Do you know what it is? I ask my demon. With the aura's familiarity, I am pretty sure it can only be one of two things–and I know which one I am hoping for.
he responds. He must be thinking the same thing. Both of our emotions are coursing through me–mine is anxiety, his excitement. I wish I was that confident in my abilities.
The threat becomes clear as the aura closes in on my position. The base-filled boom of the Hellhound's bark echoes through the open space as soon as it comes into view. A few months ago, this area had been filled with yellow and dried corn stalks. It's lucky that this didn't happen then, because the Hound most likely would have set the fields ablaze.
Regardless, this is gonna suck.
I have to burn to fight, and I don't have my car here. That means I don't have a change of clothes or a backup phone. So, I'm gonna have to strip in the middle of this field in the cold season of winter. Not having many other options, I decide it is time to start removing layers. I set my phone onto a nearby rock and look around. There isn't a soul in sight other than the beast bearing down on me, so I slide my shirt over my head, kick my pants off and leave my boxer briefs on–I am not streaking. I sigh at the shoes that are going to be burned away and take off running, getting further into the field and as far from the street as possible before the Hound catches up. It gives chase and closes the gap between us with incredible speed. In my periphery, I see it jump to pounce on my back from behind. I assumed this would be its play–a typical predator's attack–and was waiting for such a move.
My demon's exhilaration spreads throughout us when we let our combined strength free. Our body settles as the burn overtakes us. Our feet sizzle on the cold ground, and our skin burns and cracks, releasing heat and taking on the look of lava flowing through volcanic rock. The briefs and shoes we are still wearing burn away quickly. We slide to a stop and pivot to backhand the Hound's gnashing maw. The Hound yelps as our hand connects with its jaw, slamming it to the ground. We stand to our full height and roll our neck, stretching the new muscles to relieve the tension from the transformation. The Hound rebounds, hopping to its feet and backing away. It then repositions itself in response to our attack. Another powerful bark issues from its muzzle, and its words fill our head.
(Strength. Not enough. Sad.) Its voice is a deep growly base, just like its bark.
Is it talking about us?
No, no, no, I continue speaking, unsure if the beast can hear my words inside my head. There's already two of us in here.
(Shame. End misery.)
Okay, it's definitely talking about us.
The more I listen to this thing, the more I realize that it is not really speaking. What I can hear is a rudimentary form of demonspeak that is being projected through its aura and translated by my demonic blood. If it can do that though, I wonder, can it actually talk? Perhaps if I had more time, I could try to talk with it.
The Hound bounds forward at us and sinks low on our left. We swing down to connect with its head, but the move was a trick. It dips under the blow and moves behind us. That was a smart move. We were hoping for a strong hit, and it must have read that in our movement. We take its bait and overextend, throwing ourself off balance. We also learn that its bite is worse than its bark as razor sharp teeth sink into our right leg. It tugs, pulling us down to the ground and shaking violently. Hissing through the pain, we watch the swings of its head. Timing the tugs, we bring our left heel down on the Hound's eye. It whines and lets us go, dancing away and shaking its head. We get up slowly, favoring the leg and checking the wound. The flesh is flayed, but the injury is closing. Thanking our demonic essence for rapid healing, we turn our attention back to our opponent knowing the wound won't slow us for long.
“You seem to be confused here, pet,” my demon taunts, pacing around the beast as it eyes us. The cold, wet ground still sizzles with each of our burning footsteps as they sink into the earth. “So I will help you understand your place with a simple command. ‘Sit, dog.’”
It may not be able to speak, but it definitely understood the insult. It drops its head low, growling and baring its fangs. We crouch, ready for an attack, but The Hound starts shimmering. Its aura shifts, changing shape. Its head vibrates and splits like a replicating cell, producing another head to the left of the original. It does it once more, creating a third head while its body grows in mass to match the now massive neck.
I think you pissed it off, I say. You turned it into Cerberus.
A grunt is all I get as a response.
The three heads take a deep breath and bark in unison. The jarring effect of the bark that we previously experienced is amplified tenfold by the additional heads. The wave of force it generates hits us like a freight train. Booming vibrations reverberate in our head over and over and spread throughout our body. The sonic barking alternates between the heads and stays at the same intensity, never quieting. It drives us to a knee as we hold our head and, for the first time ever while burning, I feel nauseated. I want to throw up. It feels like my head is submerged in a small container of water, and someone is banging the side of the container with a bat to vibrate my world. I realize with no small amount of panic that the thoughts that are coming to me do so in an independent sense. They are my own, and I don't hear my demon. Every time that we are in this state–the burn–the thoughts are ours. This ability of the Hound is literally splitting us in two mentally, and I fear that it will release us from our combined form. I mentally latch onto the transformation, reaching for my demon–something I thought I'd never do–and feel that he is doing the same, clawing toward me in our neutral headspace. The separating effect slows, and I send out a pulse of void to try to cancel it.
