The vision of the man before him starts to lose detail as the dream ebbs, but the words stay with him a moment longer. But as he wakes, it all fades away. Morning greets him, and with it, reality - he knows he can't keep avoiding the question of this reoccurring dream.
Ever since that day, they stayed with him. When he got that injury... and when he changed.
As though to confirm it for himself, just one more time, he holds his right hand out to inspect it. Fingers like talons, knuckles of bony scute, skin replaced with red carapace down his forearm - this was the arm of a demon.
It had been a few days since the spread of this transformation had come to a halt. So far, it'd only gone as far as his elbow, and seemed content to stop there. He wasn't sure whether to feel grateful for the consideration - whether this was the work of some devil's bargain he'd subconsciously made, a curse, some genetic mutation... but uncomfortably, divine punishment still feels like the most viable theory.
He rolls out of bed, gets on with his morning routine, as usual. And as he gets dressed, he dresses his arm too - bandages, enough to cover this symbol of sin, a sling to keep up the charade. This deception can't last forever. People are already wondering why it's taking so long to heal. He feels like a man treading water in the ocean... before long, suspicion would turn on him. He was going to drown. And if he was lucky, he'd only be cast out, and not erased.
Change
Power. I need more power...
The vision of the man before him starts to lose detail as the dream ebbs, but the words stay with him a moment longer. But as he wakes, it all fades away. Morning greets him, and with it, reality - he knows he can't keep avoiding the question of this reoccurring dream.
Ever since that day, they stayed with him. When he got that injury... and when he changed.
As though to confirm it for himself, just one more time, he holds his right hand out to inspect it. Fingers like talons, knuckles of bony scute, skin replaced with red carapace down his forearm - this was the arm of a demon.
It had been a few days since the spread of this transformation had come to a halt. So far, it'd only gone as far as his elbow, and seemed content to stop there. He wasn't sure whether to feel grateful for the consideration - whether this was the work of some devil's bargain he'd subconsciously made, a curse, some genetic mutation... but uncomfortably, divine punishment still feels like the most viable theory.
He rolls out of bed, gets on with his morning routine, as usual. And as he gets dressed, he dresses his arm too - bandages, enough to cover this symbol of sin, a sling to keep up the charade. This deception can't last forever. People are already wondering why it's taking so long to heal. He feels like a man treading water in the ocean... before long, suspicion would turn on him. He was going to drown. And if he was lucky, he'd only be cast out, and not erased.