Chương 41: 13.1 How to Train Your Monster

The sharp edge of the knife glided across my pale skin like the blades of a figure skater elegantly slicing through the ice. Sometimes, I was surprised by how poetic I could be. Time to be uncouth next. Fucking hell, my skin's tough! No wound. I tried again. I couldn't explain it, but it was more grating to cut my stomach compared to digging my chest. Maybe because there were fewer nerves on the chest or something. A small red line appeared. It then quickly sewed itself shut. I was healing too freaking fast.

"So weird that I'm into self-mutilation these days," I muttered to myself before trying for the third time. As soon as I felt the snap of the knife breaking my skin, I furiously sliced, widening the wound to fight the regeneration. I shallowly breathed while enduring the pain. Blood raced down my abdomen, caught by my plastic skirt. That should be enough blood. Good job, knife. I breathed through my clenched teeth. Searing pain radiated from my wound. But it somewhat felt good, like the burn after a good workout.

The fast healing added to the feeling of euphoria from the pain. This could get addictive. Hey, don't be weird! I scolded myself. I should get this over with before I develop a self-mutilation kink. The knife was still half an inch into my flesh, slowly getting pushed out as I healed. I angled the blade, peeled back my skin, and sawed a bit of my flesh. I slid the pinkish sliver sticking to the knife into a small container. Next, I collected my dripping blood with the same container.

I held up the container and examined my blood with a small piece of my flesh floating on top. Fascinating. I checked if I dropped any blood on my shorts or the floor. The plastic sheets did their work. On to my experiment. There was no one else around, so there should be no trigger for my transformation's predatory instincts—that was my hypothesis. I noticed that I craved to eat Purple Mohawk after he attacked me. But after he died, my mind sort of calmed down.

Purple Mohawk's henchman barely interested my predator brain. There was a slight nudge to eat Deen, but that was more out of curiosity than the enraged hunger I felt with Purple Mohawk.

"This mask is probably connected to Rule #4," I said, raising my right hand. Bothering those who bothered me. To be accurate, eating and killing those who dared to attack me.

"So… what now?" I didn't know how to summon my mask. I just knew it came from the crystal growth on my hand, which, by the way, had grown larger. A single pimple patch couldn't cover it, I needed two or three, and it had golden threads creeping across my palm. Heavy foundation could sort of hide the lines of gold, but it was iffy having makeup on my hand. I planned to reveal this growth to Deen, claim it was caused by the artificial Core, and ask her to help hide it.

Problem was, she might report it to Dario out of concern, even if I'd tell her not to. And I hadn't yet thought of a reason why we'd keep this a secret from the rest of the group.

"Come out, mask!" That didn't work.

"Abracadabra! Uh, it probably doesn't need actual words." Closing my eyes, I focused on the mask. Visualize it in my mind. The long fangs. The harsh red color. I recalled the strength it gave me. Concentrate. This was the way; I could feel it. Light knocked on my eyelids. I opened my eyes to an amazing sight. Mesmerizing molten gold oozed out of the crystal on my hand, floating up in the air. It twisted and snaked into the form of the mask.

The golden color darkened and turned into an angry red streaked with deep black as it solidified. I fixed the mask around my mouth. And so, the mask became a face. I opened my eyes to a brighter house. The heads of the nails on the wooden ceiling were as clear as if they were right in front of my face. I could spot the individual bumps on the rough surface of the countertop, yet to be covered by tiles. A blanket of strength hugged me. Incredibly comforting. And I was suddenly closer to the ceiling by one foot.

Black gloves with red-tipped claws covered my hands—check. Locks of braided auburn hair flowed down over my chest—check. Hot body with shapely, long legs—double check. I touched my mouth, dragging my claws over my exposed fangs. My jaw muscles tempted me to do it. I snapped at the air a couple of times to test my precious fangs, the impact of the bites surging through my skull.

"Rraagh ghroo…" Okay, enough of that. Time to get serious. What were the initial observations of Scientist Erind Hartwell? No bone cracking, flesh rending transformation like an Adumbrae-infested human mutating into a monster. Neither was there a substance covering me like Myra's armor. An instantaneous change. Just voila, a new body. Hang on… was this a new body? The plastic sheet skirt I fixed around my waist was gone. And so were my shoes, shorts, and bra.

