A searing pain shot through his entire body, and he gripped the small crystal with all his might. He staggered to one knee, unwilling to let go while the fiery sensation intensified across his skin, rippling across muscles, bones, and organs. He shuddered but kept himself from screaming, as the small piece thrummed with power in his hand.

“Shawn, let go of it!” Claire pleaded, but Regia held her back, out of the corner of his eye. “Let go of me, you oversized stuffed bird!”

“Claire get back, it's already started! If you yank it out of his hands, it could kill him!” Regia stood firm and grabbed Claire by the waist, dragging her back, and she screamed in rage. Telga took a step back, and gave a solemn nod, as piercing pain split across his body.

“Don’t die, Shawn.”

Gold threads traced across his skin, burning it and simultaneously healing it. He gritted his teeth so hard that he felt one of the cavity fillings he got at the age of thirteen crack.

It was inconsequential to this pain, this fiery, agonizing pain. He felt his entire existence reorganizing and the stitching of flesh into something new, a glow now spreading across his body.

I am not dying before I get Maggie home. I am not losing the few good things in my life before I have a chance to fight for them. He felt his whole body convulsing with pain, as his flesh burnt.

But what was stranger, was the strange shapes appearing in his vision, the buzzing in his brain. It felt like a hive of bees inside him, a reprieve from the searing pain across his body. Runic shapes and symbols graced his vision, which he did not recognize at first–until he realized they were similar to the teleport platform he had first emerged on, in this world.

And he could understand them. Like a lightning rod in his brain, he could read them. Blood cauterized, burnt to ash, and that glow intensified around his body. All he could do was grit and hold his chest with his arms, groaning, and trying to keep his eyes open. He saw Claire fighting against Regia. Telga stood there, stoically, motioning for Regia, shouting for her to prepare their escape plan, and that she’d carry him if she needed to.

The runes in his vision grew fractally, becoming clearer, more distinct. His vision was blurring at the corners of his eyes, darkening as he fought to stay conscious. But he saw a message that instantly decrypted in his mind.

> Who are you? How did you find me?

He didn’t just see the words. He felt them. Buzzing in his mind, he ignored all else as his flesh seared and his insides churned, and his limbs cracked.

I…I grabbed a crystal. It was the only way to protect my cousin--and newcomers. I have people to find, people to defend.

He directed those thoughts to that internal sound, feeling his limbs twisting, his fingers creaking and cracking, and he collapsed on the ground. Muscle tensed and reformed along his body–he was being reshaped, molded into something else. The glyphs spun, as if hesitant, then unfurled into another message that resounded in his mind.

> You’re not from Remaria. You’re different. Your body and soul resonate at a different frequency. What do you intend?

I have someone to find, in this world. She was taken. A Radiant bet it all on me, hoping I could help her save her world. I’m hoping I can, so I can… he panted, and let out a scream of pain as he felt cracks in his spine–it wasn’t just cracking, it was elongating. Every segment of his body felt like it was on fire, shaping and molding. The biting pain of a winter river, that numbness of pending death, couldn’t compare to this.

> You seek to make amends with your past.

I let my sister down. I have to make it right, even if I have to fight a god, to do so. But, what are you?

> I’m so much less than I was. I can’t remember the span of my greatness, from before the dark.

>

> But, with you…maybe we can both be something more. Your gestalt will be suited to your skills, and build upon them to heights unforeseen. But, there will be other changes.

>

> Your soul still flickers–it is haunted by other things. Things that you dread. Restraints you wish to break.

I have some baggage–oh dear gods, the pain!

> It will pass. You have potential. It will not be wasted.

Shawn forced his eyes open, and he heard the screams he hadn’t realized had been his voice. Every place on his body was in agony, but the voice inside his head was a beacon of calm. His vision blurred and he couldn’t see what was happening to his body, but he knew he was changing. He felt sharp cracks and other twisting of his body, his neck, his spine, and a searing pain along his shoulder blades. His skin split like mud cracks on a hot summer day, patches turning green and white, and flaking apart. His screams had faded to low groans, and he felt the world closing in, the blackness crawling in from the corners of his vision.

> Tell no one of my existence. Because they will destroy both of us or dissect us, for what makes us different.

Just promise me…that I will remain who I am.

> That’s up to you. But you have a spark of determination that burns brightly. Fight to survive. Fight for those you protect.

But…what do I call you?

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

> Call me Halsey.

He felt the world close around him, and the relief of oblivion.

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

“Shawn, wake up, this is no time for a nap!”

Shawn’s eyes fluttered open, and he let out a low groan. Everything hurt everywhere, all at once, and he felt itchy all over, and his spine ached like he'd been slammed into the floor.

This was worse than the portal, if such a thing were possible. Telga was kneeling beside him, beak practically in his face, and looking at him worriedly. “Grrk…what…happened.” his words felt sluggish, something didn’t feel right, at all.

The worrying part was that he sort of remembered what happened. Those glyphs were still present in his vision, whirring away at messages. A new message appeared, and he read it.

> Telga does not know I exist. Keep it that way. For your own sake, and safety, tell her nothing.

You were real?

> I still am. Shawn, you’re in danger, you need to move, right now. MOVE!

Shooting pain spread up his limbs, and he gasped while Telga let out a sigh of relief. “Well, you’re not an invalid, that’s good news. Okay, there are some things you might want to be aware of since you were unconscious for about a couple of minutes.”

He tried to speak again, but his tongue felt off–it felt different, and the words were almost garbled. And the inside of his mouth felt spacious. His jaw felt all…wrong.

