HUMAN

Chapter 48 - Metempsychosis

There was nothing that Vincent could feel, smell, see, or hear. A fragment of his mind existed in the devoid ethereal plane where purpose nor rhyme doesn't exist.

Death.

Or is it a transition to somewhere else?

This isn't that place. Far from it. There is something new across the horizon, the beginning was just starting, and his job is far from over.

Vincent took a breath.

It was labored, but something was different. He felt the movement of his chest, going with the rhythm of his breaths.

Breath in.

Breath out.

Breath in.

Breath out. . .

Vincent's eyes cracked open. Light beaded into his eyes like he'd just exited the tunnel and finally reached the light. Vincent didn't want to open his eyes. The moment he allowed the light to come in, he shut them tight. He felt his ears twitch. Everything he heard around him were sharper, like someone had fine tuned his hearing and could choose to filter what goes into his head.

Vincent took another deep breath and felt his limbs move.

An echo in his mind; a heartbeat. It remained in a slow, steady pace before picking itself up.

Vincent took another deep breath in, and a deep breath out. A strong odor - a mix of burnt wood, and a sharper, tangy scent he couldn't put a label on. His ears twitched. Something was downright wrong.

He felt it twitch again, like it was alive on its own. No mistake, it happened the second time.

His tongue rolled over his teeth. Sharp, and definitely not his. He moved his jaw and felt himself yawning. 'Wait. . .I. . .I shouldn't have walked away so quickly. . .' He heard his thoughts echo in his head.

Vincent gasped and shot up. He found his hand reaching for the wooden ceiling where light filtered through the gaps of the wooden plank. Memories of that place and the people he saw flooded through his head.

He shouldn't have walked away so quickly. What made him turn away so quick?

'Oh. Right.'

He brought his hand to his face. 'Did I really make the right choice-' He halted mid thought to look at his hands. Clawed, and covered with tan colored fur. His palms were white that gradually transitioned to the tan side of his hand and arms. Vincent clenched his fist, the nails dug into his palms.

It's flesh. Not the glove he wore. But one he could feel, and control. 

Vincent felt the urged to roll his tongue around his mouth. He opened his jaw, and snapped them shut. Sharp, canine teeth. Then his eyes drifted to the fluffy thing on his right. It flinched away from him.

He sprung up from the mattress he was laying on and landed on the ground. What he just saw was a tail. His tail. . .

The memory of the impalement flashed in his head, down to the feeling of it piercing through his heart. How he struggled to breath, how he was choking on his own blood. And the person who had done it to him. . .

The Commander.

They locked eyes.

Not too far from where Vincent was laying was The Commander sitting on an old wooden stool. He was alarmed, but didn't have the energy to say anything. He looked like he'd been through hell himself and struggled staying awake. What had he been up to this whole time?