Come to think of it, shouldn't my clothes stretch over my transformed body instead of disappear to only Mother Core knows where? When Fidgeting Hoodie transformed on the train, he tore his signature hoodie. Only now did it occur to me how weird that my clothes were in one piece after transforming for the first time. And what the hell were these new clothes I wore? They were clothes… seemed like it. But I couldn't remove them, as if they were glued to my body.

My real body was transported elsewhere, swapped with this hot monster body, along with clothes from the interdimensional department store. My mind, or soul, or whatever, was then plopped into this body. Was my body in Spooky Erind's dimension? If that was the case… I don't know what its implications were. I had barely started, and there were already unanswered questions. Moving on. As I suspected, I could control myself because there were no people around. My predator mind, the brain of this body, was hibernating.

But once I was in the middle of a battle, I'd struggle for control. Was there any way to satiate the raging feeding frenzy once it began? What about trying certain foods? First up was fried chicken—this was our leftover from dinner. I'd just tell Deen I ate it as a midnight snack. I bit into the chicken. The crispy skin, juicy meat, and brittle bones offered no resistance. It tasted like… fried chicken. I waited for a few moments. Nothing happened. I didn't feel anything.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Next was raw chicken. We bought chicken and a bunch of other stuff from the grocery; I volunteered to cook our meals so I wouldn't be an absolute leech while at Deen's house. I snuck one of the chicken legs away. I would've found this disgusting to eat were I in my original body, but I didn't mind now. I held up the chicken leg and chomped on it. Wow, what an amazing taste of nothing. Raw chicken was bland and rubbery.

As expected, nothing happened either. The third item was my severed finger from my Marsh Row field trip. My working hypothesis was that only human flesh and blood could satiate my monstrous hunger once it was triggered. Well, not really human since Purple Mohawk was an Adumbrae, and I was one too. People parts, I suppose. I couldn't exactly raid a graveyard or a coroner's office or a morgue, but I might have to if this worked. I'd bring along pieces of rotting corpses as a sort of snack to regain control.

Super disgusting. Yes. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And I was desperate enough to try eating my sort of rotting finger.

"Hraawrr ghwarr…" I growled. This doesn't look too bad. I held up the finger between my claws to examine it. It had gotten stiff and very pale. The smell told me that it was dead. I couldn't pinpoint the rotting smell because it wasn't disgusting to my monster senses. I sprayed plenty of perfume so as not to stink up my room. Just don't think it's my finger, I thought as I threw it into my mouth like popcorn. My fangs crunched my bones. They didn't seem that hard.

Maybe the super durability of Adumbrae was gone once a body part was severed. The taste… it tasted like raw meat with a dab of human gaminess. It was hard to explain to someone who hadn't tried it. Was this cannibalism? Probably not, if my guess was true that this body wasn't technically a transformation. Same as with the fried and raw chicken, my finger didn't do anything. I guessed that the body part should be fresh.

Since I didn't want to randomly attack people, worried that I might lose control and go into a rampage downtown, I had to make do with the blood and meat from my Erind body. A sniff of my blood hit me with a wave of nausea that I almost threw the container away. Why did I find this disgusting? This didn't happen with Purple Mohawk. I had absolutely no desire to consume the blood and flesh in the container. Still, the experiment had to continue.

I opened my jaws wide and quickly dumped in my blood, including the piece of flesh, down my throat. Shutting my mouth, I swallowed to avoid the awful taste. My stomach rumbled, and I held it with my arms, dropping the container to the floor. I expected something bad to happen. After about ten seconds, my stomach calmed down. And, once again, nothing. This experiment only added more questions. Why did I find my own flesh and blood disgusting, even though I munched on an Adumbrae with gusto? What do I do next?

Kidnap someone and take a bite out of them? I probably just had to get used to this body to fight for control better once it went wild. The processed mutant brains and other stuff that'd be delivered to the docks from Red Island were the closest lead I had to stopping Spooky Erind from taking over. And there was proof—Purple Mohawk seemed to have maintained his human mind despite having powers and all that. When I asked Spooky Erind a bunch of questions, she told me to figure it out and survive before disappearing.

