.
...
He tried again...
You’ve... you’ve abandoned me?
No answer, not even a stray feeling. This crushed him, and he found himself gagging in sickness and debilitating mental agony all over again.
I’ve lost a friend... Immortals help me, I’ve lost someone. Someone close, but do you even understand?
Chrysalis, he knew, could be accomplished with the boar, which would produce enough strength to harvest a totem from the metal bird. Chrysalis, however, would not heal his heart, his broken bond. But he tried anyway.
It’ll all be aw’righ’.
It’ll be okay.
After an eternity of scouring pain, his body grew out and he listened to the deafening silence of the world around, his body thrumming with some sort of seemingly soured energy. More than ever, Mal felt totally and eternally wronged.
Hrrrnnnng.
Honnnnggk.
Noises and squeals filled his mind as he got onto his feet, a wild look of fear in his eyes.
Nnnhhhgh.
He could think, but he couldn’t. His very soul could not formulate the speech, he couldn’t even think straight. No inner voice to guide himself, he could only feel what needed to be done. Guided by his own intent, he rose and gored apart the neck of this great beast, tearing apart the feathers which left scrapes on his tusks. The flesh beneath was softer, the bone even more so. It took a lot of work, but he had himself the necessary bits of spine, feather, and blood to create what he desired.
But he had no hands.
Hnnfgggrrr!
He didn’t want to dig himself deeper, but he had to. His body warped and shifted as he pulled himself back to humanity, such an alien concept now with the way his thought process was stunted. When the transformation was complete he knelt there, thoughtless save for the occasional grunt. Then he looked down, and he saw the midnight fur of the Obsidian panther bristling in the wind. He turned his hand over to look at his palm, and the vague, alien sight of a blend of human hand and dark feline pads stared out at him, claws upon the nails.
Further up his arm, he saw that the fur was blotched and silvery in places, though the rest of his body was hidden beneath the garb of his Etzori uniform decorated in totems hanging from his body in many places. He tried saying “fek” but all that left his lungs was a yowl laced with anger. Long, wispy ears like those of the Hyx splayed back in the wind as he rose, a long and spindly tail trailing through the caress of grass behind.
He had to make the best of things. He would have thought he was a monster, could he think the words.
Hnnnggghhrrahk.
The form reminded him of Vuhl’mathi. But he only knew he hated the man, and he hated the similarities. His thoughts were simpler now, guided by instinct, but he knew enough to hunch over those gory bits and start assembling the totem with his fingers and bronzed claws to aid him, the whole of his patterned body feeling lithe and light.
The Hyx no longer cared for him. He had been forsaken, but still he held the totem and its resentment in his essence-stained paw and squeezed in longing, only to rise and thrust ether into the totem he’d just fashioned from a creature with steely wings. He set off to go find a place to meditate, to sort himself out, and to spend a Trial connecting with the creature within.
And as the Breaks went on in the howling hollow he found to hide himself, he only knew he was something else now. Would he ever find his mind again? All he knew was to Become more, to Become all he could ever be, and the bird he later learned to be an Ardor had been acquired. A new friend. But he still felt a hole where passion should be.
