136. 30 Day Writing Challenge (Day 7)

I've decided to attempt a 30 day writing challenge. The way it works is 30 words are provided, and you have to write something involving the word. It can be a drabble or a full story, length doesn't matter! For my reference, here are the words:

beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.

Each day I'll cross out whatever word I've chosen to keep track. These won't be edited or proofread so please forgive the mess!

All of these will be from The Arcanus Series.

The only time I won't be posting these is when there's a special guest. Until then, enjoy!

Day Six can be found here.


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Transformation

Muscles stretch and contort at unnatural angles. Bones crack and pop with bruising force. Viron's eyes feel as if they were going to bulge out of his head. Screams rip through his throat until the inner walls of his larynx are raw and swollen. Skin stretches and splits, wings burst from his back and he can feel the faint trickles of blood sliding down. Clawed hands delve into silver hair, pulling out small chunks as he desperately clings to some form of sanity.

All at once his limbs grow slack and his face connects with the ground with a dull, fleshy thud. Long moments pass where he cannot move, his entire body inflamed and still contorted in its unnatural shape. Heavy breathing kicks up dirt around him, stinging his eyes and filling his mouth with the bitter taste of defeat.

"Again." Lucien's voice is cold and unforgiving, Viron can all but feel the glacial stare being shot down at his pitiful form. "You're no use to me if you can't even transform. You're a half-breed, show me what you can do!"

One hundred years. A century of nursing broken bones, torn ligaments and wounded pride. One hundred years of forcing his body to attempt a transformation the gods had denied to him on a genetic level. Day after day, hour after hour of Lucien's lifeless stares as he pushed him harder, faster, uncaring of the dangers he put his son through. Year after year of pointed disdain from his older brothers for a legacy he wanted nothing to do with. Yu'thiel now wanted nothing to do with him, and Viron could hardly blame him. What son wouldn't feel bitter when they were always tossed aside for the newer, 'better' child?

"No." feeling returned to his extremities, sending tingles up through his arms and legs. His healing factor kicked in at full force, used to coming in on a daily basis for the beating Viron put his body through just to see his father smile for an instant.

Except he never had. Not once in a century did the man offered encouragement or praise. Only false platitudes and bullshit reasoning.

For once, his father sounds taken aback. "No?" he repeats.

More feelings, sensations. Viron manages to rise to his knees, grinding his teeth as his body jerks and contorts back to its natural form. Scales ripple along his arms, up his neck and face. Instead of keeping up the illusion of appearing to be another kass'na, he allows his snout to emerge, his teeth to sharpen to razor tips. Five fingers morph into four clawed digits. He threads a large hand through his hair and gazes up at the cloudless sky. Tired. He's so incredibly tired of Lucien's shit. A century was enough.

"I'm not doing this anymore, father." With more energy than he feels he has, his healing factor kicked in enough for him to stagger to his feet. Toward the back of the arena, behind Lucien, Arlililla stands, a smile on her painted lips as she nods her head. As always she would support him, but the decision had always been his to make. "You already have a half-breed son. Make him do this, he wants it."

"Yu'thiel already can." Lucien snaps. "The blessings of not being deformed. But he doesn't have your potential for growth and he's too greedy. Now do it again."

"No!" Rage began to build, hot and tight in his chest. So what if he had deformities? Lucien could take one hundred percent of the blame for his genetic shortcomings. "I'm tired of forcing my body to do the impossible. I've done your bidding for two hundred years, and fifty-two years prior to that you didn't even care to know my name. So fuck you, Lucien. Find someone else to be your verbal punching bag."

Viron could not help but to feel a sense of smug satisfaction as he walks away from a dumbfounded Lucien, his sister's laughter echoing behind him.