User blog:Ziharku/Log 7: Containment (Part 3) *Spoiler Alert*

Never have I questioned the origins of beasts and beastmen. They are their own creature, unlike us. And yet, how can it be this man has become a Soulflayer? Tall, menacing, eyes glowing red, this creature lunges at me furiously, I can barely keep it at bay. I call for my companion to flee, but stubborn, she instead delivers a blow to its head so as to relieve me of its strike. Un-phased, the creature knocks me aside, turning to face the twitching ears and lashing tail that stood a few yalms away, planning her next attack.

Agile, perhaps the best word for it. Despite the Soulflayer’s best efforts it simply could not land a blow on my companion whether from sheer speed or the eyes that followed those twisted claws. Ducking and dodging, she took advantage of any opening in the creature’s stance delivering precise attacks every now and again. I find that I am sitting and watching, perfectly fit to fight, but unable to tear my eyes from the performance.

In a fit of rage, a violet orb shone before the creature and launched itself at her. The first blow to strike her, crippling her movements. I take the haft of my curved blade, thinking of the man in the prison with no bars, thinking of the man turned beastman before me now. My eyes are burning, hate boils inside me. The voices are calling for blood, the sundering of flesh. My own voice, mimicking their calling in a voice I’ve never used before.

I meet the beast, blade clashing with staff. Did it always have a staff? It must have, for it knocked me aside with something other than the gnarled claws gripping it. Faster, faster, I needed more speed. One sword was not enough. Darting my eyes around I see the sword felled from the hip of this fallen mage, not too far off. My companion still suffers from the attack she suffered, and so I take the fight toward the blade. Steadily I move, as though the beast is pushing, forcing me in that direction. I am fortunate, as it is greedy for the advantage and prideful as it pushes me back further.

On reaching the blade, I know it must be finished quickly for the element of surprise is not long-lived. Ducking a blow I pick up the second blade, its haft burning in my right palm, and the voices shout with glee. The blade, shouts with glee, for it is reunited with its master.

Shocked, the beast is frozen. Its eyes slowly follow the length of my arm, then blade, resting where metal meets flesh. As though the body did not know it was dead until the eyes knew, only now, the creature falls.

Inhale, out-hale I take deep breaths to calm myself, to keep my arms from tearing the flesh and flinging the blood about in merriment. If the voices are happy for slashing, the blade cannot be for being united with its master. I relinquish handle, cooled by blood, a sword feeling odd to hold in my right hand anyway.

The man from the prison comes forth, having been in the shadows all along. I am commended for my effort, killing such a beast in my state seemed impossible in his eyes. I wonder if he’d wanted me to die today. He looks disgustedly at my companion, now recovering from her paralysis, I see his eyes glow blue. I feel that he yearns to take her speed the same way I’ve taken the blow that crippled her so well from the lump of flesh before me. He walks to it, rummages through the folds of skin, and pulls forth a headpiece much like his own, offering it to me along with an explanation.

As our kind gain more power, we become more unstable. This armor is meant to…contain…that power, to prevent the metamorphosis we had witnessed today. Every creature killed would bring me closer and closer to this fate, our fate. There is no dying peacefully. Only death in battle or this terrible change awaited me. Or so he says. I cannot give into this curse, not yet.