Mag Beast Leveling

The castle shook as Arachne's form broke down and melted into nothing, her dying scream echoing across the hallways like the breath of dying wind. 

There is a piece of being on the sidelines of not being part of the political scene, of being lost, of waiting for her time or her song you eat and prepare for testifying which results in you feeling deliciously aware of the not-amazed momentum that this feels inside you in your smart-phone device.

The air was condensed, pulled thick with the scents of burnt blood and decomposition, and Vincent felt a weight, something indescribable but apparent moving within the walls;

Vira wiped sweat and grime from her forehead, her blade still shining with Arachne's ichor.

"We need to move. Now."

But before they could put their feet down, the walls shivered once more.

Something else had been watching.

A low guttural growl slithered through the hallway ahead. Then another.

Something shadowy flopped out of the dark no, not a shadow, a monstrous lump of fatted flesh and gold, coils of muscle sheathed in arboreal bone and ridged metal.

Its "face," as it were, was a grotesque parody of a human skull, black filth oozing from its eye sockets as its long digits ended in jagged, rusted blades.

Then another emerged.

And another.

Vincent had no time to react before the first creature pounced, its claws racing toward his throat. Instinct took over he ducked, but it wasn't fast enough.

A blade like talon slashed his shoulder, sinking deep; the hot flower of blood ran down his arm.

"Fuck!" Vincent staggered back, clenching his teeth.

Vira was already moving.

She flared, her blade scything a bloody arc through the second abomination.

Its head exploded like a ripe fruit; black ichor slapped the stone walls.

The thing gurgled, thrashing in its death throes, but another took its place almost instantly.

"There's too many!" she said, stepping toward Vincent.

He knew she was right.

They were coming from all sides now, an endless tide of slaughter and nightmare, and clawing toward them with hungry, gaping maws.

Some had features rendered grotesque by their humanization a soldier's face liquefied into a gnarled rictus, a woman's lips twisted into an unquenchable scream as her ribs burst forth from her blasted flesh like splintered lances.

What used to be men.

Or had they ever been?

The thump of Vincent's blood beat in his ears.

A darkness awakened inside him, one he knew well. The thing inside the thing he was only just starting to understand had woken and was coiling around him and tasting his soul, like some terrible beast licking its lips.

"Let go," it whispered.

He didn't fight it this time.

A beam of raw, violent energy erupted from inside him, and his vision turned crimson.

The closest creature leapt at him, but he caught its arm in the action of striking, twisting it so hard the bones snapped like dry twigs.

The creature roared, thrashing, but Vincent would not let go.

He bore then pulled, yanking the limb from its socket with a slippery, nauseating rip.

Its black blood spilled on the ground as it fell.

Another beast growled from behind, needlelike teeth gnashing at Vincent's throat.

He instinctively threw a fist into its mouth, shattering the beast's jaw.

The thing choked, its other half cinching in, but before Vincent was filleted, he kicked the beast in the chest still, and it flew back, a quaking shape of arms and sinew across the stone ground.

Part of him was laughing.

Something deep. Something dark.

Vira was watching.

She had seen him fight before, had seen his rage, but this was different.

The manner in which he moved the ruthless efficiency, the pure savagery of it was not the Vincent she knew.

And yet, they had no choice.

More animals came in, a stampede of clawed limbs and gnashing teeth. Vincent took them head-on, his body acting on pure instinct.

His fingers drove deep into an enemy's throat, the flesh yielding and tearing up, splitting it open with a spurt of thick, black dust.

One more lunged, though, and he drove his elbow into the Pokémon's temple with such force that it caved in, the body flopping before it hit the dirt.

Vira battled beside him, her blade singing through the air as it broke open skulls, opened bellies, and splattered walls with blood and guts.

She spun and ducked and sliced her sword an extension of her body, a performance of accuracy and death.

But it wasn't enough.

There were too many.

And then, the laughter came.

A slow, mocking chuckle.

It flowed through the slaughter like oil, mock and cold.

Vincent twirled, his blood-slick palms grasping at air. He drew in a sharp breath, soaked in the blood of things best left unseen.

In the wake of the mass murder, a silhouette emerged.

Not a beast.

Not a monster.

A man.

Or something close to it.

He was a tall figure in a long black coat, the cloth pristine despite all the blood. His eyes shone, like polished obsidian, hollowed and ancient as the heavens, as though he had seen the construction and destruction of ancient cities.

Vincent knew this was not an ordinary man, without a doubt.

And he recognized his name before it was spoken.

"Xandros," he murmured.

His smile was slow and predatory, and it would take Xandros time to recover.

"If you are actually starting to get it, Vincent."

His voice had smoothed out now; the gravel of their first meeting was behind them and replaced with something almost … playful.

"This is what you are."

Vincent didn't answer. He gasped for breath; his body still hummed with unasked-for violence.

He took a step toward Xandros, and in his wake, space itself warped.

"Tell me, did you enjoy it?"

Vincent's fists clenched.

"Shut up."

Xandros chuckled. "Oh, but you did, didn't you? The rush. The power.

The feeling of ripping them apart with your own hands.

The way their bones crunched. What their blood felt like, warm and slick between your fingers.

Vincent's stomach twisted, but his heart raced at the possibility.

That was the worst part.

Because Xandros was right.

He had enjoyed it.

He was not that afraid even now; his hands still shook but only from hunger, not fear.

Xandros tilted his head. "You can continue lying to yourself. Or you can embrace it."

He could sense Vira beside him, short breaths, eyes scrolling up and down his face for some answer.

For a moment, he didn't know what to say.

He felt that he no longer recognized who he was.

But Vira Xandros then stared up at Vira.

His smile widened.

"Or maybe," he said to her, "you need to see what losing control looks like."

And at the tip of his wrist, Vira howled.

Her body shaking, dark tendrils snaking around her limbs, twisting, pulling, stretching her bones breaking, her skin tearing, her voice hoarse, tortured, screaming.

Something within Vincent broke.

And when he did pull his punches, he let them fly.

The monster from within was finally awake.