The hospital had seen better days. Rust and moss clung to once-sterile tiled floors. Overhead lights flickered on and off at random intervals. Walls were riddled with hole punctures, the source of which was unclear.
Soarin hid behind a mostly-intact rusted wall on the inside of a dilapidated room, the open doorway nearby providing a perfect view down either end of the corridor. He adjusted his cap with a hand, messy blue hair falling over his face, slick with sweat. There was a haggard air to him, bags under his eyes, unkempt security uniform, and a weariness that seemed to seep into his body.
He glanced at his watch, a small black screen attached to an adjustable metal band. Green text scrolled across. Level 2. It was a Level 2. He could barely handle a Level 1 and now he was stuck in this burnt out hospital with a Deviant well above what he was capable of handling. One encounter with the monster had been enough to convince Soarin that he was out of his league. If he survived this, he was going to charge more for the effort.
Click. He tensed. The sound echoed down the hall, bringing with it a feeling of fear.
He peeked around the corner and down the long corridor. The lights flickered, then turned off. A crack rang out. They turned back on. A long metal leg ending in a point had punctured through the tiled floor at the far end of the hall.
Soarin quickly hid back behind the wall and into relative safety. Several more clicks followed. They Know the Way was coming closer and he only had mere moments before it would find him.
Breathing ragged, his body jittery, he reached into the sleeve of his uniform shirt, with one gloved hand and pulled at the long length of cable tied there. He let it fall silently to the floor, looping his hands around the two connecting chargers on separate ends of the makeshift whip. A quick look at the battery life showed that he had enough juice for a few minutes. Hopefully long enough to take the Deviant down.
Click. Click. Click. The sound was closer. It would be upon him soon.
He took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. His heart pounded in his chest. He felt anticipation from deep inside him, separate from his panic-riddled mind. The part of him that wasn’t really him. It was giddy at the prospect of the ensuing carnage. Whether the carnage favoured him or not wasn’t relevant.
Click. Click. Click. It was next to him. He could see its metallic leg just past the edge of the doorframe. He only had one chance to surprise it. Soarin flicked the switch on his whip. Sparks of electricity hummed along the cable. He rolled into the hallway.
Two metallic legs. A square metal frame. A glass globe representing the world hovering in the center. He flicked his whip to wrap it around one leg. Electricity coursed through the Deviant. Its central globe vibrated violently within its frame, releasing a loud piercing shriek.
It rattled Soarin’s mind, drowning out his thoughts. He felt a trickle of blood run down from his nose. He pulled on the whip, hoping to unbalance the creature, thus giving him a chance.
The leg scraped against the floor, then lifted and punctured the tiles underneath, successfully anchoring itself. He’d failed.
“Dammit,” Soarin muttered.
A hole opened within the globe aimed directly at Soarin’s head. There was a hum of power then a laser of pure energy shot straight through. His body dropped to the ground, headless. They Know the Way tried to dislodge its leg from the floor as the perceived threat had been eliminated. It pulled and chittered as it struggled, stuck.
Soarin was barely conscious, awareness granted by the unique properties of the entity that resided within him. Already that entity was goading him into ceding control. Let him take over, deal with the Deviant before the inevitable timer went off.
He didn’t want to.
Beep. His watch blinked to life. Numbers scrolled across the screen. Increasing numbers. Numbers that would increase again, if he came back only to die to this stupid thing once more.
But if he didn’t want to owe even more, he needed to.
So, he gave Rot his consent.
The process was always strange for Soarin when he gave control. First came lightheadedness. A relinquishing of control similar to being in the driver’s seat, but letting someone else take the wheel behind him. Then came the smell. It was rank. The kind of funk found only on food that had been allowed to rot well past its prime. Maggot-infested and degraded into black sludge.
Finally, the physical changes. It felt… powerful. Cords of muscular fibers reinforced his limbs. Layers of matted fur grew thickly along his upper body. His head reformed, piece by piece, taking the shape of a boar head with pointed ears and massive tusks. His eyes were bottomless holes of green fire, filled with malice. Maggots burrowed through his body, eating away at him then repaired, stronger than before.
It was horrible. It was amazing. He hated it. He relished it. It was what he wanted. It was what he’d swore never to do. He was a mess of thought and adrenaline whenever he allowed They Rot From Inside control, but one thing was certain that when Rot took over—
Any monster around him was going to die.
Soarin (Rot) roared. He (they) pierced through the Deviant’s globe with their fist. They grasped a part of their inner core and squeezed. Blood flowed from his (their) arm from shattered glass. They Know the Way chirped in panic, screeching its worthless song. Maggots crawled out of their arm and into the Deviant’s globe, eating away at the inside, weakening the mass that kept the Deviant together.
Crack. They Know the Way’s head shattered. Its legs popped out of the globe and fell to the floor with a loud clang. They dropped the remainder of the globe to the floor. The Deviant’s body broke down into black sludge before dissipating into smoke, likely to reform several months later and be some other sucker’s problem.
Rot let go, satiated by the slaughter. Soarin felt himself regain full control. He hissed as the sensation of pain came back in full force. He gingerly touched his arm and nearly cried. He’d need to deal with that later.
For now, he had to report in.
Soarin sat on a metal bench several kilometers away from the hospital They Know the Way had been. Dilapidated buildings surrounded him, rusted out shells of what they once were. In the background, the district of Soladeplhia blazed from the fire that spewed from the chimneys of its many buildings.
He leaned back with a sigh, taking in the broken sky. Overhead, the Moon hung alongside the Sun. The prior had a permanent appearance of a crescent on account of the giant part of it that had been smashed to pieces, the other a dull red colour caused by sources unknown.
His arm was newly bandaged, but still throbbed from the prior damage. It would be a while before it was healed, especially as there was no way he could afford the expense of medical care.
“Thank you for your services.”
Leaning forward again, Soarin took in the figure that had greeted him. They were fully covered in long simple orange robes with a red trim. Two red eyes peered out from the depths of their hood. A staple look for the pawns of the Solar Order.
“We shall proceed with payment,” the figure stated.
“It was a Level 2,” Soarin replied in a blunt tone.
“Yes, that was quite unfortunate. We apologize for any additional difficulty that was caused.”
“The pay should be increased.”
“You were hired to subdue a Level 1. You will be paid accordingly.”
Soarin scrunched his face. He got up off the bench and approached the pawn, drawing himself up to his full height. “Listen, you can’t—”
“Your options are that we pay you or we don’t,” the pawn interrupted. “Your third option, should you harm us, is to die.”
He stopped short. They were a member of a rather militant faction that would have no issue hunting him down. Though it rankled him, he begrudgingly held up his watch. The pawn reached up with a scarred limb and tapped their own watch against his. The payment was transferred with a loud ding.
“Thank you again for your services,” the pawn said.
And then they left.
Soarin slumped back onto the bench. He leaned forward, covering his head with both wings and hands. He took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Stress and frustration threatened to boil over. He needed to keep it reined in.
He’d once had promise, a future. Now he was just a dead-end loser in a dangerous career that did nothing but wrack up more debt for himself. He could check how much money he owed from his revivals and basic living necessities, but he didn’t need to make himself feel worse.
There was no escape.
Standing up, he tucked his hands in his pockets, clenching them tightly to stop the jitters. He began the long trek back to his office, each step a reminder of his neverending work.