He took in his surroundings. They were not in the same laboratory, and he craned his neck to peer around. Something felt off about the motion. Like his neck was a rubber band in tension. There was a persistent blur in front of his face that he couldn’t quite make out. Something yellow and black.

Claire gazed at him warily, clutching the casing with the other crystal protected within. Regia was locking down a door. Other Aveeran were in the room with them, staring at him in awe, including a colorful red and green male with a plume of blue feathers on his head crest, and bright green eyes. He had just been barking instructions–urgent, but calm. He wore armor similar to Regia and appeared bloodied, but alert.

“The level is warded off, but it won't hold, Telga! We are trading space for time, get that exit portal up so we have a shot of escaping!” the man instructed calmly, and then saw Shawn looking his way. “Okay, good, he’s up! Is he mobile?”

“He’s going to have to be!” Telga called out, and she brought his head in her direction. It was a little too intimately close for comfort for his liking. “Shawn, some things have changed for you. Do you remember?”

“No. There was a lot of world-ending pain.” His tongue didn’t want to move the way he remembered, and his words were labored. He ran his tongue over his–wait–

Where were his teeth?

His eyes widened. It was then he noted his visual acuity was sharper. The color was more vivid, shapes were more defined. It was like he’d plugged into an ultra-high definition monitor, and was viewing the world the way it was meant to be viewed. It suddenly dawned on him there was also a discomforting pain at his back–like he was laying on it wrong, and there were two sore spots by his shoulder blades. And his lower spine. He dared to raise an arm to gently nudge Telga out of his personal space.

And regretted it when he discovered something new that did not qualify as normal. “Telga…what happened to me?”

His arm was covered in green and white feathers, not glued on, but growing out of his skin. His hand and fingers were now covered in banded scales, like hers, and each finger ended in a sharp claw. More worrying, was the fact that he only counted three fingers, plus a thumb.

“Shawn, don’t panic.” Telga didn’t get the memo that this was not a calming statement, in any universe.

“That is the exact opposite thing you tell someone when you don’t want them to panic!” Claire chastised before setting down the casing to come over to his side. “Shawn, we had to carry you to this secure area. You’re in a bad way.”

“I have bird fingers.” It was the most unintelligent thing he had ever said and didn’t come close to describing how he felt. “Why?”

“Your gestalt did a number on you.”

“I can see that!” Stating the obvious had a way of agitating him in a way few other things could, and he felt his face. Feathers there, too. His skull shape felt different.

And, the yellow and black beak attached to his face was the icing on the cake–that explained that slight blurring of what was just inside the corner of either eye. A subtle motion on his back also got his attention, and he stared at the white and green wings now coming through the shredded remains of his jacket.

"Oh, this is new." He wiggled one with an amateurish limb movement, and it responded with extreme speed. The total wingspan spanned easily his body height, or more. He reached for one with his hand, and knew it was real, because tugging on a feather resulted in a sharp, and distinct pain.

“Oh, boy.” He winced as he looked down–and thankfully, his clothes hadn’t fully disintegrated, but his legs had transformed, as well. They, too, looked like a raptor’s talons, and he flexed the digits uneasily. They felt powerful, and he dared to put one foot down on the ground. He saw Telga’s stance, the way she put weight on the foot, and took note. “I got turned into a chicken.”

“Aveeran, technically,” Telga corrected and looked mildly impressed. “This was not on my list of expectations. You should rest a second–”

Another thunderous boom echoed, and dust drifted down from the ceiling. That got him instantly focused.

“Okay, rest time is over. What’s our exit plan?!” he called out.

“Our exit portal is charging,” Regia explained, grabbing what looked like a rifle or carbine, and loading in what looked like shotgun rounds into the feed tube, before priming the lever action. “We hold out until it’s charged, then we get out of here.”

“Okay. I need a weapon. What have we got?”

“You were screaming in pain a few minutes ago, Shawn!” she exclaimed, even as she finished loading the rifle. “And yes, we have firearms. Did you get anything out of your gestalt? I hate to ask, but your status as an Aveeran is possibly the strangest gestalt I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m…an Aveeran, now?” As if it wasn't obvious already. I lost my human form. I should have known my bold move was going to have a price tag, he thought with an internal sigh.

> From my point of view, be glad you didn't get turned into a pile of ashes!

Shawn tried not to react from the forceful response from the voice--or Halsey, as she called herself. She did have a good point. Claire still hadn't let go of this offense, however.

“You turned him into an overgrown chicken, and you stopped me!” Claire screamed accusingly at both Regia and Telga.

“I knew the risks, Claire,” he stated firmly. “Give me a weapon. You guys are using lever action rifles from late nineteenth-century technology, or early twentieth. But your ammo seems unusual.”

“Alchemical cartridges,” Regia explained. “It's an alchemical charge in a steel-lined casing activated by impact, and the rounds are steel-core projectiles. Shawn, you’re in no shape to be fighting–”

“I am.” Claire grabbed a spare rifle before examining it, and started loading the feed tube in rapid succession. “Shanghaied to the ass-end of the universe! Plunked down into a scenario right out of a fantasy novel!” She growled, teeth gritted as she finished. “And, with this idiot who screwed around with magic rocks!”

> Hope she's not related. Because she sounds quite upset.

Uh, yeah, she’s a cousin of mine. Way to make this already awkward. The sound of a distant thud, on the other side of the barricaded and reinforced doorway, forced him to rise to his feet, and he grabbed a spare rifle. Adrenaline spiked through his body, and he steadied himself on his new legs, testing his balance.

“I’ll die on my feet, thanks. Or claws, as might be the case.”

> Arms and armor will not be your only deterrents against your foes, Shawn. Let's put that Etteria to work.