by Renard, Loki
“I’m really not sure you should be seeing this,” Tarkan murmurs, backing the camera away from the scene.
“I want to see it!”
“Well what you want, isn’t necessarily what you’re going to get,” he retorts.
While we bicker, Reaper stands alone against the invasion. More soldiers are landing, dropping one by one out of the gaseous sky. None of them survive more than a few seconds within his range. He kills swiftly, cleanly. Even at the increasing distance of the retreating probe I can see that his movements are practiced and powerful. In all the time I have known him, he has been so restrained, never lifted a finger in anger. He is something entirely different now, a killing machine who terminates life with ruthless efficiency.
I reach out, slip my hand under Tarkan’s, and push the probe’s controls forward. I don’t want him to feel alone. Even if all I can do is be there with the eye of a probe, I will be.
“No. Don’t,” Tarkan says in dour tones. I look over at him and can tell immediately that he wants to see as badly as I do. He only pulled the camera back so he could say later that he tried to stop me from being traumatized.
“Is they sky getting darker?” I ask the question as a shadow falls over Reaper.
“They’re sending more. They’re trying to overwhelm him by sending the entire army all at once.”
More is an understatement. I have no idea how many soldiers are raining down on Reaper, but there are more than I can count, so numerous they black out the sun.
Reaper
Death, glorious death. I hear the screams of the dying and soon to be dying ringing in my ears, the choking, gagging sounds of life ending accompanying their discordant song.
I embrace death. I drink it. I revel in it.
I have restrained my natural instincts from the moment I felt One in my arms. I thought being civilized, choosing science, hoping to build semen to make offspring would make things better, but now I see I should never have been trying to bring life into the universe. I should have been doing the one thing I know how to do: ending it.
The enemy grows denser. I sense the weight of the swelling army rushing toward me, a malevolent storm of Scythkin destruction which should end me, but I cannot die. Not today.
I feel a power rushing through me I have never experienced before. I have always been vicious and fearless. I have always killed. But I never had a reason to before, something that compelled me nearly as strongly as the need to defend One.
In the ship, when they took her in a flash and Tarkan went for her, I was focused on escape. I thought that if we could run, we might be able to survive. I pushed the bodies of the dead matriarch and the guards who came for us out of the airlock and I prepared the drive while he threw himself into the dealing of death.
I didn’t want her to see me that way. It was a cowardice of spirit. Now I know better. I can feel her gaze on me through the probe which hovers around the battlefield, catching every piece of the massacre as it unfolds.
She will see me for all I am. She will see all I will do for her.
The war cries ring out above me, and the world goes dark. I look up and I see an entire battalion descending from above. If they land, there will be no fighting them. They will crush me by sheer numbers.
This should be the end.
But it will not be.
I refuse to allow it to be.
I am in my full battle form, the natural blades, claws, and sharp ridges extended as far as they can go across my body, my dorsal ridge twice the height it has even been. I can feel the rough armored plates across my chest and back cracking to make room for swelling muscular growth.
Death is at hand, and there is nothing more transformative, no force in the universe more powerful. I feel a thousand little deaths inside me, painful and yet necessary. I am breaking apart. I am becoming…
One
BOOM!
A percussive shock makes the probe shake. The image bobs up and down, wildly out of focus. I can’t see Reaper anymore. I can’t see anything besides a sky full of soldiers.
“Something is happening to him! What’s happening?!”
“Erm…”
Tarkan is less than helpful, but the image is stabilizing now and I can see for myself what is taking place on the surface of that vicious island in the middle of the lava.
Reaper is changing.
These beasts are capable of incredible things. I have seen them slip from human skin and take their true monster form. I have seen their fangs retract and extend, the sharp ridges which run along the backs of their forearms and back becoming mortally dangerous or perfectly safe according to their mood. But I have never seen the kind of transformation which Reaper is undergoing now.
He bends over, shaking as if in pain as his back broadens, his legs lengthen, shafts of what look like sword sharp bone extending from his thighs, knees, and calves. He has become walking death. Nothing can come near him without being cleaved, scythed, or simply shredded. But still he is not done. The dorsal ridge along his back rises up and grows and splits in two revealing huge thick leathery wings.
He roars and leaps into the air, taking to the sky as if born to it. His wings beat and my heart soars. The soldiers are still floating down, but now their limited advantage turns them into sitting ducks as Reaper rolls and tucks and twists, moving through the air with deadly elegance.
“You can fly!?” I turn to Tarkan in shock.
“… no,” Tarkan says, his voice gravelly with deep surprise. "This isn’t typical.”
“He’s flying.”
“Yes, but it’s… quite unusual. There’s stories of it being possible, of Scythkin evolution allowing a transformation to an airborne form, but it never happens. Not once in all the wars we’ve fought in have I ever seen any of us do that.” Tarkan looks over at me. “It must be you.”
“Me?”