The vibration wanes and fades, but we don't get the reprieve we were looking for. The Hound pounces on us before we can stand again. Its front paws are pinning our arms, and the claws dig into our biceps, piercing our burning flesh. The two outside heads bite down on our shoulders, immobilizing us. We grit our teeth through the pain as the head in the middle huffs the canine equivalent of a laugh. We can feel its delight pulsing through its aura when it looks down and opens its mouth, moving toward our face. The ground beneath us is now slick with our blood, and our heat causes it to turn to mud. It gives under our combined weight and we are able to dislodge our arms out from beneath the paws. We reach up and drive our claws into the eyes of the side heads and feel the pain of the teeth retracting as they release us and draw back.
The middle head tries to close its mouth around our head, but we grab the top and bottom of its jaw. Burning pain spikes and snakes through our perforated shoulders when we do–but we don't let go. It gets harder to hold when the beast's teeth sink through the flesh of our palms. The beast shakes its heads violently, dragging us across the ground and trying to force us to release our grip, but we still hold fast, not letting the jaws close. The deep heat of frustration courses through our chest and my demon speaks.
We're trying our best here man, unless you're not. You got any better ideas?
Yeah, I definitely was just messing around with him, so now I'll get serious, I say sarcastically.
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The heat in our chest condenses to a single point. The Hound must be able to sense the energy compounding, because the side heads whine and the center head tries to retreat out of our grasp.
The pressure builds until it erupts from us as an intense blue flame that reminds me of Iron Man's Unibeam. We release the jaws and its teeth are ripped from our hands just in time to keep them from being caught in the focused blaze that disintegrates the middle head and a portion of the chest of the Hound. The two remaining heads yelp, and the body retreats. We roll over onto our stomach and try to push ourself up. Our damaged shoulders and ravaged hands fail with the first attempt and our cheek stings when we fall face first back into the dirt. The expulsion of our heat like that uses a lot of energy, and we feel weaker.
But we are free.
We can hear the Hound stumbling next to us, but it hasn't attacked again. Setting our hands on the ground and bracing for the pain this time, we try again. It's slow going, but we manage to push up, putting a knee beneath us as we stare at our enemy. The Hellhound is vibrating again, and the two heads move closer, tendrils of its flesh draw toward one another. It pulls the heads together, sealing the wound on its chest and combining the heads back into one. I hope this means that it can't use that bark ability again. I don't know if we can take another one of those. The power in its aura has decreased significantly with the effort of pulling itself back together.
We get back to our feet and try to drop into a fighting stance, but with our injuries, we're unsure if we're ready to take it on again. The Hound, however, seems to be more cautious this time, too. It matches our pace, and we circle each other a few times. Its eyes flick to our wounded shoulders and back up to meet ours. We assume it is probing for a weakness. We have plenty right now, but the beast looks unsure. We feel another strong void pulse ready if it tries to separate us again, but it seems it wants to try a different tack. The Hound's eyes blaze with molten energy, and it hops from side to side. We're not sure if it is trying to confuse us, but we follow as it moves faster and faster, pounding in the dirt. Shortly, however, the movement becomes so quick that it's hard to keep track of where it actually is–it's effectively creating what looks like an afterimage.
But the image is no illusion. Two dogs jump at us and rake claws across our legs from both sides. The claws draw large gashes that nearly bring us down again. The two skid to a halt and turn, preparing for another go.
I am. When they come for us, I'll do it. I hope this works. We don't really have anything else.
They charge us again, and when they are just within reach, we send out a heavy pulse of void meant to remove the copy. The conjured Hound shimmers, but doesn't dissipate. We brace for the impact of it on our back while focusing our attention on the real one, throwing out a fist to knock it down. We connect with a powerful hook and, to our surprise, the copy passes through us. With the corporeal Hound down and dazed, we glance at the now slightly translucent form of the copy. It looks at itself, then back at us. It cocks its head to the side before fully disappearing. The real Hound, having gotten back up, clamps down on our left ankle and tugs, trying to pull us to the ground once more. Its grip isn't tight. It only manages to pull the leg a few inches before we plant it into the ground.
