ONE OF TWO. - razor

Chapter One

He had done the unthinkable. He was changing, morphing into a monstrosity. His sense of self was growing distorted and twisted, slipping between his fingers like water through a net. It was happening all too quickly for him to hope to comprehend or control. He was becoming a beast. He almost – Oh, Lupical.

The gush of blood; the flash of lilac lightning; the surge of power that tore through his lean muscles; that instance of utter derailment; the anguished yell that ripped itself out of his dearest friend's mouth, followed by a cracking plea of his name being called after him as he fled the scene in horror of himself.

The sound of his own thundering pulse in his ears deafened him to his sloppy footsteps thudding upon damp soil. His tattered boots slipped on small rocks and snagged on raised tree roots as he ran, putting distance between him and his friends, terrified of causing them any more harm – of seeing them look upon him with fear.

What was happening to him? What was he becoming?

Tears seared his cheeks as they dribbled from his squinted eyes, his laboured breaths grew wet enough that they suffocated him, and as he made his way through the maze of trees he'd known his whole life with less dexterity than typical, his state only worsened. Thorn bushes scratched at his bare arms; his billowing cloak of silver hair lost clumps to being caught on branches that appeared to claw out at him; the wind chilled his skin that shimmered with beads of sweat as it pushed him back; electro continued to surge all too forcefully along every ligament in his limbs – burning and pulsating and twitching.

Something was wrong with him and he didn't think it could be solved with the usual herbs and foul tasting pastes he'd be administered in times of sickness. It was different from when he'd have a flu and it was different from when one of his scrapes would get infected. Something was wrong inside of him. Something had been wrong for a while.

Lisa; her face flickered within his mind's eye. He needed Teacher. She could help him – she always did; but what if he lost control around her too? In a blink his brain conjured an all too realistic image of Lisa splattered with deep crimson, clutching at a pouring wound in her neck and looking at him tearfully as gurgled sounds left her quivering lips. It branded itself to the back of his eyelids, forcing him to see it each time he shut them, and he let out a pained howl at the self-inflicted torture.

He couldn't go back. He couldn't risk it.

Razor's feet carried him blindly, not following a coherent path nor considerate of where they were taking him. It was such a lack of awareness that had him ignoring the increasing ache in his muscles and the drying of his lungs; the weakness that was overwhelming him and that would subsequently have him be unable to stop himself from losing his footing and tumbling into what could be compared to a large burrow. He mewled and clutched at his already scarred left arm that had been sliced open on a sharp rock he'd crashed into during his fall, red oozing out at a languid pace from where his skin parted. His tears wouldn't stop, yet flowed harsher and louder than before, not brought on by the pain that overrode any other feeling – both physical and emotional – but due to the sudden moment of respite allowing his mind to process what he'd done.

He, Bennett and Klee had been playing together as they often did; him digging holes, the little girl burying her secret special treasures in them, and Bennett maintaining a safe distance from it all, trying to upkeep a dwindling flame to roast some mushrooms and meat on.

It truly had been as any other day was when they met in the woods: carefree, running through open land and shouting in the wind, imagining shapes in clouds and laughing in merriment at the wacky creatures they'd pitch. Their bellies had rumbled after some hours and it was at that point that Bennett had begun cooking for them three.