“You’ve given him something worth changing for. Having wings rip their way out of your body is painful. Look. He’s bleeding.”
Tarkan is right. The ragged edges of Reaper’s wings are flowing with his blood, and there is a scarred mass of tissue on his back where they pulled free from his body and extended into the sky. He is suffering greatly in flight, but that suffering has made him more powerful than any other individual of his kind.
Reaper roars and it feels as though the entire planet is quaking with him. I feel his cry in my soul, an answering whimper rising to my lips.
“What’s happening to him?” I am afraid for him, for what this change means, for how much he must be hurting.
“There’s legends describing what can happen if one of our kind evolves past our battle form,” Tarkan says, his voice reverent. “But until now, I always thought they were just stories. Like I said, it never happens. I’ve seen Scythkin die for honor, glory, territory, all without ever transforming more than their fangs and dorsal ridges… but he has something more…”
“Your kind must have found love before,” I say. “I can’t be the first ever to have been loved by a Scythkin warrior.”
“Maybe not the first to be loved,” Tarkan says. “But the first to be loved so much.”
I am choked up, tears making my throat swell and ache, my eyes glassy. I wipe the water away. I want to see. The least I can do is look, even though it would be easier to look away, to hide from the pain it must be inflicting on him to be doing what he is doing, his body tearing itself apart to become more viciously dangerous.
“How…”
“Its a short term onboarding of cosmic energy. You humans get energy from food. So do we, normally. But right now, Reaper is pulling energy from this volcanic planet.”
“That can’t be possible…”
“The plants on your planet used to grow to great heights with the power they drew from the sun. This is just a swifter, more optimized process. He chose this planet. He must have known. He must have felt it coming.” Tarkan turns to me, and I can see the respect and admiration in his gaze. “This wa
sn’t an accident. None of it. He picked this battlefield.”
Reaper
I feel the planet’s energies rushing through my veins. I might not be invincible, but I feel it. My love for One has made me more powerful than I ever imagined I could be. The fleet lies in pieces smoldering in the lava. I have slain many, but their deaths are inconsequential. They chose to try to destroy me and the woman I love, and they have paid the price.
My wings are strong, and though every beat of them causes me agony, it is pain that is well worth it. I am more than I was, more powerful, more dangerous, more determined to destroy those who oppose me.
The fleet remains above me. Eleven of the ships are now empty, I am sure, held in place by remote systems being controlled by the main ship where Commander Flurg is broadcasting from. I have no intention of letting him leave. I turn my attention to the empty ships, pulling them one by one from orbit and throwing them bodily down into the lakes of fire where they will forever become part of the composition of this daemon haunted world.
Finally there is nothing left but Flurg. He should have retreated, but fear or arrogance has kept him firmly in place. His pride will be his undoing. I land on the hull of his ship and wrench the hatch open. It is sealed for space travel, but under my clawed hands it pops off like the top of a can. I can crush the strongest metals. I can break through any barrier. I could take this entire vessel, crumple it into a ball and hurl it into the nearest volcano. Instead I stride through empty passages toward the control room where Commander Flurg is hiding like a pathetic freshly hatched broodling. He threw everything he had at me, and it was not enough.
He lets out a high pitched squeal as I punch through the door and step through the hole I have made with my bare hands. I cannot believe I ever respected this creature let alone admired him. He is not only old, he is weak in character as well as flesh. He is decadent, thoughtless, lazy. An old commander resting on the withered remains of victories long overthrown.
“Don’t kill me!” He begins to beg immediately. If he had any honor he would try to defend himself, but honor is something the Scythkin command has not embraced in a very long time.
“Why shouldn’t I kill you? So many have died today, why should you not be among them? You are the reason they came for us. You are the reason the Earth is gone, humanity ripped from existence. I tried to protect one human, just one, and you could not let us be. You should die. Over and over.”
“Reaper,” he says, trying to placate me. “Reaper, I always knew that you were special. Small broods like yours never survive past the larval stage, but you ensured that you and your kin became some of our finest warriors.”
He’s trying to flatter me, but that won’t save his wrinkled old neck. Flurg’s kin are dead, killed off in the leadership wars. He is alone and weak and there is nothing to stop me from slaughtering him where he cowers. Nothing, except for the fact that he alone has the power to prevent the Scythkin from coming after us. He does not deserve my mercy, but tactically it is the best chance of protecting One.
“I will let you live, if you forget that you ever knew my name. You will call off the hunt for me and mine. Come for me again, and I will eradicate everything. I will destroy every brood, every clutch, every individual who tries to interfere with us. You have destroyed more than you understand. You have annihilated a species. I will not allow you to torment the woman I love even one day more.”
An expression of bewilderment passes over his face. His blunt, broken old fangs extend and retract in confusion.
“She’s a meat puppet made of hormones and programmed with instincts. She’s basically an animal. Your attachment to her is weakness, Reaper. You have set yourself against an army too numerous to count. You can run again. You can hide again. But we will find you. And next time you will be crushed.”
