Sylvester had been shot in the stomach at point-blank range.

Even if it didn't look like it, he was a human being. The pain was horrible, as if a hot iron was constantly being pressed against the bullet wound. It had caught him by surprise, and it had gone clean through him.

It wouldn't kill him, that was for sure. But he couldn't avoid the effects of losing so much blood. A slight dizziness, slowing down, even if it wasn't by much. Deep down, he was a human being. If he was cut, he bled, and if he bled he lost the most important thing to keep functioning.

But did that mean that the twelve creatures that had emerged from within Ryan stood a chance?

Of course not.

Not by a long shot.

Their only advantage and chance lay in numerical superiority. There were twelve of them now, more at a time than everyone he had killed so far in this tower. But so what, haha? They were so weak that it would take two or three times that many to pose a serious threat.

Twelve enemies.

Twelve desperate beasts, full of vitality.

He tore them to shreds.

Dismantled them with efficient lethality. The first of them flew off in four pieces before it could reach him.

A step forward, a twist.

The second flew out against a third, its tentacles impaling its companion and ensuring its death. It never recovered. He severed its head before it could even try.

The fourth he cut in half.

But not with the katana. He grabbed it with the anchors of darkness and simply pulled until it gave way. The smell of blood was so thick even after the Lunar Remnants had disappeared that in reality that bloodbath didn't change the atmosphere one iota.

The fifth stumbled over the blood and corpses of its companions and straight to its sword.

Of course, Cynthia had kept shooting in the meantime. But what he was getting at was that while he appreciated her help, it hadn't been sorely needed.

In a matter of seconds, the fight was almost over before it really began.

So what was the bullet wound in his stomach?

What were these things getting in his way?

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

Really his only concern wasn't being able to finish the fight fast enough to get Ryan help.

Which, well, was a very big worry. His survival might well be tied up with the survival of the human race. If he'd known it would end this way, he wouldn't have brought him to this place.

But not for that long. That was all he wanted to say.

He'd end this quickly and save his life for the second time.

Only seven remained standing. Only seven had a chance to even resist, but they had been dead since they came out of Ryan. They had given up the only chance of survival by not walking away.

The sixth was split into six pieces. It wasn't some kind of joke or done on purpose, it was pure chance, but it happened. Its pieces flew even farther than the power of his sword would have propelled them as Cynthia opened fire on it as well.

By now she had had time to retrieve the revolver from Ryan's hand. Weak, pale, covered in blood. So now she had twice the firepower.

No one knew that better than he did. He had felt that firepower in his own bones just recently.

It was a figure of speech, but also somewhat literal. The bullet had broken a couple of his ribs. He'd said Ryan shot him in the stomach, but it wasn't like he'd looked. The pain must have confused him.

Actually the bullet had gone high enough that it was a miracle it hadn't penetrated one of his lungs.

He knew that for sure even though he had spurted blood from his mouth. It hadn't punctured one of his lungs, although it had come close.

As for the remaining enemies... Well, what else could he say? They hadn't been a threat from the start. He'd blown them to smithereens, that was all.

The only relevant thing was what the last of them said before he gave them the coup de grâce.

"We never stood a chance even with two serious gunshot wounds."

Two? Ryan had shot him twice? He hadn't even noticed.

"Unbelievable. Who's the monster here?

"You," Sylvester answered simply.

And then he made it disappear from this world.

"Boss."

"You don't need to explain anything to me. You tricked them into abandoning the bodies of the guests and getting into Ryan, in exchange for letting them shoot me."

"I'm glad you figured it out without having to say anything. Well, if you hadn't noticed, my head would probably be off my shoulders."

"I only just realized. I didn't have time to think about anything before, I just trusted you."

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

"Oh. Thank you."

"You'll have to worry about your head if Ryan dies here, though.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's true... I could have let myself be possessed, but then I wouldn't have stood a chance of surviving when the creatures emerged."

"I know. You don't need to explain yourself to me."

Sylvester approached Ryan's mangled body. Unconscious, but not dead. Not yet. He held him in his arms.

It was proof of his transformation that he hadn't already died, that there was even a chance of saving him after his chest had exploded and then been stretched by the creatures on the way out.

Even though he had regained his human form, he wasn't normal. He would never be normal again.

They approached the exit, into the darkness of the night where the syndicate vans and ambulances waited. But Sylvester dropped Ryan before crossing the threshold. Not because he had mustered surprising strength as he scrambled, but because his right arm grew at least twice as big.

Consciously or unconsciously, he had begun the process of transforming into a Lunar Remnant.

Precisely now. No one should know of his existence.

Cynthia had made the right decision as far as saving most of the innocents within reach was concerned, but this could cause major problems.

It shouldn't be that way, but the existence of someone like Ryan was inherently political.

But now that he had started, he couldn't stop, Sylvester knew. He gritted his teeth. Besides, surely this was Ryan's best chance to save himself. Even if he was stronger than before, even in human form, the transformation should give him more strength and speed up his regeneration.

If he had to choose between two bad situations, obviously the least worst was that his life would be saved even if the price was that his existence would be revealed to the world.

But he didn't want to have to choose.

He wanted to get his way and take the best of both sides. He was that greedy.

