Vivienne slid along the cold, uneven floor, her movements eerily silent except for the faint, wet roiling sound her formless body made. The noise was barely audible, more like a whisper of liquid shadows shifting across the surface, but in the oppressive quiet that hung between her and Rava, it seemed almost deafening. With nothing urgent to occupy her thoughts, Vivienne’s attention wandered, drawn inexplicably to the ambient sound she produced. It was strange, unsettlingly alien, yet oddly satisfying.
Her focus drifted, snagging on a detail that somehow eluded her all this time. A tail. Rava had a tail! How had she not noticed it before? A long, bushy tail that swayed gently as she moved, dark grey like her hair, reminiscent of a husky’s. Vivienne watched the subtle sway, mesmerised by how it shifted with Rava’s steps, almost as if it had a personality of its own. She’d spent hours following the tall lekine through these dark, endless halls, and her sharp vision had no trouble piercing the gloom. So how had she missed such an obvious feature?
Perhaps I am a bit scatterbrained, she mused, the thought light and fleeting, almost whimsical.
The realisation caught her off guard—but it felt good. She’d always been a little scattered, a little too caught up in her own nervous energy to notice the obvious. The familiar trait brought a small, strange comfort. Here she was, in a body that shouldn’t feel this good—unnatural, monstrous, and yet amazing all the same. Despite the ever-present hunger gnawing at her core and the deep, resonant voice that whispered through her mind, she was still herself. Well... mostly.
Her voice. Gods above and below, the voice! If there was one thing she could change about this body, it would be that. She’d gladly trade this eldritch might, the unnerving eyes that lined her tendrils, the grotesque adaptability, just to sound like herself again..
“Keep your mind focused, shadow-walker,” Rava’s clipped tone shattered the fragile quiet, her tail flicking sharply as if sensing Vivienne’s wandering thoughts.
Vivienne blinked, realising her gaze had lingered too long. “I wasn’t—” she started, but the words came out in that same guttural, fractured cadence, a discordant echo that grated against her ears. She winced and stopped mid-sentence, letting her silence speak instead.
Rava glanced back, her expression unreadable in the dim light. “You’re trailing again,” she said flatly, her voice laced with thin patience. “If something’s on your mind, speak it—or keep it to yourself. This place won’t allow for distraction.”
Vivienne let out a low, defeated sigh. She could still feel the fear in the air that Rava had clinging to her like a film. Strangely enough, she didn’t feel the urge to nip at it, drink from it. Perhaps the hydra was enough fo a meal for now. She didn’t need to always eat, did she?
But I still feel hungry.
Vivienne’s form rippled as she followed behind Rava, her mind a storm of thoughts she couldn’t suppress. She still felt the hunger—persistent, gnawing, but not urgent. The feast she’d made of the hydra’s dusk aether seemed to sate her in a way no mortal fear could. Yet, that lingering ache at her core whispered it was only temporary.
I don’t have to eat all the time, do I? she wondered, the thought mingling with the strange satisfaction she’d felt after consuming the hydra.
The sensation wasn’t just hunger being sated—it was something more. With it had come fragments of the beast’s memories and emotions, pieces of lives that weren’t hers. A siren’s joy, a lekine’s determination, a starbinder’s desperation—all of it had felt so vivid, so real. She hadn’t just taken the hydra’s strength; she’d taken its story, its essence.
Could she do more than just take? Could she become?
Slowing her speed, Vivienne stretched out one of her tendrils, watching the writhing mass of shadow shift and shimmer like oil on water. Her tendrils had wrapped around the hydra’s head before it shrivelled, and now, if she focused, she could feel echoes of that monstrous shape still lingering within her.
Can I...?
Curiosity burned through her. She let her form ripple again, concentrating on the image of the hydra. Her tendrils thickened and fused, her mass expanding as she tried to mimic its size. The memory of the beast’s many heads was fragmented, incomplete, but enough to guide her. For a moment, her form wavered, struggling to stabilise, and then two elongated shapes began to emerge where her tendrils had once been.
“Vivienne,” Rava called sharply, her voice edged with annoyance. “What are you doing?”
Vivienne paused, her shifting mass stalling as she turned to her companion. “I’m... trying something,” she said, the fractured tone of her voice softening slightly.
Rava’s ears twitched, her gaze narrowing. “Now isn’t the time for experiments.”
“I need to know what I can do,” Vivienne replied, her tone more insistent. “If this body can adapt, maybe... maybe I can control it. Maybe I don’t have to stay like this.”
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Rava huffed, crossing her arms but not arguing.
Vivienne focused again, the memory of the hydra’s massive form clear in her mind. This time, she pushed harder, her will pressing against the formlessness of her body. Slowly, her mass began to rearrange, her tendrils splitting and elongating into serpentine shapes. A rough approximation of the hydra’s heads emerged, though they lacked the same definition and menace of the original. Still, it was a start.
She felt a thrill of success, her excitement briefly overriding her hunger. “It worked,” she murmured, her many eyes flickering with a faint light.
Rava watched, her tail flicking in what might have been apprehension. “It’s... something,” she admitted, though her tone lacked enthusiasm.
Vivienne let the hydra shapes dissolve back into her usual amorphous state, considering the question. “It’s not just about looking like it,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s about understanding it. Using it. If I can take its shape, maybe I can take its strengths too.”
Rava’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before she turned away. “Perhaps.” she said, her voice softer than usual.
Vivienne’s form shifted uneasily, her thoughts churning like a storm. Rava’s words echoed in her mind, but they didn’t quiet the deeper questions gnawing at her core.
What am I? The question seemed endless, stretching out into the void within her. The hydra’s memories, fragmented and raw, still clung to her, flashes of lives she had never lived. A siren’s joy. A clansman’s struggle. A starbinder’s desperation. None of it was hers, yet she could feel the weight of each fragment as if it were. Each memory filled her with a strange sense of connection—and an even stranger sense of loss.
She wondered if this was what it meant to be a nightmare, to carry the echoes of the consumed. But was that all she was now? A vessel for broken memories and borrowed shapes? Did she resemble other nightmares in any way? The hunger inside her stirred, as if in answer. It was always there, a quiet, persistent ache that made her question how much of herself was still her.
Her gaze drifted to Rava’s back again, to the confident way she moved through the darkness. Solid. That was the word Vivienne kept coming back to. Rava was grounded, self-assured in a way Vivienne couldn’t fathom. She envied it. But the envy wasn’t malicious; it was yearning.
Could she ever find that kind of solidity? Could she ever be something without questioning it, without breaking it down into pieces that didn’t quite fit?
The silence stretched between them, thick and oppressive, but Vivienne wasn’t sure she wanted to break it. Her thoughts were loud enough.
Rava stopped suddenly, her ears twitching. She darted back around the corner they were about to pass and her hand shot up in a sharp gesture. Vivienne froze, her form rippling with tension. “Something’s ahead,” Rava said quietly, her voice low and cautious. She pointed toward the faint outline of an archway at the far end of the chamber. “It’s guarding the exit.”
Vivienne followed her gaze, her many eyes narrowing as she strained to see through the gloom. A figure stood there, humanoid but wrong in subtle, unsettling ways. Its limbs were too long, its joints bent at unnatural angles, and its head tilted sharply to one side as if it were studying them. Pale, ghostly light radiated from its translucent form, illuminating the faint sigils carved into its surface.
“A soul wraith,” Rava whispered, her tone grim. “Be careful—it’ll try to get inside your head.”
Vivienne’s gaze flickered between the wraith and Rava, her body shifting uneasily as she absorbed the warning. "Inside my head?" she murmured, her voice low and hollow. "That doesn’t sound... pleasant."
Rava’s tail swished sharply, her unease evident even in her composed stance. “It’s not. Resonance is the magic of the soul. This thing’s a predator—it’ll dig into your mind, into your very essence, looking for something to unravel.”
Vivienne recoiled slightly, her form shuddering as she considered the implications. The hydra’s memories were still tangled inside her, fragments pressing against her thoughts. What if it pulls those free? The idea of being undone by her own stolen memories sent a chill through her.
Rava turned to her, her violet eyes sharp and calculating. “That form you took earlier—the hydra—it could be useful here.”
Vivienne blinked, surprised. “You think so?” she asked, unsure. “I mean, I can mimic it, but it’s not like I am the hydra.”
“You don’t need to be it,” Rava said, a hint of frustration in her tone. “You just need to act like it. Big, chaotic, overwhelming. Distract the wraith so it can’t focus that soul-magic on us both. Give me a chance to get in close.”
Vivienne hesitated, her tendrils coiling in tight spirals. “And what exactly happens when you get in close?” she asked warily.
Rava flexed her claws, small arcs of electricity sparking between them. “I’ve fought things similar to this before. Not exactly a soul wraith, but close enough. You’ve also seen how I fight. I feel I should mention that they are extremely dangerous. Your presence has made them bafflingly simple to defeat. They’re slippery, but once you disrupt their attention, they’re as fragile as glass. Just… make sure you are a big enough distraction.”
Vivienne tilted her head, her many eyes fixed on the wraith’s eerie glow. “I hope you’re right,” she muttered. “Because if this thing digs into my head and pulls out something it shouldn’t, I can’t promise I’ll stay ‘distracting’ and not just... unhinged.”
Rava’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile—an almost imperceptible gesture of reassurance. “Then we’d better make sure it doesn’t get that far, shadow-walker.”
Vivienne’s form pulsed with dim light as she considered the plan. She could already feel the wraith’s oppressive aura pressing against her, whispering promises of chaos and fragmentation. “Alright,” she said at last, her voice firmer. “I’ll be the distraction.”
“You were born for it,” Rava quipped, her ears twitching as she glanced toward the wraith again. “Ready when you are.”
Vivienne let out a guttural, echoing laugh. “Born? That’s generous,” she said, her body shifting and stretching as she began to take on the hydra’s form again. Tendrils grew into serpentine heads, her silhouette swelling into a monstrous, writhing mass. As the transformation completed, she locked her glowing eyes on the wraith, a surge of defiance flooding through her.
“Let’s make some chaos.”