Bane stood, doubled over and vomited blood and bile as he fell to his knees, and then onto all fours. Pain wracked his body, bones shifting, and growing, the heavy sounds of lead on wood as his body pushed the bullets out of his wounds. His screams were drowned in the thundering skies, and he collapsed face down into the rain flooded floorboards.
He clawed at his clothes, now too tight for his body; he was growing. The man with the loud weapon was right. Limited. Limited by his stolen flesh, and bone; limited by the echo of Jonathan Walker's compulsions, drives, and memories.
The cursed boy imprinted on him when they crossed.
The pain abated, and Bane sucked in a deep breathe, releasing it slowly. He would need new clothes, and better shelter from the elements. The ruins were no longer safe; others would come now, with their loud weapons, and arrogant voices. He would need loud weapons, too; if he had to be bound by the rules, and laws of the world he now called his, he would have to make up for those things he no longer had. The weapons he had now were not enough, not if some flawed ape could face him.
Bane rolled onto his side, breathed deeply again, and exhaled slowly. It burned to breathe, hurt to exhale. Slowly, he peeled off what clothes he could, ripping Jonathan Walker's fatigues off his legs, and tearing away his leather duster.
Something inside him - something unfamiliar - sank, as he rose naked from the remnants of the hunter-boy's tattered clothes. Fresh scars formed where he healed from his newest wounds.
Yes, he would need clothes. Bane shivered in the downpour of the cool April rain.
YOU ARE READING
Bane
FantasyTrue Evil exists in darkness, surviving even in the brightest places, in that shadow under foot. Monsters lurk in the hearts of man and beast, and creatures whose names have no spoken translation. It is an era of silent war, and the monsters have co...