"Bring one of the vans to the back of the hotel," Sylvester said, contacting the other agents through the earpiece. He didn't wait for a response.

He grabbed Ryan again and ran off in the opposite direction so far; it was a bit difficult to handle him when he kept unconsciously scrambling and one of his arms was so huge, but he managed.

For the good of the world, he was managing. That had been his job from the beginning.

Cynthia accompanied him.

He thought about telling her that she could have walked out the door, but decided to leave it at that. Not that he needed her help right now, but it wasn't like she was a bother either.

They reached the dank, dark alley in the back.

He wondered which was wetter, the alley with the rain or the hallway he had left behind with the blood of humans? Good question for which he had no answer.

In any case, by the time they arrived he had not just one arm transformed, but both.

And the chest was transforming, the ribs breaking and falling outward. At this rate he soon wouldn't fit in the back of the truck.

Not in the back or anywhere, he would break the vehicle in two in the process of the transformation. But he could worry about that later. He opened the back doors of the truck, which had been a little faster than they were, and pulled Ryan inside. He climbed in with him. Cynthia did too, following close behind him once more.

"Quickly," he said as he closed the doors.

Not addressing Cynthia, but the driver. He really noticed him for the first time when he heard him mutter something. It was a man who was probably a decade ahead of him, not that it mattered.

"What do you say?"

"Nothing, sir. I just hope I don't wind up in trouble because I had to come and pick up that monster."

"If that's all you're worried about, you can rest easy. My company is a safer place than any other in the world."

The driver said nothing in response. He didn't need to. The silence, as usual, spoke volumes.

They all arrived safe and sound at one of the syndicate's subway bases, placing the van in an elevator, a system used not only by them but by all kinds of people living underground. Many desperate people ended up living in places where they couldn't see sunlight because the cost of housing underground was much less expensive than above ground.

The Lunar Remnants and the changes created by their appearance were too recent for anyone to have become accustomed to them.

But sooner or later a generation would be born that was used to living most of the day without seeing sunlight. Somehow, that thought saddened Sylvester more than the thought of the moon exploding and the seas tearing everything apart, the literal end of the world.

Maybe there was nothing strange about it. Because, deep down, he was still a human being.

Once there, however, an unpleasant surprise awaited them. What he had feared came true. Not Ryan's death, but that this metal cage proved incapable of withstanding his transformed form.

But all in all it was only a minor scare.

Everyone was unhurt, including the driver. The vehicle was an irreparable mess, of that there was no doubt, but it's not as if it was his. It wasn't like he would have to pay for the replacement.

Maybe it couldn't be said that everyone had come out a winner, but no one had lost, that was for sure.

"He's not going to go crazy, is he?" said the driver as soon as Sylvester let go of him. He had grabbed him, to be exact, by the hood of his jacket. And lifted him up like a child.

"Well you know that they keep their human personality, but not their forms. Except when they are newborns."

"Yes, well." He swallowed saliva. "Theory is just theory. Sir."

"I understand. You can go," Sylvester added, because it seemed like he was waiting for his permission even though it should be obvious that he didn't need it any longer. He was a driver and had driven all the way, and even if it were otherwise he had nothing to drive anymore.

When the guy went off to find a new vehicle and left them alone...

"I couldn't help but notice that you went after him first," Cynthia said, wasting no time. "I mean, I can help myself, don't get me wrong, I'm not giving you the runaround."

Yeah, he knew that.

Even if that's what was going on, it was her right. Just because he was her boss didn't mean he was incapable of making mistakes, that he couldn't use advice and correction from time to time.

"I know what you mean. I didn't want to give him a reason to complain behind my back. There are enough people who do that when at the same time they entrust me with the fate of the world."

Hypocrisy. Two-faced people.

He was no saint either, but it made him sick when the person you thought you knew was actually so different.

"I understand. People who say you do too much or too little, the important thing is not to get it right, just complain."

"Exactly."

They hated him, feared him, suspected him. A wide range of feelings, the subtleties of which he didn't care about. In any case, they were just negative feelings and more pressure on his shoulders when he only needed help to lighten the load.

2

Again, it was his turn to be with Ryan in a box that would do absolutely nothing if he went crazy and went on the attack. Sylvester was the one they intended to restrain him.

The only reason he was allowed to roam free.

They would always be prisoner and jailer, not partners. He understood.

"I can't untransform." His voice sounded very different, deeper, monstrous, but there was still some humanity underneath it. He was still recognizable, though hardly.

The day he wasn't recognizable would be the day he truly lost his humanity. When there would be no trace. But Ryan wouldn't agree with him, he was sure. He saw the agony in his eyes that had little to do with the physical pain he was going through.

"All in good time."

"It's too easy for you to say. I don't want to be like this. I want, no, I need to be human. I"I am" The man's voice trembled, as if with that slip he had crossed a line from which there was no turning back. "I am human."

"It's easy, it's true. But I understand you. How many people do you think look back at me and see another human being like them?"

Ryan looked at him silently, with those beastly golden eyes. Right now he couldn't remember what the color of his eyes were, but not golden, that's for sure. No human being could have eyes of that color.

He had no words. He saw in his eyes, moreover, that he thought the same of him. A small movement, but one that told a long story.

"Yeah. I thought so."

Maybe they could become more than prisoner and jailer after all. One of these days.