“Then you will die now, as will every one who takes your place. Be sure to tell them with your last breath that they should send only those who are tired of life, because attacking us will be the last thing they ever do.”
“No! Mercy!” He screeches as I approach, ready to cut one head from the hydra that is the Scythkin command. “I will do my best to stop them, but you have become infamous, Reaper. I cannot stop every trophy hunter who wants your horns on his wall.”
I stop myself before making the killing blow. He is right, of course. Flurg is just one of many who would be honored by killing me. Even if he were to order us to be protected, someone would come to cut off my head. Our species is a bloody one in which nothing matters more than the hunt. When the tales of today are told, when they know that I claimed my wings, took to the skies and destroyed an entire army, they will want my body as trophy even more. That means I will always be forced to fight. We will be hunted relentlessly, and even if I survive it, and she does, she will never have anything like a good life.
I cannot claim this victory if I want One to be safe. I have to give up my honor and my pride to protect her. Crouching down before the cowering councilman, I tell him what must be done.
“You will tell them that after a long, bloody battle, you slew me. You will say that all are dead. Do you understand?”
“I…. I do not.”
“The story that leaves this place will leave with you. You will tell nobody that we left alive. To the Scythkin empire, we will be dead, ghosts.”
“You will forsake your victory?”
“I will. But if one Scythkin warrior so much as sneezes in my direction, I swear, Flurg, your entrails will decorate my wall and you will remain alive to see it.”
“I agree to your terms,” he says, rising cautiously to his feet. “And it will not be a lie, because you have died here today, Reaper. You are not the warrior you were. You are something else. The human has changed you.”
I know in his own way he is accusing me of weakness, but I have never been this strong. I have only one word to say to his cowardly taunt veiled in agreement.
“Good.”
I fly from the ship, volcanic vapors helping my new wings bear me aloft as I soar over this planet which will one day cool and become host to life. New, precious forms of life will arise. Perhaps even sentient life. Maybe something approximating human existence will emerge. For now, there is only One.
She is waiting for me at the door of the shuttle. It has been opened, foolishly and against all regulations but I cannot imagine Tarkan could stop this fragile, naked, perfect human woman from coming to me if he tried.
It takes effort to retract everything besides my wings, but I pull the blades and spines back into my body so I can reach for her, feel the touch of her small, soft hand on mine, and pull her from the ship up into my arms.
“I love you,” she whispers the word against my rough and bloodied neck.
Any other human would be terrified by me, but not One. She has experienced too much suffering in her life to be afraid of death incarnate.
“I love you,” I growl back, feeling her wrap her legs around me, as well as her arms.
Together we soar above the battlefield. We kiss. We embrace, and One offers her sex to me, the soft chalice of her human desire wet and welcoming. I join with her as I have done so many times before, but never with such intensity. I surge inside her with all the passion I have for her. I would tear myself into pieces for this woman. I would put out the sun if it meant saving her. I love this little human with an intensity which is greater than everything, including my own life.
“I thought I would lose you,” she whimpers, undulating her hips, caressing my hard rod with that sensual alacrity which is so very human and so uniquely hers.
“Never,” I promise. “You will never lose me. I am yours. Forever.”
Epilogue
Reaper
“ONE! GET BACK HERE!”
One promised she’d be good. She said she’d do exactly what I told her. She said she’d never leave my side. All three of those promises have been promptly broken on the very first inhabited space station we have docked at.
One bolted from the shuttle as soon as the door opened, and is heading through crowds of people without a hint of the fear I was almost certain would paralyze her. She is braver than I tend to give her credit for, which is foolish given the courage it took for her to survive all those years on a broken world.
I thought she would be more cautious, but apparently I have been a little too successful in making her feel safe. One small mercy is that she is thoroughly disguised wearing the suit I made her. Right now, she appears to be a long tailed Rontaran long whiskered female with high pointed pink ears. I like the tail on her generous rear, which is one hundred percent all natural. As predicted, she has filled out with proper nutrition and now has an incredible set of curves which I am now forced to follow at her scampering speed through a crowd of potentially hostile strangers.
One
This place is incredible. I cannot believe how many creatures there are here, I’d call them people, but none of them are people. Unless they’re hidden away in suits of their own like me. Some long legged things with narrow limbs walk past me, their legs going up at least six feet with little round pink fluffy bodies at the top. I dodge past a four legged fluffy elephant type creature who is complaining that his insurance didn’t cover his deductible. I make a mental note to ask Reaper what a deductible is when he catches up with me.
Thanks to my short but violent ordeal with the hostile Sythkin, the world around me has been unlocked. The implant in my head didn’t just make it possible for me to understand Reaper and Tarkan. It also allowed me to understand any language, and read any language too. There are signs everywhere advertising everything from food to fortunes. One in particular catches my attention: