She breathed easier now it was over. The weight was already less; the plates and spikes and ridges withdrawing, retreating, melting like icebergs back inside of her.
She had survived. She knew she would. The fight, anyway. She'd Changed to survive. She just hadn't been sure she'd survive the Change.
Her opponent was in a furrow, buried under rubble. The ruins still smoked where he'd touched. Sirens sounded in the distance. She had to leave. Might not be bulletproof when they got here.
Something itched at her shoulder blades, among the ruins of her shirt. Something rustled. Something twitched.
Whimpers From My Bed Of Woe
2 days ago