Prologue: Transpiration
Prologue
The young man, roughly nineteen or so, crouched down behind a garbage can, the chatter of machine guns distant, but getting closer. Everything he'd known was being destroyed around him. His home was now a pile of tinsel on the ground, and people were shot where they stood, or captured and taken away in thick metal vehicles. The men destroying everything were coordinated, quick, and precise. They did everything right. It was only a matter of time before they got him too.
So the boy made a decision. He ran. He started running as fast as he could, ignoring the explosions, gunshots, and footsteps behind him. What happened next was just a stroke of bad luck. A garbage can lid meandered into the road he was running in and tripped him, sending him to the ground and with a flat crack, he hit his head on the ground. Everything went blurry, and a large hand grabbed the boy by the hair and hauled him into one of the militant vehicles, along with several other people. Some were in shock, unable to do anything but keep a blank expression. Others, younger, were crying openly, unable to speak or do anything either. The boy was one of the shocked ones.
The vehicle brought them far out of the city, away from the fighting, and to a dilapidated building. The outside was made of crumbling brick, and most of the windows were smashed. The prisoners were ushered inside and told to kneel with their hands on their heads. They did so obediently until everyone had filed out of the vehicle and into the building. On the inside, the building looked even worse, as if some rogue dragon or something had eaten everything and spat it all back out, then ate it all again. A taller man than the rest of the militants came out of a wooden door, holding a long metal rod. He coursed the rod over a woman's body, looking at a small screen at it's base. He shook his head. "Incompatible." He said. Two other militants took the woman outside.
A second later, a gunshot rang out.
Several people jumped. Others just screamed. Despite the chaos, though, nobody ran. They'd be shot if they did. By this time, the boy's mind was racing. What if they shoot me? He wondered feverishly as another person was deemed incompatible and shot. Incompatible for what?
By the time they'd reached the boy, he was shaking visibly. The man ran the rod along the boy's body, paying close attention to the readings on the screen. Then, the screen beeped, and turned green. The man's eyes widened in disbelief, looking to the boy, the screen, and back to the boy. "We've got a live one!" He shouted. Immediately, several pairs of hands grabbed him and hauled him into another room as the man with the rod carried on scanning the others.
In the room the boy had been tossed into lay a greenish-blue orb. At the right side of the orb was a man, tall, with facial hair and a camo uniform. His expression was as cold as dry ice. "And what might this guy be?" He asked, walking closer.
"He's compatible." A soldier said, his voice deep.
"Nice work, boys." The first man said. From the tags he was wearing, it looked like he was a colonel. "Leave us. I'll take it from here."
"Yes, sir." The soldiers said in unison. They filed out of the room one by one, leaving just the boy and the colonel.
"What's your name?" The colonel said.
"Cyrus..." The young man said softly. "I'm Cyrus."
"Well, Cyrus..." The colonel said. "I'm colonel Frost. And this..." He pointed to the orb. "Is something we dug up a long time ago. We've been waiting for years to find someone that was compatible with it's energy. And lemme tell ya, it wasn't easy." He grabbed Cyrus' collar and dragged him next to the orb. "Go ahead. Touch it. It won't bite."
Cyrus gulped and held his hand out. The energy from the orb seemed to make the surrounding air crackle, but then the crackling subsided. Cyrus touched the glass of the orb, which was smooth and cold.
For a dozen seconds, nothing happened. For that dozen seconds, a dozen thoughts ran though Cyrus' mind. Then, his thoughts were abruptly shattered by a surge of pain through his body. Runes, black with green outlines, appeared on his hand and spread throughout his body, covering half his face, his back, arms and legs. His skin grew light blue patches of fur broken up by black patches, with tan fur on his chest. His face elongated, becoming more wolf-like, with a wet, black nose and pointed ears. His hair grew together into four long, curved points, black as night. He threw his head back, yelling, as a spike of bone appeared in the middle of his chest and on the back of each hand. He grew a long tail, covered in the same runes as his body, and his toes changed, becoming three smooth pads, and he stood digitigrade. As the transformation ended, he looked at the colonel, eyes burning with fury. He grabbed the colonel's throat and slammed him against the wall. "What the hell did you do to me?!" He demanded.
"We made you into what you were always meant to be." Frost said calmly. "And if you kill me, everybody else out there will die."
Cyrus digested that for a moment, then reluctantly let the man go. "Good." Frost said. "Now, you'll come with us."
"One condition." Cyrus said, holding up a finger.
"What?" Frost growled, annoyed.
"I take my friend with me." Cyrus said icily.
"What friend?" Frost said through clenched teeth.
"I spotted him in the group, but I didn't say anything." Cyrus said. "He comes with, or I'll kill all the guys in this city."
"Fat chance." Frost said. "You're superhuman, but you aren't immortal. A few gunshots, and you'll be like a pincushion minus the pins."
"Can I take him with anyway?" Cyrus asked defiantly, his bright aqua green eyes boring into Frost. Frost held the gaze for a short while, then subsided.
"Fine." Frost said reluctantly. "Go get him."
Cyrus strode out of the room, ignoring the wide eyes looking at him, and picked up another nineteen year old guy by the collar. He wore glasses and with dirty blond hair and dark brown eyes that had a tired look to them. The young man tried weakly to throw a punch, which was stifled by Cyrus easily. "Nick, it's me. Cyrus."
Nick's eyes widened. "You can't be serious." He said, a hint of jealousy in his voice.
"Dead serious." Cyrus said, walking out of the building and to another miltary vehicle. He opened the back door and sat inside, setting Nick to his side. "This..." Cyrus muttered. "Is going to be one helluva weird day."
