22. Tálstrom
Rage unlike any I’ve known since being dragged into existence roars through me, and I push my way forward, thrusting a disassociated Simon back into the dark recesses of our mind. He’s lost to his pain and grief, but I refuse to give up hope. Until I see the lifeless remains of those under my protection with my own two eyes, then they are still alive.
Rough cloth shreds around my bulky form as bones crack and reform, muscles bunch and release, and fur, claws, and fangs sprout from my pores, paws, and maw. With a single swipe I gut the closest guard, slicing through his flesh with ease. I round on the next, raking my claws from the top of his head down to his chest. Blood spurts from his arteries and he, too, hits the floor, a crimson puddle of gore quickly pooling around his twitching carcass.
One by one I annihilate my prey, their weapons useless in their fight against me. Their tranquilizer darts are ineffective, my fury burning through the toxins faster than they can pump into me. Cattle prods, batons, and knives only enrage me further, and I ignore the marks and wounds littering my body as I tear them all to pieces. The one who tried to change into his panicked animal had the swiftest death of all when I snapped that vulture’s neck.
Spitting feathers from my mouth, I snarl at the sound of retreating footsteps. I follow my final quarry on silent tread, the taste of his terror and desperation sharp on my tongue. I follow him down silent and darkened corridors, picking up my pace as a frustrated wail echoes down the empty hall. Turning a corner, I spot him frantically trying to dig his way through the rubble blocking the exit.
Excellent.
I slink half the distance before stilling, lowering my stance as I prepare to strike. I stare at the rodent who has blustered and brutalized his way through our captivity, his words regarding my brothers ringing in my head.
If they are dead, I will resurrect this miscreant and devour his entrails while he writhes in agony, again and again, until my own dying breath.
Some primal instinct must flare in his tiny brain, as he stills his movements. Seconds slide by as inch-by-inch, he turns to face me.
I snarl silently, baring my bloody teeth in a glorious preview of the lemming’s inevitable end. The acrid stench of ammonia and feces stings my nostrils as the shifter looses his bowels, the filth staining his trousers and puddling between his feet.
I pad closer, my glare drilling into his trembling body as he starts to mumble under his breath. As I draw near, I pick up his words, fervent and pleading.
He’s praying? This pathetic excuse for a shifter doesn’t deserve mercy or absolution!
I lash out, my claws catching across his thighs, tearing through skin and muscle and down to the bone. He shrieks in pain as he falls, but I don’t stop. The next flash of movement tears into his soft underbelly, the yellowish fat padding his rotund body parting just as easily as his fragile skin, and it exposes the muscles underneath. A blubbering scream erupts from his lips as I lean down and tear into his abdomen, ripping and biting my way down to his intestines. I grab a mouthful and yank, tearing them from his body before spitting them out. The gurgling shrieks and cries fade into the background as I savage his body, rending flesh from bone, slashing at his prone form until all that remains is a quivering heap of mutilated tissue and bone.
To my surprise, the shifter is still alive—if only barely. His chest rises and falls with each rapid pant of air, and his eyes flutter weakly as his life-blood pumps from his shredded veins. I watch as his eyes glaze over, his breaths stuttering and slowing, but I refuse to let him die on his own terms. With one final, feral roar, I clamp my jaws around his neck and crunch down, twisting my own head as I tear his from his shoulders. His body jerks at the violence before stilling, and the sight of the decapitated corpse settles something inside of me.
Another rumbling roar echoes down the halls, and I lift my head, scenting the air. The faint traces of wet earth, mud, and a salt-laced breeze comes from behind the rubble upon which my victim is splayed upon like an offering on the altar of the primal gods. I swiftly begin to dig, wedging my head and powerful shoulders through the debris as I wriggle my way to the other side. I follow the scent of freedom down a dank tunnel, emerging quite some distance away from the clearing housing the complex of buildings that kept me and mine prisoner for so long.
Movement catches my eye, and a beast appears—a monster of shadow and liquid fire, of molten lava and magma so huge that he towers over the two-story buildings. Three heads stretch from the enormous body, each one the size of a small car. The outer two have frilled spines situated under their chins and around their throats, while the middle head’s spines sprout around the back of his head and spine. The beast’s hide is black, interspersed by cracks and crevices that glow with volcanic light along the bus-sized torso and all the way down his spine-studded tail.
The air wavers with a haze of heat as the monstrous form sweeps and tears through the abandoned complex, the very ground itself smoldering despite the moisture of the surrounding swamps.
Silence descends as all the small creatures go into hiding, their primal senses telling them a predator the likes of which they’ve never seen is in their midst.
A voice so deep and terrible it shakes the very core of my soul booms through the clearing. It’s one I’ve missed sorely, and likely won’t hear again anytime soon.
“If you value your sight at all, shield your eyes. Not only from the glare of my fires but from the heat as well. Only my mates are immune. You have been warned.”
I squint and turn my head away as Garmr roars with fury and hate for this place that birthed him. Molten lava spews from his mouths, decimating the ruins of Vieux Sang and instantly burning them to ash,the heat of it bringing tears to my eyes.
I turn away from the devastation, my gaze briefly landing on where Shane and Francis are huddled with a group of smaller forms. I can see Cyril, Sarai, Sila, Nox, Bash, and Kane, and as each of them appears in my line of sight, their bonds spark and flutter… even the ones with our parents and siblings. They’re not whole, not by a long stretch, but at least they’re not completely gone either.
I reach out for Nick, Luc, and Quin, as I can’t see them among the gathered force, and the pure joy that floods me as Nick and Luc’s flicker almost floors me. I might be able to get them all back. All but one.
I bite back an agonized roar at the emptiness where Quin’s bond should be, his loss a deep and devastating blow. His absence is one so crushing that it annihilates all the joy I’d felt at gaining our freedom. He thought he’d hidden it from me, that I was unaware of the life bound to his own.
He was wrong.
Simon and I both swore an oath to our brother, and broken or not, we will uphold it.
Ignoring my wounds, I wade into the murky waters and turn my back on the warmth of my family and friends. I know where I need to go, and what needs to be done.
On my life.