Then came the Dream. It started cold. I opened my eyes into a world of endless white Snow. It drifted in slow spirals, soundless and soft, but it wasn't peaceful. The air stung. The cold bit deep—not into his skin, but into his bones. Into his blood. I wasn't wearing shoes. The ground was powder and ice, stretching in all directions. The sky overhead was gray and low, like it wanted to collapse.
Fog coiled in strange patterns at the edges of my vision. Thick. Heavy. Too still. Something was watching. I didn't see it. But I felt it. Like the silence had eyes. I turned slowly, scanning the mist. Nothing. No wind. No birds. Just the crunch of snow beneath my bare feet.
Then—
A shape. Far ahead. A silhouette in the mist. A woman. She stood tall. Still. Perfectly centered in the snow. I squinted, trying to make out details, but the fog wouldn't let me. It covered the figure like she didn't belong to the world around her. Her hair moved. The rest of her didn't. I took a step forward. She didn't move. I called out—but no sound came. The air swallowed my voice. I tried again. Still nothing.
I took another step. Then another. She turned. Not her head. Her whole body, slow and fluid, like a dancer turning with the tide. Then she walked away. Not fast. Not frightened.
Just… distant. Fading into the white.
I ran after her, feet sinking into snow that seemed to grab at my ankles. The harder I moved, the slower I became. The fog closed around me, thickening with every breath.
"Wait—!"
No sound. Just snow and breath and silence. She vanished. Gone like she'd never been there. I stood alone again, panting, the mist pressing in.
My heart pounded. Not from the cold. From the absence. The place she had been still felt charged. Like the moment after a lightning strike.
Then—
A whisper. Not a voice. Not words.
Just… presence.
A feeling behind my eyes. A pulse in the crystal.
I turned—
And woke up gasping in bed.
The first thing I noticed was the weight. Not fear. Not pain. Just... wrong weight. My chest felt heavier. Thicker. Like someone had filled my ribs with liquid lead—but only in the wrong places. My hips touched the edge of the mattress before I even moved. Something itched at the base of my spine. Something coiled. I blinked up at the ceiling fan. It was spinning too slow. Everything felt slow.
What the hell—
I sat up. The sheet slid down my body with a hiss of soft friction. I froze. my hands weren't the way I remembered them. They were slender. Veined. Too smooth. Fingernails longer and darker than I remembered—almost black.
There were stripes, like those of a tiger on my new more fragile forearms. my stomach was tighter. My shoulders narrower. My thighs thicker. I pulled the sheet away fully, heart hammering now. I was naked, yet covered. The black bio-plasmic alloy stripes covered my modesty. I had Breasts. Small, firm, and unreal. A core-tightened abdomen with skin like corded silk. My waist cinched in where it should've been rectangular. My legs were long, powerful, but not mine.
"No. No-no-no—" I stumbled around.
My Legs bowed out wrong. Weight shifted too far forward. My hips swung when I stepped—fluidly, like muscle memory that wasn't mine at all. However my balance was better. And I felt incredibly agile and quicker. Like someone had fixed the parts of me that I had always trained. I went to bathroom, flipped the light on it flickered once, then stayed on.
I saw myself. And screamed. There was a girl in the mirror, who looked back calmly. I looked at my new body in the mirror. I had tan skin about five foot five and a hundred and ten pounds. I had raven dark hair and sported a medium layered French bob. I was entirely in a state of undress save for the bio-plasmic steel tiger stripes that covered my sheer nudity. I had tiger stripe mascara under my eyes which were a hot amber color.
I also had horns not curved or bent or in my forehead, but atop my head roughly positioned over each eye and at ninety degrees'. My horns reminded me of a certain caped dark crusader. My body rippled with muscle. Her body—my body—stood there with quiet power, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.
I backed away from the mirror slowly. "No. This isn't me. This—this is—what is this?!" I shouted. I clutched at the sink. My voice was higher, but not soft. It had an edge. Smoky. Feminine. I touched my throat, my adams apple had vanished!
"My chest. My hips."
"MY---!"
I stopped. I shook my head. Don't think. Fix it. Change back. I closed my eyes. Focused. Breathed deep. Nothing. No pulse. No glow. No reversion. I slapped my chest. Pushed against my core. Still nothing. "Change back!" I shouted. "I didn't ask for this!"