The young man, roughly nineteen or so, crouched down behind a garbage can, the chatter of machine guns distant, but getting closer. Everything he'd known was being destroyed around him. His home was now a pile of tinsel on the ground, and people were shot where they stood, or captured and taken away in thick metal vehicles. The men destroying everything were coordinated, quick, and precise. They did everything right. It was only a matter of time before they got him too.
So the boy made a decision. He ran. He started running as fast as he could, ignoring the explosions, gunshots, and footsteps behind him. What happened next was just a stroke of bad luck. A garbage can lid meandered into the road he was running in and tripped him, sending him to the ground and with a flat crack, he hit his head on the ground. Everything went blurry, and a large hand grabbed the boy by the hair and hauled him into one of the militant vehicles, along with several other people. Some were in shock, unable to do anything but keep a blank expression. Others, younger, were crying openly, unable to speak or do anything either. The boy was one of the shocked ones.
The vehicle brought them far out of the city, away from the fighting, and to a dilapidated building. The outside was made of crumbling brick, and most of the windows were smashed. The prisoners were ushered inside and told to kneel with their hands on their heads. They did so obediently until everyone had filed out of the vehicle and into the building. On the inside, the building looked even worse, as if some rogue dragon or something had eaten everything and spat it all back out, then ate it all again. A taller man than the rest of the militants came out of a wooden door, holding a long metal rod. He coursed the rod over a woman's body, looking at a small screen at it's base. He shook his head. "Incompatible." He said. Two other militants took the woman outside.
A second later, a gunshot rang out.
Several people jumped. Others just screamed. Despite the chaos, though, nobody ran. They'd be shot if they did. By this time, the boy's mind was racing. What if they shoot me? He wondered feverishly as another person was deemed incompatible and shot. Incompatible for what?
By the time they'd reached the boy, he was shaking visibly. The man ran the rod along the boy's body, paying close attention to the readings on the screen. Then, the screen beeped, and turned green. The man's eyes widened in disbelief, looking to the boy, the screen, and back to the boy. "We've got a live one!" He shouted. Immediately, several pairs of hands grabbed him and hauled him into another room as the man with the rod carried on scanning the others.
In the room the boy had been tossed into lay a greenish-blue orb. At the right side of the orb was a man, tall, with facial hair and a camo uniform. His expression was as cold as dry ice. "And what might this guy be?" He asked, walking closer.
"He's compatible." A soldier said, his voice deep.
"Nice work, boys." The first man said. From the tags he was wearing, it looked like he was a colonel. "Leave us. I'll take it from here."
"Yes, sir." The soldiers said in unison. They filed out of the room one by one, leaving just the boy and the colonel.
"What's your name?" The colonel said.
"Cyrus..." The young man said softly. "I'm Cyrus."
"Well, Cyrus..." The colonel said. "I'm colonel Frost. And this..." He pointed to the orb. "Is something we dug up a long time ago. We've been waiting for years to find someone that was compatible with it's energy. And lemme tell ya, it wasn't easy." He grabbed Cyrus' collar and dragged him next to the orb. "Go ahead. Touch it. It won't bite."
Cyrus gulped and held his hand out. The energy from the orb seemed to make the surrounding air crackle, but then the crackling subsided. Cyrus touched the glass of the orb, which was smooth and cold.
For a dozen seconds, nothing happened. For that dozen seconds, a dozen thoughts ran though Cyrus' mind. Then, his thoughts were abruptly shattered by a surge of pain through his body. Runes, black with green outlines, appeared on his hand and spread throughout his body, covering half his face, his back, arms and legs. His skin grew light blue patches of fur broken up by black patches, with tan fur on his chest. His face elongated, becoming more wolf-like, with a wet, black nose and pointed ears. His hair grew together into four long, curved points, black as night. He threw his head back, yelling, as a spike of bone appeared in the middle of his chest and on the back of each hand. He grew a long tail, covered in the same runes as his body, and his toes changed, becoming three smooth pads, and he stood digitigrade. As the transformation ended, he looked at the colonel, eyes burning with fury. He grabbed the colonel's throat and slammed him against the wall. "What the hell did you do to me?!" He demanded.
"We made you into what you were always meant to be." Frost said calmly. "And if you kill me, everybody else out there will die."
Cyrus digested that for a moment, then reluctantly let the man go. "Good." Frost said. "Now, you'll come with us."
"One condition." Cyrus said, holding up a finger.
"What?" Frost growled, annoyed.
"I take my friend with me." Cyrus said icily.
"What friend?" Frost said through clenched teeth.
"I spotted him in the group, but I didn't say anything." Cyrus said. "He comes with, or I'll kill all the guys in this city."
"Fat chance." Frost said. "You're superhuman, but you aren't immortal. A few gunshots, and you'll be like a pincushion minus the pins."
"Can I take him with anyway?" Cyrus asked defiantly, his bright aqua green eyes boring into Frost. Frost held the gaze for a short while, then subsided.
"Fine." Frost said reluctantly. "Go get him."
Cyrus strode out of the room, ignoring the wide eyes looking at him, and picked up another nineteen year old guy by the collar. He wore glasses and with dirty blond hair and dark brown eyes that had a tired look to them. The young man tried weakly to throw a punch, which was stifled by Cyrus easily. "Nick, it's me. Cyrus."
Nick's eyes widened. "You can't be serious." He said, a hint of jealousy in his voice.
"Dead serious." Cyrus said, walking out of the building and to another miltary vehicle. He opened the back door and sat inside, setting Nick to his side. "This..." Cyrus muttered. "Is going to be one helluva weird day."
