I woke up on my bed. It was quiet. Truly quiet. The buzzing was gone. The voices were gone. Vespa was gone. It was quiet. It took a few repetitions for the realization to really settle in my mind. I exhaled. My body was sore all over, but it seemed like the worse of the venom had already faded. I twiddled my fingers, and, though my muscles ached, they were at least working.

And my head was resting on someone’s lap. “Good morning,” she said. “Good to see you made it out alright.”

“Angelina.”

I turned to face up and saw a familiar face staring back down at me. Despite everything, Angelina’s appearance had changed little. Her skin was pale as ever, though her glossy black hair now fell to her shoulders. She was dressed in her normal white button-down and pants, which felt so jarring after the weeks of seeing everyone in uniform. “Hey Quinn.”

“You’re back.”

“In the flesh,” she grinned. “You had a pretty close call back there, didn’t you? Nearly lost it completely.”

“That... that’s right.” I chuckled. Because what else could I do? What was the proper response to nearly—not dying, per se—nearly disappearing completely?

“I’m glad I was here.” Her tone shifted. “Thank you for taking care of my Anchor while I was reforming. I don’t want to know what would’ve happened if I wasn’t here...”

“I don’t want to know either.” I chided.

She sighed. She was shaking slightly, though I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or trembling. “Quinn, there’s so much I need to talk to you about. I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad around here. Here. I mean, Libellula filled me in on... what happened. But I’m still... I’m...” She sighed again. “You’ve been really strong, Quinn.”

“Thank you.”

“Look, I’m not the best with words. I’m not Nep or Sarah, I don’t know how all this Angel stuff works too well. I’m just here to kill Demons. And it seems like the whole world is going upside down. The Angels are trapped, slowly losing their minds. The Demons are going to reveal us to the whole world. I don’t want to fight other Angels. I don’t want to hurt them. But...”

“But what?”

“But I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m an Angel. Maybe it’s because of how these bugs have rewritten who I am, cell by cell, but I know who you are. Those prophecies, those expectations... Quinn, you’re destined to do great things.”

I sat up. Not Angelina too... “What are you talking about?” Those prophecies were just... it was all nonsense, wasn’t it? A pretense to keep us here? “The Archangels told us to stay here. To wait. Is that what we’re supposed to do? To follow our ‘destinies’ while one of us dies out there? I know her. I can’t just stand by.”

“No, it’s not what you’re supposed to do,” said Angelina. “You’re looking at this all wrong. Yes, you’re destined for great things, Quinn. But that doesn’t mean sitting around passively and waiting for people to tell you what to do. Nobody’s destiny is achieved by waiting.”

I understood. Of course. And, just like Angelina, maybe it was the insect in me speaking, but it didn’t matter. It was so... clear, all of a sudden. How had I been so confused before? This destiny wasn’t a helpless prison, shackling me to one path forward. It wasn’t an inevitable fall to lose myself in my transformation. It was a guarantee of my success. I was going to do great things. I was going to lead the Angels to victory. Nothing would stop me.

The buzz of wings. Instinctively, I turned to face the noise, senses heightened tenfold, adrenaline pouring through my system. It was Libellula. It was Angelina’s symbiote. “Don’t worry,” said the dragonfly. “I’m not going to turn Angelina.”

“As if she could,” said Angelina. “You understand, Quinn?” She raised her fist. “Take control of your destiny. Don’t be afraid of it. Own it.”

The symbiote laughed. “That’s right.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “Then Angelina, has anyone else come by?”

She shook her head. “I’d be surprised if anyone did. The orders from the Archangels and the Chorus of Symbiotes... the situation out there isn’t so great. Now that the halls are completely overrun by feral Angels, I don’t think...”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“I’m sorry, what? What is going on with the other Angels?”

“They’re gone. They’re lost in their symbiotes. Like, a lot of them. It’s quite terrifying. Of course, they haven’t tried to harm you directly. But it’s very unsettling. They’re all huddled up out here together, waiting. Waiting for the chance to burst out of this nest and swarm their target. If you try to leave early, though...”

“We have to leave before then,” I said. “We have to. My friend is—”

“Quinn... look, even I don’t like all this messy stuff. I don’t like to think about the whole free will and purpose thing. It makes my head hurt. But there’s no way that getting out of here now is going to be easy.”

“I don’t care.” I got up off the bed. My legs were sore. My arms were sore. They burned when she touched me. She tried to stop me. But I stood up. I walked to the door. I opened it.

And a chittering chorus erupted from outside. The sound of thousands of legs skittering across the floor, along the walls and ceiling. The buzz of wings, the chirping of crickets, the droning of cicadas, all melting together to paralyze my body with a primal fear.

Angelina rushed to the door and slammed it shut again. “Don’t just do that!” she hissed. “Prepare yourself first.” As she spoke, her skin and clothes melted away beneath her chrysalis, white giving way to shining black carapace with shining bronze highlights. Her wings unfolded behind her, clear membranes marked with large golden-bronze spots. She drew her knife and slashed through them.

