the_carrion_spike (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_carrion_spike) wrote2020-12-18 12:35 am
the_carrion_spike) wrote2020-12-18 12:35 am
Entry tags:
(backdated to December 9th or so)
It had started with his legs, creaking numbness, pain settling in the joints he was not used to. When he lurched to his feet for the door, computer under one arm, key to his Dyster quarters in hand, he’d nearly fallen flat on his face.
He dragged himself to his cot just as the seizing became too violent for him to stand upright any longer.
xxx
DAY ONE
And now his organs are liquefying.
This isn’t the first time he’s had this thought (Uncle Jova’s moonshine, he was sixteen) but this is the first time he can say with certainty that his organs are indeed liquefying, rolling, expanding as his lower body extends.
It doesn’t hurt as much as one might think. Once again, as with his jaw each transformation lessons the pain by some amount.
But it still hurts.
Flesh has been torn, yes. There’s blood, yes, staining the sheets, the floor. It’s starting to dry on his new appendages. They twitch and confuse his addled mind. He’s not sure if they’re arms or legs. He’s not sure how many there are. His brain is twitching too, trying to account for the shape of it’s vessel.
He is not a spider, that much is apparent without him looking at whatever is happening to his legs now. The discoloration of his skin had been hint. A vague one. The irony would be amusing if he was in less pain.
Kouhuns, anthropods native to Indoumodo, pack hunters adaptable to a variety of environments and highly venomous. (Occasionally made use of in more creative assassination attempts.)
DAY TWO
The locals check on him from time to time, each step across the floorboards reverberates through his body and make his mandibles snap in irritation.
It’s all a blur of pain, over stimulating sensory information and hunger. He doesn’t have a clear memory of feeding (as he’s been slipping in and out of consciousness for long stretches) but not all the blood on him is his own.
DAY THREE, EVENING
At last, the pain passes. As expected he now somewhat resembles a kouhun. His ‘tail’ is quite different, however. His very most back legs- previously the only legs he had- are now multi jointed ‘flagtails,’ the tips resembling feathers. There are centipedes like this on the plateau, about as long as a grown man’s forearm.
Numbly, he blinks down at his body. Moving his legs results in a wave of dysmorphia that makes him intensely nauseous, despite his feeble attempts to reason through it. He squeezes his eyes shut and fights the overwhelming urge to either vomit or pass out once again.
He dragged himself to his cot just as the seizing became too violent for him to stand upright any longer.
xxx
DAY ONE
And now his organs are liquefying.
This isn’t the first time he’s had this thought (Uncle Jova’s moonshine, he was sixteen) but this is the first time he can say with certainty that his organs are indeed liquefying, rolling, expanding as his lower body extends.
It doesn’t hurt as much as one might think. Once again, as with his jaw each transformation lessons the pain by some amount.
But it still hurts.
Flesh has been torn, yes. There’s blood, yes, staining the sheets, the floor. It’s starting to dry on his new appendages. They twitch and confuse his addled mind. He’s not sure if they’re arms or legs. He’s not sure how many there are. His brain is twitching too, trying to account for the shape of it’s vessel.
He is not a spider, that much is apparent without him looking at whatever is happening to his legs now. The discoloration of his skin had been hint. A vague one. The irony would be amusing if he was in less pain.
Kouhuns, anthropods native to Indoumodo, pack hunters adaptable to a variety of environments and highly venomous. (Occasionally made use of in more creative assassination attempts.)
DAY TWO
The locals check on him from time to time, each step across the floorboards reverberates through his body and make his mandibles snap in irritation.
It’s all a blur of pain, over stimulating sensory information and hunger. He doesn’t have a clear memory of feeding (as he’s been slipping in and out of consciousness for long stretches) but not all the blood on him is his own.
DAY THREE, EVENING
At last, the pain passes. As expected he now somewhat resembles a kouhun. His ‘tail’ is quite different, however. His very most back legs- previously the only legs he had- are now multi jointed ‘flagtails,’ the tips resembling feathers. There are centipedes like this on the plateau, about as long as a grown man’s forearm.
Numbly, he blinks down at his body. Moving his legs results in a wave of dysmorphia that makes him intensely nauseous, despite his feeble attempts to reason through it. He squeezes his eyes shut and fights the overwhelming urge to either vomit or pass out once again.