Something tickled Prabh's foot, disturbing the heavenly sleep he was having. Still mostly asleep, he kicked his foot. The tickling stopped for a while, but it returned persistently. Irritated, he kicked again.
"Hmmm, let me sleeeeep!" he mumbled groggily.
For the third time, something brushed against his foot, and this time, since he was somewhat awake, he also started noticing a throbbing sensation from his back. Groaning, he rolled over onto his stomach, only to hit his face on something solid. Now more annoyed than sleepy, he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. There was a root right in front of his face. He blinked again, and the root was still there. That can't be right—he had fallen asleep in his room, trying to stay awake. Why was he trying to stay awake, though? Onwenhka, right.
He bolted upright, looking around him. It was a forest, not too dense but still a forest, with long shadows cast by the evening sun. Something was off; his vision was different. He could see his sides more clearly than in front. He lifted his hand to touch his face and got another shock: his hands were claws—literal claws—with long nails, pitch-black leathery skin, and small feathers creeping up from his wrists.
"No, no, no, no, no, no…"
Dreading what he was about to find, he touched his face. Where his face should have been, there was a beak, with one eye and nostril on each side. His head was covered with feathers—his whole body was. He looked down at his legs, covered with the pants he wore after his bath, ending in claws that looked very much like those of a crow, with three front toes and one back toe, each ending with long nails.
As he stared blankly at his claws, he felt a throbbing from his back. It was like his hand had been trapped under him the whole night and was now numb from the weight. Suddenly feeling suffocated, he tried to remove his t-shirt. It was a bit awkward with claws, which left mini cuts on the fabric. But he finally wrestled it over his head. Still, it felt like something was stuck, so he tried to ease his back. Suddenly, his back felt free all of a sudden, but before he could relax, he was thrown to his left. Turning right, he realized it was his wing that had hit a tree.
"Why, just my fucking life," he murmured while holding his head in his hands.
Sighing, he stood up. It was higher than what he was normally used to, with extra weight on his back and differently shaped feet. After some awkward stumbling, he started getting the hang of it. His wings ached after he slept on his back, but he was fine otherwise. His wings felt like a muscle he had just discovered—moving, but not in the way he wanted.
He looked around before moving toward the direction with thinning trees. He tried to make as little sound as possible, afraid of attracting any unwanted attention in this accursed place. But try as he might, his clumsy steps were those of a drunken bull, breaking every stick he came across.
After five minutes of walking, the sound of rushing water entered his ears. It was coming from the direction he was walking toward, and soon he was in a clearing, with a big stream in front of him.
He stalked toward the water bank with hurried steps, his need to see his reflection overriding his caution. Reaching the stream, he kneeled on the grass to get a better look at himself. The water was a bit lower than the land and not clear enough to see the bottom. He leaned forward to get a better look, leaning on his hands. He could finally make out the image of a crow, with a beak and everything like a regular crow, just bi_
Suddenly, a hand shot out from the water. Prabh watched it close around his neck, unable to react. When the hand tried to drag him into the water, the trance broke, and he finally yanked himself backward, trying to get away from the water.
'Fuck, fuck, fuck, what is that?'
He grabbed the hand that was trying to choke him with no apparent affect. He tried to pull the hand off, but its grip was absolute. Remembering his claws, he started shredding the unknown hand, causing blood to start dripping. Now wounded, the hand finally retreated, leaving behind a few broken feathers on Prabh's neck.
Prabh started crawling away from the water, trying to put as much distance between him and it as possible. Before he was ten steps away from the stream, the surface of the water broke once again, and a dark shape leaped out. What stood in front of him was the meanest-looking Pitbull he had ever seen, with a long tail ending in a familiar hand, now hanging uselessly.
'I am going to die; this is the end.'
Prabh barely had time to stand up as the dog lunged at him, jaws snapping awfully close to his hands. He slashed with his claws blindly in front of him, but the dog jumped back. It started slowly walking diagonally as Prabh tried to create some distance. The dog lunged once again, slashing with its paws, which Prabh narrowly avoided by diving to his left. He kept desperately flapping his wings in hopes of flying.
As he was beating his wings, he tripped over a rock and fell on his back, an opportunity the dog was so happy to grab. It went directly for Prabh's neck, jaws snapping wildly. Prabh grabbed the dog by the neck and tried to hold it off, but it was too strong. Another idea popped into his mind as he held its head and used his beak to strike like a woodpecker. One of his wild strikes hit the dog's eye, and it broke free, thrashing and splattering blood everywhere.
Prabh jumped to his feet as the dog snarled at him, enraged from the loss of an eye.
"Come on, fly, damn you," he muttered, continuing to beat his wings. He was lifted a little bit only to land right back.
Watching his prey trying to escape, the dog attacked again. But this time, Prabh met it with his own claws, trading a few scratches for a slash of his own.
Finally, he took to the sky, avoiding another of the dog's strikes by flying up. He was still clumsy and had no idea how to turn, but it was enough for now. He climbed higher and higher, and when he was near the treetops, he dove down. The dog saw him and tried to get into the water, but Prabh caught him first, grabbing the dog from the back with his foot claws. The dog thrashed wildly as it was lifted off the ground, but Prabh's grip was iron, unyielding.
"I am going to smash you, then I will gut you, you piece of shit. Struggle more; it makes me happy, you bastard," Prabh said gleefully, flying higher and higher.
Prabh kept flying until he started struggling, at which point he was much higher than any tree. He let go of the dog, and it fell slowly at first but accelerated as it neared the ground. It hit the ground with a sickening smack and stopped making any sound or movement after the impact. Prabh floated down, trying to control his landing, only to fall face-first to the ground. But his fall was rather controlled, and he wasn't too injured.
Standing up, he started walking toward the limp form of the dog. He was a mess, his pants muddied and shredded. That damned beast had drawn blood from his chest and arms, wounds hidden by feathers but just as painful.
"Hahahahaha, try me now, bitch," he laughed, kicking the dog as he stood over its dead body.
Suddenly, the body gave a jerk, startling Prabh. With a snarl, he flung himself on the poor beast and started punching and slashing at its head. Within minutes, the dog's head was a bloody mess, and Prabh kept going until he felt a drenching sensation, like someone had poured cold water over his head.
He was no longer hurting, and upon checking, he found that all of his wounds had healed. He was also feeling energetic, all the fatigue gone.
He started laughing and once again began punching the already dead dog, wet crunching sounds echoing amid the otherwise silent stream. The blood splattered on his feathers and the ground, mingling with the dirt and water, creating a macabre painting of his victory. Each punch sent more blood and bits of flesh flying, but Prabh didn't stop until the dog's head was completely unrecognizable.