The skin on his palms settled.

His DNA morphed, feeling knowledge motor into his brain at speeds that rivalled the unhinged pace of his life.

He despised the tinge of relief—the metallic drop of a dog collar was absent. It was another soul that nobody would weep for.

It contributed nothing, however.

It had power. It had personality. It had essence.

Though, even when reduced to nothing but pure genetics, it didn’t fulfill its purpose.

He could assimilate so much, but it never seemed to quiet the loud light that pulsated from his bare chest.

It was cold; he exposed himself to the world and consumed life. He couldn’t bear any shame, even when his body lacked imperfections.

He could still see the wrongs, though. His bones were too apparent, and his chest threatened to devour itself. His toes that inched out of dead socks gasped for gunk-ridden air, shivering on the torn hide of his sandals. The holes in his trousers put his ashy knees on display, which wailed for a break.

But it felt better. A lot better than the radiation’s alterations, all made possible by the one gift that caused him to run, buckle, and cry.

This light.

Disappear.

Disappear—Goddammit!

He stumbled into the blistering walls of the dark alleyway, smearing red on the grey surface. His careworn breath became drowned out by the discord of whirring sirens and nettling shouts. The throbbing of fleeting footsteps from nooks and crannies he couldn’t decipher made him nauseous.

Glancing up at the serene auroras that shielded the setting sun didn’t help—the light from his torso shone in hues similar to the cosmic display.

It was disgusting, and if he didn’t feel atomic in this world, he would paint the sky a different shade. But now pressed into the limelight and made into an illustration for wolfish gazes, he failed to be any bigger than he should be. He would be atomized further and become just like the being he engulfed.

It wouldn’t happen if he kept moving. If only there were space to breathe.

The streets were home—a doleful duvet that insulated the scurrying rats without labels.

Now he had to come to a standstill and hide in his refuge.

Whenever he scurried around, he did it alone. Whenever he ate, he did it alone. Whenever he speculated, he did it alone.

The more he ran down concrete isles lined with debris-filled tents and cans he would haphazardly kick, the further he deviated from the fallacy of comfort he set as a standard.

“How the hell do I even…” the man snarled under his rotten breath, tearing at his sticky curls at his mistake of making even the slightest sound. His heart seared, forcing his brown teeth to clench as he watched a platoon of police cars plunder the roads from a clearing in the alley. The cue that made him twist his heels was the volley of protests and pebbles cutting towards the windows of the vehicles. The sight of roaring flames and a winged person parading the streets with other arcane silhouettes with abilities only fiction could describe made him turn tail.

I’m cornered—hell no…

His profanities brightened like the abhorred light as two men who were hunchbacked and battered bumbled into his visage.

Then, with the eyes of his opposition callous, the delusion shattered. The unsurprising realization hit.

He was homeless.

No words needed to be said; the message was there. After all, a predator wouldn’t waste words on prey.

As soon as their eyes caught sight of the goal, they lunged for the light with hideous hands outstretched.

The man wasted no time; he was bereft of chains. He switched on the instincts in his drawn mind.

Croc tail…

His pursuers’ palms gurgled furiously.

The man strained his vision.

Ensnaring, right?

Bubbly blankets of skin disgorged from their palms, creating crackling sounds that vibrated the air.

Right.

The skin hurled at him at high velocity. He’d match it; adaptation defined his fast-paced life.

So, at full throttle, the dark skin of the man’s sacrum ruptured, forcing discharge to sputter out of his back. A bulky appendage gashed into the musty air, whetted by reptilian scales that fringed the fatty mass.

Then he spun on his heel and turned his tail, revving its motion before slamming it into the impending sea of skin. He grew satisfied by the pained shrieks of his foes, the scales piercing the skin swiftly before sending it crashing into the tight alley walls. They’re subdued.

A thunderclap.

The man flew into his hunters’ visions, watching their mangled faces fail to process the speed.

If only their lives were more unhinged than his, they’d be as wary as him—a weary man of no status suddenly becoming food for raptorial thoughts.

So he’d become the hunter and let the common hunger overcome him.

He analyzed his foes’ physiques.

First man has nothing helpful on the surface.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

He caught a glimpse of a jagged protrusion from the second pursuer’s shaven head.

That looks sharp and helpful. Not sure what it is, but…

The pursuers steeled themselves with disgruntled grunts. The one with the protrusion reacted. The deformity lifted towards his stomach.

He’d get stabbed.

I’ll take it.

He watched the protrusion close.

Can’t make too much sound. I’ll use something new.