Silence. Just the hum of the light. The dripping sink. And a new sound: Breathing. Not mine, but inside me. It wasn't a voice. It was an foreign awareness. Something curled up in the base of his skull. Quiet. Watching. Judging.
It was Her. I gripped the mirror. Why do I move better like this? My heart skipped. I looked back at the mirror and blushed. Not from desire. From shock. The woman in the reflection was beautiful. Deadly. Balanced. Her body was a weapon honed by millennia of war. "You're inside this. You're using it. You're... wearing her."
I looked away. "I'm not... I'm not her."
But he was.
Now.
And something behind his eyes agreed. I dropped to the floor, back against the cold porcelain of the tub. Chest heaving. Skin tingling. Not sure where he ended and she began. Please say something, I thought. Tell me what you want. Nothing. Just breath. And the ghost of a heartbeat that wasn't his.
He'd tried to change back. Screamed at the mirror. Punched the wall. Prayed. Nothing. No instructions. No off switch. Just a female body. On him. Around him. As him. That morning, he finally broke. Fine. If I can't switch back, I'm still me. Still Ash. Still a guy. Just...re-invented. I checked my phone. No messages. No calls. Just the lockscreen photo of himself—the old him—laughing in the desert sun. Broad-shouldered. Square-jawed. Familiar. I tilted the phone. The reflection in the black screen stared back. Narrow face. Amber eyes. Tattooed stripes that shimmered slightly in the light.
Not familiar. I dropped the phone on the couch and moved to the kitchen. Coffee. That, at least, hadn't changed. He drank it black—always had. Bitter was better. A slap to the system. But as the first sip hit his new tongue, his whole mouth lit up. His new taste buds didn't register it as bitter.
They registered it as wrong. Burned. Old. Dusty. I spat it back into the sink. "What the hell?" He tried again, this time a Smaller sip. Nope. Still wrong. Still awful.
But now… interesting.
The flavor pulled into pieces: trace oils, carbon overtones, hints of hydrogenated oils. His mind began categorizing them involuntarily, isolating chemicals and roast profiles like some kind of forensic palate analysis.
"Okay," I whispered. "That's new." I dumped the coffee. My ears picked up things I hadn't heard before the faint electric hum of the fridge, the crackling silence between radio stations outside, the whisper of dust sliding off a vent. I moved—slowly. The body still obeyed, but not passively. Each gesture felt… curated. Like the limbs had opinions about how to bend. His arms extended too gracefully. His shoulders shifted like they were trained for war.
And everything felt good. My balance. My breath. Even the temperature of the air sliding across my skin.
Too good.
I caught myself standing taller than usual. Hands on the counter. Tail curled in a soft arc behind me, flicking once in rhythm with my heartbeat. I hadn't told it to do that. "Stop that," I muttered, and the tail twitched again, amused. Still hungry. But not for food. His stomach didn't grumble. It hummed. Like a low static in the gut, craving something else. Something with heat. Energy. Motion.
Blood?
He shuddered and pushed the thought away.
I found my orange Z-joggers and the matching hoodie big enough to cover the bio plasmic tiger stripes. The horns atop my head would be harder to hide, so instead of trying I openly displayed them. Knowing that people, would just think they were some new fad among goth chicks. The tail was a bit trickier. I Tucked my jagged dark hair under a beanie. I Slid my tail down one pant leg and bent it hard at the knee.
It hurt like hell, but I had to see how much play it could take. I gave myself some verbal encouragement, "No one will look twice in the city. Just be cool, act like you belong."
I pulled the hoodie low and opened the door. And immediately froze. The hallway was too quiet. Too clean. A floor below, a child screamed at a game console. A siren somewhere wailed like a dying animal. But right here? Dead air.
I stepped out still trembling in my borrowed skin. My legs moved too gracefully. I hated it. Every step was like a runway strut I didn't ask for—hips rocking, shoulders loose, arms slightly out like I was ready to fight or dance or both. And the worst part? It felt good.
The hallway's security light flickered as I passed. Motion-triggered. It caught on the edge of my jaw—Her jaw. Too sharp. Too elegant. Too unlike the man I remembered being. I reached the elevator. Punched the button. Hard. The metal groaned. Someone coughed down the hall.
I stiffened—back straight, chin high. Instinct. Or was it her?
