Well, that was vague and terrifying.
The voice elaborated, way too cheerfully.
"By hell, I mean every single bone in your body is going to break and remake itself. Your muscles will tear apart and rebuild. Your organs will shift. And this isn't a 'one and done' kinda deal—it's gonna last for days. Maybe weeks."
Oh.
Oh, great.
"Plus," the voice continued, "the second you wake up, you're gonna be starving. Not 'I skipped breakfast' hungry—no, no, no. More like 'I will eat anything that moves' hungry."
I blinked. "That's… not reassuring."
"And Fang is definitely not gonna let that happen."
"Fang?"
"You remember the villain you had after the Funeral? The one that sometimes popped out mid-fight? Most of the time, Solace took over your body when things got rough, but this guy—"
The playful voice laughed.
"He's survival instinct given form. The lesser evil among evil twin. And he's gonna do whatever it takes to survive."
I let that sink in.
"So, just to summarize—I'm going to experience unimaginable pain, turn into some freakishly tall monster, wake up starving, and then let some 'evil twin' take over my body to eat everything in sight?"
The voices went silent for a moment.
Then the calm one muttered, "…Yeah, pretty much."
Fantastic.
"And one last thing," the cold voice finally chimed in. "You need to find a safe place. You'll be unconscious the whole time."
I sighed. "Well… I found one."
The voices all spoke at once.
"Where?"
I pointed.
"That dumpster."
There was a long, long pause.
Then, finally, the cold voice said, "…Anything would be fine as long as you survive."
And with that ringing endorsement, I climbed inside.
I took a deep breath, bracing myself.
And then—
It began.
2 | Pain. Endless, Agonizing, Excruciating Pain.
I've felt pain before.
Broken bones. Deep wounds. Starvation.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
It started slow. A dull ache in my arms and legs. A burning sensation crawling up my spine.
Then—
CRACK.
The pain exploded like wildfire, tearing through my body.
My bones weren't just breaking—they were shattering. Splintering. Reforming.
My muscles stretched, tore apart, and stitched themselves back together—again and again and again.
My spine twisted. My ribs expanded. My skull cracked and reshaped itself.
Every nerve in my body was on fire.
I would have screamed, but my throat locked up.
I convulsed, my entire body twitching violently inside the dumpster.
The voices? Silent.
They were letting it happen.
Letting me suffer.
Time lost meaning.
Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like eternity.
And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse—
My heartbeat changed.
At first, it pounded wildly, like it was trying to break out of my chest.
Then, slowly, it slowed.
A deep, steady thump.
Like a drum.
Like something ancient, primal.
And with each beat, my body grew stronger.
Bigger.
Hungrier.
The pain was unbearable, but a part of me—some deep, buried instinct—liked it.
Welcomed it.
Fed on it.
I lost track of how many times my body broke and rebuilt itself.
How many times my bones snapped.
How many times my muscles shredded apart.
It was a never-ending cycle of destruction and rebirth.
And then—
Finally—
Everything went dark.
3 | Hunger. Raw, Unrelenting Hunger.
I woke up to silence.
For the first time in days—weeks?—I felt… still.
No more pain. No more breaking bones.
Just… quiet.
And then—
The hunger hit me.
It was unlike anything I had ever experienced.
A deep, primal, all-consuming hunger.
My stomach clenched painfully, demanding something.
Meat. Blood. Anything.
And I wasn't in control anymore.
He was.
Fang.
I felt it the moment he took over.
A shift. A change.
My fingers twitched. My breathing slowed.
And then—
I moved.
Not like before.
Not clumsy. Not weak.
No.
This was different.
I moved like a predator.
Fast. Precise. Silent.
I climbed out of the dumpster with ease, landing on the ground without a sound.
The world around me looked different.
Sharper. Brighter.
I could hear everything.
The rustling of leaves. The distant sound of footsteps. The slow, rhythmic beating of hearts.
I inhaled deeply.
The scent of food filled my nose.
My lips curled into a grin.
Fang chuckled.
"Time to eat."
And just like that—
I hunted.
Fang's Hunt
You ever watch a predator at work? Not the lazy ones—the ones that don't just chase but toy with their prey? The kind that doesn't kill because it's necessary, but because something deep inside enjoys it?
Yeah. Fang is that kind of predator.
And unfortunately, that means so am I.
It started with hunger. A different kind. Not the kind you fix with a burger or a stolen plate of steak. This was deeper, rawer—like my entire body was hollow, and the only thing that could fill it was something… living.
"You need to eat," Solace had said. "Something real."
I should've asked what real meant.
Instead, I let go.
And Fang took over.
I came back to awareness standing on the rooftop of a decrepit old apartment, wind slicing through my clothes, body humming with energy I hadn't had a second ago.
Down below, the streets pulsed with life—pedestrians walking home, neon lights flickering, the distant wail of sirens like a lullaby to the city's decay.
And my mouth watered.
Not at the smell of food, but at the smell of them.
The rhythm of their heartbeats, the warm rush of blood just beneath their fragile, paper-thin skin.
"Choose wisely," Riven murmured, half-amused, half-curious.
I didn't choose. Fang did.
A man—mid-thirties, unremarkable, dressed in a cheap suit, briefcase in one hand, phone in the other. Tired eyes, slightly slouched posture. Someone who had long stopped believing they mattered in the grand scheme of things.
Easy.
He took a shortcut into an alley. Stupid.
He never even heard me land behind him.
"Spare change?"
The guy jumped, fumbling his phone. His head snapped toward me, and for a moment, I saw the flicker of instincts, the animal buried inside him recognizing something was wrong.
I smiled. Not with my lips—with my teeth.
He ran.
I let him.
Not out of mercy. Out of amusement.
Because the best part of a hunt isn't the kill. It's the chase.
And oh, how I chased.
He bolted down the alley, panting, shoes slapping against the pavement. Left turn. Right turn. A mad dash through the veins of the city, cutting through the spaces where the streetlights didn't reach.
I followed.
Not running. Walking.
Because I could hear him. Smell him. Feel him.
Every erratic breath. Every pulse of terror.
The moment he thought he lost me.
The moment he realized he hadn't.
He slammed into a dead end.
Collapsed against the brick wall, wheezing, gasping, fingers clawing at his chest.
And I was already there.
Waiting.
Watching.
Enjoying the way his pupils dilated when he saw me, the way his chest rose and fell in frantic, desperate waves.
"Please—" he started.
I moved.
There's a moment between life and death, a fraction of a second where the brain knows it's over, but the body refuses to accept it.
I felt it in him.
The way his limbs twitched as my fingers wrapped around his throat. The way his mouth opened and closed, choking on a scream that never quite came.
Fang savored it.
I should've stopped him.
I didn't.
Because some sick, twisted part of me wanted to see what happened next.
Flesh tore.
Blood spilled.
It was warm.
Hot.
Alive.
And when it hit my tongue—
God.
It was perfect.
The first time you taste something that changes you, you don't forget.
This? This wasn't just food.
It was power.
It flooded through me, lightning in my veins, burning away exhaustion, sharpening my senses until I could hear the city breathing.
Until I could feel the world bending, shifting, trying to understand what I was.
A predator.
A monster.
Something more.
I dropped what was left of him.
He wasn't important anymore.
I turned, wiping the blood from my lips, savoring the aftertaste.
And I smiled.
Because I knew—
This wouldn't be the last time.