We draw our other leg back and swing fast to knock it away. It releases us, and we barely clip its nose when it deftly dodges and hops back, shaking its head and chuffing. Spittle is gathering at the sides of its mouth. It is breathing heavily, and honestly, we are in no better condition. The confrontation has lasted longer than we wanted it to, and we don't want to give our enemy time to rest if it looks like it is getting tired. So we move to a more offensive approach.
We are unable to press the attack, however, as the beast opposes our movements, not getting any closer or farther away from us. We move forward and it retreats, we retreat and it moves forward. Its movements aren't erratic in any way. Is it just trying to buy time? My void energy pulses again like it did against the wizards on my front lawn.
What the hell, man? What are you doing now? We have to save that.
What do you mean that wasn't you?
he says with no trace of sarcasm.
Well, there's only two of us in here . . . I hope.
Well . . . what the hell?
My demon relinquishes its hold and retreats to allow me to control the energy. It pulses again, much stronger this time, and I feel a twinge of fear. It was spreading rapidly last time, but I thought it was some kind of fluke. The waves come out again, this time it is so strong I can see them. The energy is black with a hint of purple, and it pulses as the usual dome or bubble, spreading out at varying distances before fading out of existence.
Yes, I've never seen it like this before. What is happening?
The Hound crouches low as the waves wash over it. It stares up and around, its ears pinned down and back in… fear? Another pulse expands, but instead of spreading until it disperses, it closes in on the Hound. The void spreads from me, and again closes in on the Hound. With each pulse, the legs and body of the beast look like they are being compressed. It shrinks in on itself as my void takes on the shape of a cage. The energy spreads out from me and down onto the beast, putting more and more pressure into the cage. I try the same manipulation commands that I give my ability normally. The Hound looks too scared to attack right now so I mold the void dome, testing its resilience. It is strong, but pliable to my manipulation. I urge it to stop pulsing, but to leave the cage around the Hound. It doesn't fight me like my demon does sometimes, but it doesn't fully acquiesce either. The cage remains, but the pulses only wane, they don't stop. I put more of my concentration into it, forcing my will to come across as more of a demand rather than a request, and it finally cuts off.
The Hound tries to dig into the ground. I issue a quick order for the void to close in under its feet, and the Hound stays stuck inside the void cage. My demon returns, and we walk closer to the cage. I dismiss the remaining energy, and we reach down to scruff the beast. We pull it up then backhand it hard in the face, driving it into the ground.
What are you doing? I ask my demon, but he doesn't respond.
Before I can protest further, we stomp down on the front legs of the creature and hear a series of sickening snaps. A much louder yelp issues from the Hound, and it starts kicking its back legs to move away from us. Its front paws are dragging on the ground and its molten skin has dimmed. We move to pick it up again and its voice rings in our ears.
(Mercy. Mercy, Lord Mikael.)
“Oh, mercy now? Who have you shown mercy, beast?” we say.
(Orders followed.)
“Really? You're going with the, 'I was just following orders' excuse? Fine, whose orders?”
(Lord Alastor.)
Fire explodes in my chest again, but it is less focused this time and is more of a general burning anger and possibly a dash of hatred. This guy has wormed his way back into my life and I want none of it. The Hound must mistake my anger at my father for my anger toward it and cowers, drawing my attention back to it.
“What orders? Why did he send you?” We take a step closer as it retreats.
(Find, follow, aid)
“Who?”
(You.)
“How was this helping me?”
(Too weak. Kill. Mistaken. Not weak. Mercy.)
I don't think it is actually asking for mercy this time, I think it thinks that I was showing it mercy before. I wasn't, but I don't want it to know that. I lose my focus for a moment. There has been some kind of alteration to my abilities and it is taking up a lot of my concentration. My demon, however . . .
“Too bad,” my mouth says.
Hey, I didn't give you mouth privileges, I say and immediately regret it. That just sounded gross.
Since when do you speak in contractions so frequently?
(Wait! Can heal. Will aid.) The Hellhound responds.
“I have no use for a broken animal,” we say, the speech completely devoid of emotion.
(Will heal. Strong ally.)
We stay quiet like we are thinking it over, then respond.
“You wish to aid us now?”
(Yes.)
“We will see how useful you are. We have questions, beast.”
You said 'we' out loud.
(Beast will answer.)