Fresh from his DNA—at the speed of light—solid sediment manifested around the man’s abdomen, the sharp protrusion ramming into the rocky spot of his chest. He winced, a tear falling from his squinted eyes as he slid onto the concrete below.

The rocks on his chest crumbled, leaving little scratch marks around his besmirched belly button. The man clutched at his belly, feeling some of the cuts open.

“I need to work on that more.” He noticed the skin from the failed ensnaring attempt retracting to their palms. He huffed. “No…”

With a new instinct, he flicked his fingers backwards. Suddenly, tin cans hurtled into the backs of his pursuers, forcing squawks out of them.

A distraction.

Another thunderclap.

His crocodile tail jammed into the men’s skulls, the cries and cracks tickling his ears as he sent them plunging to the floor—to a level where he felt he was at the apex.

As he watched the men bleed out before him, his palm aimed at their bodies. However, he shifted his wan gaze and let it hover over the one with the growth protruding from his head.

It was cold. The man was exposing himself to the world, ready to consume life.

Did he need to shed shame? Could he shed shame? When would he shed shame?

As long as the night around him stayed as loud as the light simmering in his torso, he’d continue being small, where he couldn’t cast off anything more.

He suddenly held worth to the avaricious clutches.

So he had to disappear, escape from relevancy, and remember something that wasn’t as much of a delusion as he’d hoped his whole life.

It came back to him, and suddenly, he felt like he was on an equal or even lower playing field than the people he had just downed.

He recalled how lonely it was at the bottom; it sobered him.

With no time to spare shame and nothing to return to, he let his palms boil.

Then ensnared his predators.

----------------------------------------

Cosima remembered how the skin on her palms settled.

Her DNA morphed, feeling knowledge motor into her brain at speeds that exceeded the unhinged slowness of her life.

She despised the tinge of shame—the metallic cannon of the toad’s jugular was present in her blood. It was a soul that she’d been told to weep for.

It contributed something, however.

It had power. It had essence.

When reduced to nothing but pure genetics, it fulfilled its purpose.

However, despite only assimilating one being, it didn’t seem to quiet the loud blight that pulsated from her hooded heart.

It was cold; she hid herself from the world and consumed a life. She had to bear pity, though, even when her body was full of imperfections.

It felt wrong, but she embraced the warmth outside, knowing she was an inch closer to turning over a new leaf.

She felt ready.

“You guys even ready?” Theta questioned the three adults, slumping his weight onto the doorframe. There was silence, and understandably so, as Theta deduced from studying their stone faces. Even Tanairy—whom he’d concluded was always one to avoid lateness with answers—failed to utter a coherent sentence, succumbing to faint mutters and unsure nods. He wanted answers. He always did. The man needed an add-on. “I’ll have you know that having the gall to harmonize with something is one extreme, that’s for sure… but actually doing the transformations?”

He sensed the discomfort radiating from the tensing adults, and after a few seconds, he grew satisfied at the movement of a wavering mouth.

“It hurts… yeah.” Sinjin left it there. He dug his head into his palm.

Silence.

Theta frowned, scratching his beard as he delved into more innate analysis. He felt the equally studious stare of his wife behind him and shifted slightly to meet it. They exchanged knowing looks and read one another like books. They nodded understandingly, Theta turning back to the silent scene. He concluded it was best to let them leave as soon as possible.

“To blow my own horn, I’m a fantastic teacher,” Theta asserted, folding his burly arms and smirking at the adults. He momentarily paused to absorb their reactions. To his success, he noticed that they were more attentive, even warranting a skeptical brow raise from Sinjin. His beloved ego was a powerful tool for attention and a guaranteed way to grip his audience. He continued. “This is optional, but if you wish to stop by ‘ere tomorrow so I can get you accustomed to the whole transformation stuff… feel free—call me in advance first, obviously—”

“Isn’t—”

“What is there to teach?” Cosima interjected, cutting Tanairy off.

An awkward pause. Sinjin’s eyes widened, motioning slightly towards his girlfriend at the sudden question.

“Oh, uh, you first.” The blonde smiled widely at her for what felt like the umpteenth time that day.

Cosima inhaled, withdrawing her bile.

“Right—what is there to teach?” Cosima asked again. “Aren’t the, uh, transformations… like… easy if you—”

“Hmm.” Theta held a long hum.

“O-Obviously, with the pain and all that—”

“Hmm—the transformations are kinda like muscle memory—”

“I… see—”

“Usually—”Theta snapped his fingers—”with easy thought and some willpower, you can add the elements of your harmonizations to your body.”

“Uh-huh, so—”

“So, it’s easy, but just like any procedural memory—”

“Practice, practice, practice,” Sinjin added quickly, solemnly stressing each repetition.