The door at the far end opened. Old woman. Groceries. She looked up, blinked, then smiled at me with a tired kind of recognition. I nodded. Polite. I didn't say a word. Just kept walking. No second glance.
Was that good? Was I passing as... normal? Was there such a thing anymore?
The elevator chimed. Inside, mirrored walls. Again. Her again. Me. Us. I looked away. Focused on the floor numbers. Just get to the street. Just get through today. The crystal's silence was louder than words. The being inside hadn't said a damn thing since I woke up like this. But I felt her. Sitting in the corners of my mind, smirking. Watching me stumble through her body like a drunk toddler in heels.
You think this is funny? I thought. A flicker of amusement tightened something behind my eyes. Not words. Not even laughter. Just—yes. I gritted my teeth. "bitch."
The elevator chimed again.
Lobby.
Game time.
I stepped out into the hallway, my new body feeling foreign and awkward. Every movement seemed exaggerated, my hips swaying with a grace that felt unnatural.
The bio-plasmic tiger stripes pulsed softly with each step I took! The weight of my new form was both a burden and a strange comfort, like a second skin I couldn't quite shed. As I walked, I couldn't help but notice the way my body moved with a fluidity I had never experienced before. My legs, though bowed out slightly, carried me with an agility that was almost predatory. I felt a surge of power coursing through my veins, a primal energy that seemed to coil beneath my skin. Reaching the foyer, I paused, my eyes darting around the familiar space that now felt alien. The sunlight filtering through the windows cast a warm glow, but it did little to ease the tension coiled in my muscles. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing thoughts.
"Okay, Ash," I muttered in a smoky husky tone, "just act normal. No one will notice a thing." But as soon as I stepped out into the city, the world seemed to slow down. Every gaze felt like a weight, every whisper a judgment. I kept my head down, the hoodie pulled low over my face, but I could feel the stares. The way people's eyes lingered on my privy form, taking in the curves and the strength that was both alluring and unsettling.
I navigated the crowded streets with a newfound caution, my senses were heightened. The scent of exhaust and street food mingled in the air, but beneath it, I could detect something else—a faint, almost imperceptible hint of danger. My body tensed, ready for anything, even as my mind raced with questions. What did this thing want? Why was she here, watching him with that amused detachment? And more importantly, how could he regain control of his own body?
Ash's thoughts were a whirlwind, but he pushed them aside, focusing on the task at hand. He had to adapt, had to learn to move in this new form. With each step, he felt a strange sense of determination building, a resolve to not just survive, but to thrive.
I had to focus. I had to learn to be myself again in this She-beast body, to find a balance between my old self and this new, powerful form. It was a challenge, but I had never been one to back down from a fight. And this was a battle I intended to win, no matter the cost.
This body didn't blend.
It projected.
Even in a baggy hoodie, people stared on the street. They didn't mean to. But their eyes snapped to him like magnets. Like they could sense the difference. A woman on a bus bench whispered something to her boyfriend and he nodded without looking. A dog on a leash growled low and flattened its ears when I passed.
A homeless man stared straight at him and said:
"Wrong skin, tiger. Wrong war."
I froze.
"What did you say?"
But the man just curled up and closed his eyes. I moved on. I walked for hours. Avoided eye contact. Focused on my gait. The way my hips moved. The light spring in my steps. Every motion was optimized for something I didn't understand.
Speed?
Combat?
Lure?
I reached the roof of a downtown parking garage and stood there, overlooking the valley. Phoenix shimmered in the distance, heat rising off asphalt like ghosts. I closed my eyes. The dream came back to me in pieces. Snow. Fog. That woman in the distance. Or whoever she was before she became this. She hadn't spoken. But she didn't need to. She was showing him something. Letting him try her skin on like a coat I couldn't take off.
And I felt her now, coiled in the folds of his spine. Sleeping. But watching. You're not a passenger, I thought. You're not a parasite. A flicker of heat bloomed at the base of my skull. You're an invitation. I opened my eyes. Took a breath and stretched my arms wide to the horizon.
And roared—not human, not beast, just sound.
