[https://i.imgur.com/fvlW6Iu.jpg]
The body is a breath, pinpointed below the nose.
Breathe in, out. Lungs expanding, contracting. Lip-part; pink, ripples of tender skin. Exposed bone, cut into two, lined in-order. Teeth. Open, close. Flat, human teeth, for now. While underwater in the right conditions, it would be a different story.
The woman curled deep, pigmented wax over her lips. She eyed her face, expression; popped them, dragged her tongue along them to a slow dip in-tandem to her current obsession—Korean Pop music.
She wore red: skintight dress that stopped at her knees. Her slim body was angular, tall; long legs, dancer’s figure. Early twenties, college; formal night, some frat party, some guy that’d take her there. It was New York City, so she didn’t see the point: why drive when she could just take a taxi?
Her gaze dipped, rose. She scratched the inner corner of her arm. Along the skin there were patches of thin, flat scales, like a fish; she grabbed more foundation, smoothing it out. She hummed—the air shuddered around her, shimmering, by her voice.
Just siren things.
She stood, finished, and turned around.
Her date was in the doorway, suited, red bowtie. He was cute; sunkissed skin, gelled-back blonde hair, crystalline blue eyes. Tall, even for her. She paused, frowned—worked through his appearance. One of her roommates probably let him into the apartment, but still…no warning? “Uh, hey—nice to meet you! Liz told me great things about y—”
Roxanne’s eyes fell to his hands. He had some machine in it—something she didn’t recognize. Was that…blood? His other hand, a bottle of water. Wait…
Her eyes widened. She opened her lips to sing, freeze him in-place, act—
But he was faster. He squeezed the water bottle—she was covered. Saltwater, no—her legs began to snap, bones cracking, twisting, fusing; two into one, stretching out, out, out. Muscle extended, ripping and re-forming. Scales shot over the bloody section, fins peeling away, thin and elegant, but only when underwater. Above water, it flopped against the ground, soaked.
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Roxanne fell to the floor, achy, disoriented; she tried again to sing, blinking slowly, skin tone paler, teeth sharper, lips still painted red, red, red—
(Like blood—)
But he pressed a button. A machine extended from nothing, it seemed—she was shocked and squeezed, cold metal suddenly hot, electric. She screamed, throbbed; the world around them dissolved into fractals and split apart into glass shatter—
[https://i.imgur.com/TfHUVjT.jpg]
And she found herself in another world, within a steel facility, her roommates—all supernaturals, all wounded—unconscious beside her. Their bodies were flanked with wounds. Some were warped, twisted. Transferred wrong, limbs severed straight along invisible lines, cut clean, un-bleeding. She saw exposed bone within, somehow, but no blood. An impossibility.
Infants were wailing in another room. Monitors, checking brain-scans, mental states. They were adults trapped as babies. They were scared. They were so alone. Helpless. It is the human condition to be half-formed, heads too big for their own bodies.
The people within, formerly full adults, couldn't speak with a mouth without teeth, a shrunken set of lips and a small, weak tongue. So they could only scream.
Roxanne, unknowing of their condition but trapped in her own fear, sobbed. She tried to kick the machine away, but it was hooked into her arms, bleeding, taking, taking, sucking the magic from her—
The world was folding into itself. Shadows crept closer and closer. Men murmured in the distance. She fell slack, hollowed, husked, impossible beauty twisted, withered. Her magic was pulled free like a whisper. She, now: dead. Red lips, covered in paint and blood. Ghastly sigh, then hollowed husk of a body.
The reality unfolded. The men returned. Pocket dimension to full universe. Thread on a tapestry, pulled taut, tugged, cut. Another taken. Another pulled free. Another into a test subject. Another shot into an unknowing, callous universe. Another newborn. Another death. Another magic skill taken, divided, re-slotted. Another restructuring. Another prayer.
Another manmade god/
/Another man, made God.
Again. Again. Again.
They would carve their way through the multiverse, one body at a time.
And they would leave everyone breathless.