The first time Pyrik had given in to the voice inside was when there was an impending conflict. Darius was having a dispute with a group of Jaegers over dividing up the bounty for slaying this beast, a lumbering walker that took residence near a baron’s wheat field. Or rather the lack of a fair share for Darius and Pyrik for their assistance. After all, it was Darius who plunged his sword into its chest, dragged the blade down, and spilled out carrion for the crows to feast on later. However, the Jaegers had lost more men to the lumbering walker, and thinking that they had more guns and still a numbers advantage on their side, taking their share was an easy steal considering that Darius was only a man with a sword and Pyrik was a girl with a blunderbuss that was larger than her.

“Hide,” Darius said as he drew his sword. She had sparred with him countless times, and knew the bone-aching force of his swings.

At least the Jaegers had the courtesy to wait while they laughed. Pyrik thought it was strange that they were laughing as she hid behind a tree. She had sensed something, it tasted like the rich iron tang from a fresh spurt of blood. For Darius or the Jaegers, she could not tell. Just that blood was going to spill and something inside of her was stirring with excitement. A mouth was opening wide, hungry for killing. She thought it was just a growing sense of panic, nothing more. She thought wrong.

The crack of muskets, swords clanging, bodies thumping onto the ground. The feeling kept growing, spreading like a nervous energy, and that was when she heard it for the first time, raspy and desperate and thrilled.

I am finally free.

Pyrik did not understand it then, just believed that it was a random thought cropping up amongst a world of violence. When a musket cracked and she heard Darius groan in pain, she unknowingly grabbed hold of the voice for comfort.

All you have to do is give me permission.

And she did, not realizing she had unleashed a massacre.

***

“Are you okay?” Menov asked.

Pyrik wanted to shout “no”, that her heart was in her throat and pounding in her head. A conflict was arising, a situation that she could not resolve, no control over. And the voice inside was seizing the moment. She could feel it burgeoning in her back, straining against the confines of her brigandine. The skin on her forehead broke as two nodes started to sprout. She tried to resist any further transformations, however, her teeth shaped into fangs. Sharp enough to draw blood when she bit into her inner cheek.

The shouting between the arachne and Hospitallers was escalating as the fire continued to spread. Ira and Cutter were among those voices, the only calm trying to bring reason into the rising conflict. However, they were but white clouds slowly getting consumed by a great grey storm. Shame. Ira, Cutter, they could have made the relationship between the two communities work. Most likely with some difficulties but Pyrik was certain they could have made it work. On the other hand, that required time and such a relationship needed more than a day to reconcile differences, absolve prejudices. Any goodwill to begin with was tenuous at best, built on the foundation of a common interest: the insectoid. But the insectoids were now gone, all squashed.

And then the thunder came.

Hospitallers fired their rifles and arachne fell.

Arachne let their arrows fly and Hospitallers fell.

Chaotic. Disorganized. Steel sank into flesh. Powder flashed from the pan, smoke choked the air. Appendages buried into supple bodies. Somewhere in the pandemonium, the Hospitallers managed to collect themselves into ranks and fired into the arachne, a wave of dying, mostly women and children. The arachne scattered into the trees.

“I’d rather not get pin-cushioned with arrows,” Menov said as she tried dragging Pyrik away. She batted her hand aside.

“Run away!” Pyrik yelled at Menov. The back of her brigandine burst open, and a set of leathery wings unfurled. “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.” And the antlers fully sprouted from her skull, magnificent and sharp as a male deer.

Menov stepped forward. “It’s alright, dear. I know what it’s like. I can help you get that beast of yours under—”

Pyrik swung a fist into Menov and she flew through a treem shattering the tree trunk like a bone. The fighting stopped from both sides. The arachne and Hospitallers were staring at her. When Pyrik stood, back hunched forward like a lumbering beast, her eyes glowed a fiery purple. She bared hands adorned with claws and a mouthful of fangs, drooling to tear into flesh.

“Fire at her. Fire at her!” a Hospitaller shouted out.

Ranks of rifles snapped to Pyrik, and each barrel spat out lead and thunder. Pyrik covered herself with her wings and the lead shot bounced off harmlessly, wave after wave. She schemed a savage smile, a beast delighted.

My turn.

A crater formed at her feet as Pyrik launched herself into the Hopitallers.

“Fire! Fire!”

Too late. Their ranks shattered as Pyrik darted through, swiping her claws, slashing through their armour and bone like wet paper, drenching herself in a terrific shower of blood. She tasted the blood on her lips, and it was sweeter than honey. It was good to be free, running wild. The girl was a fool to think that she could keep it locked up. To deny its will was to deny herself. She threw her head back with laughter as she grabbed a Hospitaller by the head. Pyrik conjured the winds as she flapped her wings, rising up to the skies as the Hospitaller flailed like a fish on a hook. Flailing harder as her slender fingers closed the helmet, easily crushing it like tin, screaming, begging, pathetically slapping at her hand as she felt resistance from the skull. With a little more exertion, the skull popped, the screaming stopped, gore and matter sprayed out from the visor and splattered Pyrik in the face, warm and delectable. Like trash, Pyrik tossed the dead Hospitaller to the ground, bones snapping as it landed as a twisted heap.

She turned to an arachne perched high up in a tree. It had an arrow nocked in their bow, arms quivering with fear. As she slowly flew towards it, the arrow shot at her head. Effortlessly she tilted her head aside, dodging the arrow as she flew into the arachne. Both hands plunged into its abdomen as she swooped the arachne up to the skies, and with the ease of plying apart dough Pyrik tore the arachne in half.

It felt unstoppable, powerful. None of those weaklings could challenge its supremacy. However, a prospective challenger appeared when Menov manifested her ribbon-arms, thick as a tree trunk, elevating her to the height of the canopy. Her frown was grim, determined to end this little rampage.

Pyrik smiled, and dove down from the skies.