Theta beamed at the adults, laughing childishly through his teeth. He felt like he was conducting a lecture, and the familiarity tickled his fancy.

He loosened his giddiness to avoid looking psychotic.

“Exactly that!” Theta coughed. “As you all know, the process is painful, and depending on your harmonization, expect a lot of… discharge, like blood.”

The adults shuddered in tandem. A small silence occurred.

“This is what you walked into, so you really have to endure it.” Theta took a gander at his watch before handling the door. “More you practice, the more used to the whole thing you’ll get, meaning the process will become less agonizing. Does that answer your question, Ms. Manco?”

“Yeah… of course.” She tightened her grip on Sinjin’s sleeve, letting her mind whir and consider everything said.

“Any questions from you other two?”

Sinjin waved his hand and shook his head. “Nothing from me; thanks for the help, sir.”

“I have no questions, too,” Tanairy said, holding out a hand to Theta with a soft look. “Thanks for, uh, the animals—yeah.”

Theta shook the hand enthusiastically.

“It’s no problem! Me and the wife will be more than happy to mop up any of your blood in transformation practice—”

“The hell?” Tanairy breathed in disbelief with nervous laughter. The couple next to Tanairy exchanged dubious looks.

A pause.

“Well, it’s getting late,” Theta said, pushing the door forward. His wife waved with that flowery air to her. “Keep in touch!”

With that, the Eta couple sent them off and shut their door. Incomprehensible chatter was heard from the inside that soon faded.

Cars passed by. Distorted birds chirped. Sirens roared. A plane zipped by. Seconds flew.

Life moved on, but the awkwardness remained.

Silence. The only sane response to committing what felt like a sin. They’d just scratched the tip of the iceberg that was the underbelly of society.

It was cold.

“Who says that?” Tanairy jested through a whisper, being the first to break the uncomfortable silence. “Actual nutcase.”

Silence. The blonde pulled her phone out and began tapping. She mumbled, “Need to get an Uber.”

“Yeah… it’s creepy,” Sinjin commented, forcing a chuckle. Tanairy humored it stiffly.

Silence. Cosima sagged, feeling the heavy tension interrupt her train of thought.

I need out—hell.

She needed air to breathe, patting her boyfriend’s shoulder and hugging it tightly to send a message. He understood with a jolt.

“Well, Tanairy,” Sinjin announced, holding his pale hand out to Tanairy. “We’ll be off. It’s been a pleasure—”

“Yeah, it has.” Tanairy wore politeness on her face, her azure eyes brighter as the night rose slowly. She shook his hand. “Hope you get home safely—”

“Peak hours, huh?”

“I wish I could drive, but it’s not my cup of tea.” The two shared a casual laugh. Cosima strained, shoving her maimed hand forward towards Tanairy to interrupt the paper-thin blanket of joy.

“Hope to meet again.” She fell victim to her smile once more, simply enhancing the wish for her words to be a lie. “A pleasure.”

“Yeah, may see you guys tomorrow?” Tanairy asked.

So she’s coming.

“We’ll check our schedules.” Sinjin scoffed. “I always have time for lethal blood loss—”

“Always at the top of my agenda.” They had another laugh, much to Cosima’s displeasure.

Eventually, as they walked further from Tanairy—who waited on the Eta couple’s porch—Cosima found that her purple nostrils opened up, taking in the air beyond the bubbling mess of tension. It sobered her.

She could breathe.

“Nice woman,” her boyfriend pointed out.

She held her breath.

That was definitely a thought, and she didn’t want to think about it. She had more abstract constructions in mind, so she grunted and didn’t bother to entertain the absurdity.

She would suffocate if she did bother.

There was a pause as they neared a white Honda Civic.

“We finally went along with this crap,” Sinjin lilted shamefully, clicking a button on keys he pulled out of his pocket. The car beeped. “There’s that thing tomorrow… But, um, think about it: what the hell is our next step?”

“You’re sweating, Sin—”

“It’s just my layering; it’s fine.” Sinjin swiped at his wet scalp. He uttered wearily, “Jesus.”

She watched Sinjin wipe at his red eyes with his sweater collar, alerting her to tighten the distance between them with a firmer hug. “Let’s save this for when we get home, ‘kay?”

She didn’t have much time to spare shame for her actions. She also had nothing to return to; harmonization was irreversible without what she sought.

So her palms felt a boiling sensation, not only to give her dearest warmth but also because they itched for some light.

So she’d think ahead, and soon enough, she’d lurch forward.

She’d ensnare it.