He quickened his pace, bursting through the thorn bushes like a freaking tractor with a bear carcass in tow. Parting the next branches, covered with a thick green leaf, he saw the long-awaited bear and two cubs.

Hi there. Cyril chuckled to himself.

He knew he was doing a wrong thing, inhumane, merciless, and cruel. Cyril knew perfectly well that he had just killed an innocent creature. Still, he wanted to die.

I just want get my family back. He tried to explain to himself. I just want to forget everything. God, why had I sobered up this morning?

The bear-mother saw the man and with a sharp growl made the cubs hide behind her. They met in a similar clearing. Flowers and furry bees also grew here, but the ground was not yet saturated with blood.

"I killed your son, mother!" - Cyril shouted, throwing the corpse of the bear. A long trail of intestines stretched out like a new year's serpentine as the mutilated corpse landed in front of the dumbfounded mother.

Perhaps the bear was trying to understand something. Cyril didn't know. He stood up, arms outstretched, and again waited for the fatal blow. The bear sniffed at the dead cub, raised its head, and roared with a desperate roar. Cyril felt her pain, and his own pain at the loss of his son was somehow dulled.

"Avenge him." He said, his voice trembling. "Kill the man."

As if understanding his words, the bear rushed forward. She instantly covered ten meters between them and, without slowing down, flew into the unarmed Cyril. The force of the blow threw him back. He flew a few steps and fell backward into the bushes.

"Kill me!" Cyril shouted, not trying to get up.

The bear threw herself on top of him and started hitting him with her front paws. Long, sharp claws tore his shirt and trousers, snagged at the human body, tossed it from side to side, raked it, lifted it, and threw it to the ground. The bear opened its wide mouth, revealing yellowish teeth.

"Please, let you have enough strength." Cyril prayed, looking at the fangs, but he knew that nothing would come of it.

No matter how hard the bear tried to tear his flesh, Cyril remained unharmed. Finally, she grabbed his face with her teeth and began to rub, trying to crush his skull and tear off his head. Cyril swallowed her breath, reveling in the stench, laughing inwardly like a madman, but nothing could hurt him.

Damn you, my body! He shouted to himself. Burn in hell! Don't you dare take control again, don't you dare to respond! I don't want any more blood! No!

The bear opened its mouth to throw the man aside, and the moment his body was in the air again, fire flashed in Cyril's eyes.

He landed on all fours. He bared his teeth like a wild wolf and charged the bear. A wave of the bear's paw was about to meet his throw, but Cyril grabbed it, landed on the ground, and did a somersault. The two-ton bear carcass rolled over after him.

How can I do this?! Cyril shouted to himself. This is physically impossible!

The flames burned in his eyes, and he could do nothing but watch as his own body turned the bear over and leaped at the mighty beast. The bear tried to fight with its paws while lying on its back, but Cyril grabbed it again, turned around, pinned it to him, and broke the paw. Then he straightened his hand and did what he had done to the bear pub. His hand pierced the bear-mother's belly, entering up to the elbow and ripping through the flesh.

The bear roared, startling the distant birds. The roar of the wounded beast rang through the forest like a fire. Every moment the bear lost its strength, trying to hit, cut, tear, bite the man, but he remained as strong as a stone. The hand dug into the warm flesh of the bear's body until it reached the heart.

"I'm sorry." Cyril cried, unable to stop. "I'm just a weakling."

The bear's gaze seemed to say to Cyril "you can live with this" and after a second it faded. The man held the torn heart of a bear in his hand. The fire in his eyes went out, and Cyril vomited on the bloodstained fur.

He turned around. The cubs had disappeared. Cyril removed his hand, climbed down from the dead bear, straightened up, and sighed.

"I have to get stronger." He whispered, looking at the bloody mess where the bear's belly should have been. "If my body doesn't belong to me anymore, I have to find a reason for it and learn to control it."

The sun poured down on him. Cyril, haggard, trudged back through the windfall. He returned to the clearing where he had killed the bear, then found his basket and picked up the knife he had thrown.

"The truth is, I'm weak." He gritted. "They died because of my weakness. I was afraid to be tough, afraid to order and decide. That's why I lost my wife and son."

He found the nearest marker on a tree and went in the opposite direction.

"And then I had not enough courage to kill myself while I still could!" He snarled, and struck the thick trunk of a tree.

The impact broke off the bark, and a few splinters fell to the ground.

Four herbs, then. He thought, looking at the piece of bark under his feet. Then he looked at the reference book he had left in the basket. I will gather herbs for you, alchemist. And I'll start getting answers.

He continued to gather the plants, ignoring his torn clothing.