That was exactly what I was doing now. In this body, I believed I was strong enough to survive the battle at the docks. And I was getting stronger. Well, my original body was; I expected that to carry over to this body, too. How strong was I now, anyway? Since I couldn't punch the walls of this house, I had to make do with lifting heavy things. I found a jackhammer in one of the unfinished rooms.

The construction workers probably felt safe to leave their equipment behind because there were no thieves inside this gated community. Though needing some effort, I could lift the jackhammer with one hand. I twirled a sledgehammer like a baton. Then I found a portable concrete mixer by a dug out area that would probably be the pool. Let's see if I can lift this. I was able to! I even managed to raise the mixer above my head!

Slowly setting it back down, I fought the urge to throw it at the house and roar at the destruction. Was I imagining things, or was I becoming stronger? Not compared to the first time I transformed. Like, compared to five minutes ago. That was what I felt. Was I imagining things? I stared at my hands.

"Rhoargh…?" What the…? I honed in on my claws. The tips—they were lengthening. I turned over my hands. Hair was growing out of my gloves. Minuscule and probably imperceptible to the human eye, but I noticed them with my enhanced senses. It wasn't just on my gloves. The hair on my arms was growing too. Holy shit… I'm turning more into a monster! As my body changed, so did my strength increase. This meant that the longer the battle went on, the more powerful I'd become. Badass!

But I'd also have the mind of a monster. Not badass. Or maybe it was. Hmmm… definitely badass. However, would this transformation reach a point where I could no longer return to my original body? I hurried back inside the house and stood on the plastic sheet covering the floor. I felt the bottom of my chin while thinking of removing the mask. The next moment, I was back to my Erind body, feeling the cold on my topless upper body.

I carefully removed my plastic skirt and wrapped it with the plastic wrap covering the floor. I wore my clothes and checked for any traces I might've left behind. Leaving the half-built house, I jogged back to Deen's place, pondering my discoveries, the new questions, and the dead ends. Most importantly, I weighed how far I could gamble transforming to steal Red Island supplies at the docks. Nervous? Excited? Probably a little bit of both.

I was deciding what my expression should be as Myra drove Deen and me to New Hope for the first session of our training. We were riding Myra's car, not the team van. Myra mentioned changing vehicles once in a while to lessen suspicion.

"You're good back there?" Myra checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. I offered a hesitant smile.

"I-I'm fine. Just not sure of how this'll go." I was in the backseat. Deen rode shotgun. I wanted her to chat with Myra while I listened in. I needed to get a read on Myra. As we moved through traffic, going the long way to avoid a huge PCM protest downtown, I stared at Myra's metallic blue hair, wondering what was going through her head. What did she think of us? What would the reaction be if she knew I was an Adumbrae? Myra cared for Kelsey because she was her sister. I… was nothing to her.

Would Myra be sympathetic to me or would she view me in the same way as the average person thought of Adumbrae? It'd be like people wanting criminals arrested; but when their family members turned criminal, they'd help hide them. Very understandable human behavior. The road turned rough as we entered the abandoned development project of the McHunters. We passed by the rundown buildings at its borders. A couple of blocks along, and there were no more completed structures.

"Um, Myra?" Our eyes met in the rearview mirror.

"Maybe we can go in one of these buildings instead? How about that one?" I pointed at a boxy four-story building.

"Our hideout is still far." There could be listening devices or cameras at our hideout for Dario to observe us.

"Yeah… sure." Myra parked the car beside the building I chose, partially hiding it from the street behind a wild growth of shrubbery. Deen and I followed Myra inside, climbing through one of the large windows on the wall. We stood on an empty floor with support pillars holding up the building evenly spaced across, not unlike our hideout. The difference was that the walls and columns already had a smooth cement finish.

This was also a way smaller place, with the columns closer together—those could restrict Myra's movements if something went awry and we had to fight her. And since there were many openings, I had my pick of escape routes. Of course, there was a very little chance Myra would think I was an Adumbrae and fight me. I just liked thinking about escape routes as if I was a seasoned assassin or something. Myra clapped her hands.

"Let's begin our lesson."