A power note. No words. Just release. A flock of pigeons scattered from a nearby billboard. I laughed as my tail flicked. The wind caught my hair " Fine," I thought. We'll do it your way. The sun had started to set when the hunger hit. I was walking through the canals near downtown, that quiet hour when Phoenix turned to molten copper. Every shadow stretched long. The air shimmered. The desert wind came dry and laced with faint jasmine from some unseen backyard. It should've been peaceful. And for a while, it was. Every breeze against his face felt like it carried meaning. The world was louder—not in sound, but in presence. Herja's body read the city like an animal reads a trail.
I could feel the static cling of traffic lights switching a block away. I knew when birds were near, without looking. Felt their tiny heartbeats as electric pulses in the edges of my field of awareness. I closed my eyes beneath a mesquite tree and could taste the water seeping through the bark. It was beautiful. Alive. Until the heat in my belly started to spike. I doubled over near a rusted bench, one hand on my abdomen, the other gripping the seat.
At first, I thought it was thirst. Dehydration. But it wasn't. It was need. The slow, low fire of hunger—but not for food. Not for sugar or salt or grease or anything a store could sell. This was cellular. Primal. I gasped, eyes wide, sweat starting to gather under my arms. Not fear. Not heatstroke. It was activation. I could smell her before I saw her.
A girl.
Seventeen. Coming out of the light rail station three blocks south. Denim jacket, earbuds in. Walking fast. Her scent wasn't perfume, but I knew her. Or rather—Herja's instincts did. I tracked her orgone signature the way a shark smells blood in seawater. And worse—I felt the others. Three males.
Young. Masked in that casual street-camouflage way—hoods up, eyes down, slinking after her like jackals. My eyes narrowed and spine flexed.
"Hunt" came a voice from within. "No—wait." my voice was hoarse. "It's not my fight." But something inside was already standing. Already peeling back. Already waking up. The tail uncoiled. Fingers twitched. My mouth filled with heat. My pupils split. I ran. Not to stop them. To consume them. I vaulted over a fence amd through dust and gravel. The world slowed as I moved. Muscles surged, absorbing impact with ease. Herja's body didn't run like a human's—it leapt, glided, skimmed air like a thing built for vertical leaps.
I cut through an alley and landed above the scene. The girl was cornered behind a tool rental shop—old warehouse walls on either side. The three punks laughed low and ugly, voices oily with false charm. One blocked her path. Another flanked. One held something in his hand. I sailed throw the air; muscles packed with orgone energy. Claws extended from bio-plasmic sheaths with a soft click.
Amber eyes flared with psychic intent. I hit the asphalt without sound. The first attacker didn't see me—just felt a blur slam past. A grunt, then nothing. I had struck the boy across the chest so fast that the breath left him before pain arrived. The second turned with a knife.
I caught his wrist mid-stab. No effort. Just control. I watched the boy's face as I crushed the knife—metal whining between clawed fingers. "I see you," I whispered.
I slammed my palms into his chest and began devouring his orgone energy. Flesh melted, as I drank his orgone energy, within moments there was nothing left but clothing and a grease smear. The third had bolted. Fast. Smart. But still doomed. I was still panting, steaming from exertion, but then I raised my head and sniffed the air, literally sensing the coward's escape trail.
The stolen memory of Herja's instincts lit up in my mind like a sonar ping. "He smells like aqua after shave and adrenaline. North stairwell." My feet were already moving. No hesitation. Only hunger. The third attacker barreled through a service corridor, gasping into a stolen comm-link.
"—I need evac. She's not human. She's not human!"
Then silence. A thud. A shadow slid up behind him. "Wrong on both counts." With terrifying speed, I slammed the runner against the wall, Herja's palms flattening over the man's back! The organic suckers along my hand bloomed open like starfish—squirming, glowing faintly. The attacker's scream never finished. I doesn't just hold him—I drank him in. The suckers pulsed, drawing heat, light, life. Orgone siphoned from muscle, marrow, glands—turning fear into sustenance.
My pupils dilated. My breath steadied. The raw ache inside Herja's hybrid body cooled into something close to euphoria. I vanished into shadow, tail flicking once behind. I crouched behind a dumpster two blocks away, Herja's Beast Mode sloughing off in stages—like shedding armor. My fingers curled, steam rising off my arms. My breath still came hard. Controlled. The rush of battle wasn't enough.
Something inside me still howled—something with Herja's teeth and my conscience caged behind it. The crystal burned warm in my chest again.
Herja was pleased.