“Don’t—” her symbiote started, but it was too late.

“Why did you—”

“They’re only going to be trouble, again,” said Angelina. Libellula sighed. “How are you feeling, Quinn? You feel like you can transform? I’m going to warn you, the call to lose yourself in your instincts is stronger than normal now. Brace yourself.”

I nodded, closed my eyes, and began to transform. The gossamer membrane started at the tips of my fingers and toes, crawling up my arms and legs before completely encasing my body. I couldn’t move. When the transformation was like this, I had to do my best not to panic. The concern quickly faded: At first, I couldn’t move my arms and legs; now, I didn’t have any at all. My body melted away to nothing and reformed again, shining orange and black shell, amber wings, hooked fingertips. The transformation crept up to my neck. To my head.

And then I felt it.

It was like Vespa’s sting all over again. I remembered it all. The seconds felt like an eternity. The voices calling, calling, pulling me deeper and deeper into that prehistoric consciousness. A hornet’s nest stirred in my brain, attacking my synapses, telling me, showing me that I needed to simply let it take control. The chrysalis raced over my face, blocking my eyes, burning my skin. I stepped back, still not fully adjusted to the shape of my Imago.

“Quinn!” Through the membrane I could hear Angelina. Blurry shapes moved through the foggy membrane. “Are you okay?”

I opened my mouth to say something, and digestive enzymes rushed in, burning at my tongue and throat. I would’ve choked, but my lungs were already gone. Instead, I felt the agonizing sensation of drowning while my body was completely fine. The pain shocked my mind deeper down. I felt like I was falling into a deep sleep. Why be human? What use was all this thinking? The Imago was perfect enough as-is. Alone.

Hands on my shoulder. Another pair of hands grabbed the membrane and tore it in half, the liquid draining from around my face.

Angelina kissed me.

It wasn’t a romantic kiss. I mean, I was practically dying in there. And it sounds really lame and cheesy to say, but all I felt was love. Love with all its messy, complicated feelings, but also with eager and pure intent. Love of a parent to a child, of a siblings, of friends, of lovers. Human love.

The carapace shattered, flaking off and returning me to human form. My eyes opened, and she was there, fully transformed besides her face. Angelina pushed me away, and turned her head, and spat out the caustic liquid that had gotten into her mouth. Then, she pulled me close again and hugged me with all four arms. “You alright, kiddo?”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Don’t apologize.” She sighed. “That was too close.”

“I don’t know what to do,” I said. “It’s so overwhelming. How am I supposed to do this transformation right? I can’t keep the voices away. I...”

“Oh,” she said. “I see what’s going on. Quinn, you can’t fight the voices.”

“What? But then how—”

“I kissed you, Quinn, because that was something human. Something to remind you of what it means to be human. Something you could never do in your Imago. But Quinn, you cannot separate your Imago from yourself either. You cannot live with two warring natures, or you will never be able to transform again. Yes, you are human. But the Imago, the voices, the call... it’s all you, as well. It isn’t Vespa, it isn’t the Chorus. It’s you. Don’t deny it. Don’t push it away. Let it wash over you. And remember,” Angelina pressed two fingers to her lips and then brushed them against mine. “You are Quinn.”

“I am...”

“You are Quinn. You are an Angel. You are the one who is destined to lead. Not your Imago. Not Vespa. You. So when the voices call, let them pull you under. But don’t forget yourself. Don’t forget who you are. Don’t forget why you’re here.” She slipped something over my shoulders. The jacket that Sarah had given me. And though my room was still in disarray, my gaze settled on the portrait of my parents, which by some miracle was still intact. I felt a pang in my heart looking at them. Mom... I needed to talk to her so much. And I needed to save Russula. And find Grace and Melody. And find out where my dad was. And...

And I wasn’t going to let something like this stop me from getting there.

The chrysalis shot over my body once again, melting away my skin and flesh and bones. Though for just a moment my heart fluttered when the first voices started calling, I let them speak. Let them give me the power and instincts and millennia of muscle memory stored inside this body. I accepted it all. And through it all, I remembered the feeling of her fingertips on my lips. I remembered the faces of my parents. I remembered walking up to the frozen castle in Vancouver and staring my destiny in the face. And that this wasn’t Vespa’s Imago. It was mine. All of it.

The chrysalis fell away, flake by flake. I flourished my fingers, stretched my four arms, warmed up the muscles in my chest to flex my wings.

“I like the new look,” said Angelina.

I looked down at myself. The old orange and black was gone. In its place, my body was clad in rich dark crimson, accented with rings of vibrant canary-yellow. Elegant rows of short spines ran along the length of my forearms and legs, while my wings were now the colour of golden flames. I drew my stinger, and it no longer had that jagged edge. It was lighter, thinner, but the blade seemed no less strong, now a single, shining edge that gleamed even in the dim light.

Angelina was smiling ear to ear. Like a mask, the shell of her Imago sealed over her human face as she drew her quartet of twin-bladed daggers. “Ready?”

I nodded.

She flung the door open, and we stepped into the hall.