Old Knife [Daud TF FTM TG MC]

I don’t sneer at things such as this. Villains never get their comeuppance.

She spat.

She hissed.

She snapped.

But she couldn’t move, and they were still there.

She struggled against the straps, but it was no use; her wrists were covered in blisters. The people just stood blankly, faces concealed in expressionless masks. She had asked time and time again as to why she was here, or what they wanted, but they always stayed muted. As the hours passed, her anger only grew, her face red from her attempts to break free and from her seething anger. The strange captors only watched, and very closely, always staying in the same room as her.

She spat as she began rocking back and forth; she had to get out of there. In her foolhardy idea, she and her strap chair tumbled over, face first. She croaked and spat, blood seeping from her broken nose. She tried rolling side to side, until she rolled onto her back. She had gotten nowhere, except with a broken nose and aching all over. She thrashed, slamming her chair around in a vain effort to get out. The strange beings stood idly, until one, coated in red, nodded to their side. As if like a hallucination, one of the people vanished, and appeared right above her in a crackle of black.

The masked one above her carefully pulled out a very large, almost sword-like, knife, with a hilt of burnished gold and brown leather. They began wavering it above her left hand, almost jokingly. She reacted on impulse; she screamed in their face, which caused them to shank her left hand in a startled jolt. She headbutted the knife wielder, who let go of the blade and vanished. The chair vanished along with them, which gave her the freedom that she wanted for so many hours. She jumped up, adrenaline coursing through her; the masked captors just stood, and she swore that some of them had their heads down.

She didn’t focus of them for long, she yanked the blade from her hand in impulse and bolted down a doorway. She felt intense burning pain throughout her body, and confusion; why did she grab the knife? Why does her hand not bleed? She didn’t care, she just kept running down in an effort to find some sort of exit. As the hallways grew darker, she saw a light; an orange, sickly light, but it was new. As she approached, she saw something that made her heart race even more, this time with joy; a chain leading down, and hopefully out. She jumped down headlong to grab the chain with her free hand, which turned out to be a big mistake. As soon as she grabbed the chain, intense pain surged throughout her body, almost like electricity, and she let go. Now she was falling, blade spiraling down beside her.

It hurt, it burned.

She looked at her left hand, the one the blade had pierced; it had perfectly healed, but there was something wrong. Her hand burned intensely as a strange symbol seemed to brand itself onto it, and then stopped hurting. The pit seemed to go on forever, spiraling downward with seemingly no end. She spat at the pain, yet was almost limp; she was getting tired, tired of all of this supernatural-kidnapping nonsense. In her pain recoil, she clutched the branded hand, which caused her heart to skip a beat; in an instant, the world’s color melted away and blurred, and everything stopped. Time had just stopped around her, and the symbol on her hand just glowed brighter and brighter; she saw a strange beacon down below.

“So this does have an end, doesn’t it?” she snarked, ignoring the mark’s glow. She then noticed one thing, that she couldn’t move, and that her glowing hand began burning intensely again. She hissed, “No, no, no, what’s happening?” The burning spread towards the rest of her body from the cursed hand, which’s light was now almost blinding. She didn’t even understand what was happening; she couldn’t comprehend it even if she knew.

It started in her left hand; skin stretching and bones cracking, the pain making her joints stiff. The same pain spread slowly at first, her entire body enlarging and growing bones-first. Her bones and joints creaked and grinded against each other as they grew, almost becoming overwhelming in her ears, even compared to the strain of her stretching skin. Her insides burned, and she was starting to sweat profusely; they seemed to be growing to fit her new size. The most awkward part happened next; her pelvis cracked, and new “parts” expanded outwards from her groin. She – he hissed, it just became more and more painful as it progressed. The searing pain intensified in their chest, their chest flattening inwards and their breasts disappearing. This time she felt a special kind of burn; her body became more muscular, and hair growing across their arms and legs. Now for the worst of the pain, the face. Their face contorted in pain as it happened, as all of it happened; her scull cracked, and scars slashed themselves across their face, yet instantly healing afterwards. Their chin became more squared, and grew a light layer of 4-o’clock shadow. Their hair receded back into their head quickly while turning from light to dark brown, and their hair line receded far back. At the very end, their eyes throbbed as they were dyed a pale blue.

In an instant, the world flashed past him before he was hurdled downwards, falling harshly on his side. He grunted and groaned in pain; his entire body ached painfully, yet felt numb, and more importantly, cold. A swift sound whizzed by his ears, and he saw his blade, stuck in the old wooden planks of the floor. He hoisted himself up, using his elbow for leverage before standing up properly, if still stumbling a bit. He slowly stumbled towards his blade, his mind hazy; what happened to him? As he grabbed the blade, he noticed his bare hand, prompting him to look at his body; this was definitely not his normal attire, and not even close to proper attire. He was clothed in a white sleeveless camisole, that even lacked the majority of its armpit cover. He then noticed that he was wearing a bra. Awkward. Then he looked down, to see that he was wearing extremely short shorts, almost like underwear, and they were tight. Awkward. He held the blade in his hand, rubbing his shoulder with the other.

The familiar sound of his Whaler’s Blinks jerked him from his cold haze, and he turned around; his second-in-command, Billie Lurk, stood idly, his normal clothes in arm. Daud, now somewhat aware, opened his mouth to speak, but Billie silenced him by shoving his clothes into his chest. “Well, let me explain….” She started. “Um, well, how should I put this….. Overseers, roofies, and… kidnapping.” She said awkwardly, scratching her neck. “We had to take them out, and then they threw you down here.”

Daud, still dazed, stammered, “Why am I in women’s clothes?”, rubbing his arms and shoulders. Billie stood in front of him for a while in thought, before she spoke, “*sigh*… I’ll tell you the truth when we get back to base.”

“The truth? What do you-”

Billie shut Daud off before he could finish. “Again, when we get back to base…. aaand when you put your proper clothes back on.” She turned around, but then peered back. “Well, hint…. You’re not who you think you are, or who you think you were.” She said, before Blinking away.

Daud gave an uncharacteristically puzzled look, before focusing himself and warping on Billie’s path. He needed to understand what was going on, and to - more importantly - get into his proper clothes. Definitely into proper clothes.