Another of my kind

Follow on from Shade of Colour and the rest of the series.

Another of my kind

Tim had felt the cold for such a length of his endeavour, so eternally that the sickly clam, of the castle halls made no strong impression upon him. Sinister cold, but but for the prickly heat of his new claw. Periodically it pricked and burned, pins and needles with a personal vendetta upon his flesh.

Distracted, he forced himself to recall his designated purpose. Find the beast which slew his only friend. Save the forest souls. He considered his claw, recalled the Dragon. Considered his time, considered his choice. Who was he now, still a man, a beast, nature vs nature? Controlled power, newfound animalism a tool, or was this awakened power merely using him?

It was difficult, amidst such palpable silence, to maintain any concentration. Harsh tingling gave out to flash of pain, a tightening, scales advanced - Tim growled aloud and focused, willed humanity, soft pink flesh won out. Maintain silence, ignore fear. Answers. Vengeance.

A reverberating, oaken slam resonated in the distance. Alfred, honest dutiful Alfred, returned from his patrol of the grounds. Exasperated, he'd seen perhaps only one of the forest ghosts, howling, making a nuisance of themselves yet again. 

"If you ask me" he tutted "I'd love an extra pair of hands around here. Someone to take care of that lot on their own. I'm far too old for ghosts and their ways."

Tim heard, scrambled around the nearest corner. Felt his way through the wan glow, uneasy torchlit near-darkness. Dead end, a locked door. His arm vibrated like a struck steel rod, vibrations of distracting agony. 

Clap of echoed footsteps, the mutterings of patience wearing thin.

Tim held his breath. A 'kchhh - vhloohm' lantern lit to join clapping steps.

Suddenly, sounds stopped. The old man with the lantern, an old servant out of his depth, gasped and jolted back. He saw before him, a ragged man, backed to the wall, wincing and clutching his arm, distracted with pained, contorted will. A...blade..a glare...what was wrong with him? What? A claw?

Tim came to..Gasped himself. 

Two men caught in the throes of raw tension. One man spasmed, his entity lurched through the stalemate. 

Tims arm rumbled, thrashed out in a flash. 

The sickly, liquid slish and hack of iron might upon haggard, tender flesh. The spray of black blood, scream timed precisely with crunching snap of bone, whump of frail figure smacking to the clammy stone floor.

Each man bewildered, Tim awoke from a trance, grabbed his horrible new identity, weapon, stepped forward and locked eyes with Alfreds screaming mouth, hollow but for pain and fear.

He ignored Alfreds' severed, bloodied arm, spasming. It held the lantern still upright, as servient and helpful as ever was the limb holding it.

Tim drew courage from the monster. In that instant, he became it. As Alfred scrambled, he stepped upon a vulnerable ankle, stilling the clipped wing of his thrashing game.

His voice growled, animal strength devoured him and came for his victims.

"You will help me. I'm looking for another of my kind."