Bioshifter

We don't talk much for the rest of the day. Or… is it nighttime? I guess it probably is, considering our rude awakening, but it's impossible for anyone to tell inside this spatial tunnel up through the trunk of the Mother Tree, or Tree of Souls, or whatever a given culture wants to call this thing. My vote is 'Absolutely Massive Woody.' God, that's so bad. What the heck, brain?

Regardless of the time, we're all exhausted, frayed past our breaking points. My thoughts are a constant anxious loop, replaying the moment I murdered a man over and over in my mind. The way my legs slid through him with only the slightest resistance, the way the smell of his viscera erupting from the wound drove me into a frenzy, the way his sticky blood still covers my body, gunking up my joints and providing a constant reminder of what I just did. It's sickening. It's horrifying. It's revolting.

It was probably the right thing to do.

I mean, by any halfway decent legal system that wasn't murder, that was justified self-defense. They escalated to lethal force, we responded reasonably in order to protect ourselves. I guess you could argue Teboho was the first to kill someone, but if I woke up in the middle of being magically disabled to see two shady men with weapons drawn looming over my bed… yeah, I think anyone would be justified in assuming they were trying to kill us. And by the time I got involved, my victim was already frying my friends with goddamn lighting bolts. If I got tried in court, I'd probably get off scot-free if I had a reasonably competent lawyer.

Literally none of that justification makes me feel better, of course. The law does not decide what's moral or what's right, and it certainly doesn't decide how traumatized I'm going to be after an event like this. If someone else had done what I did, I would tell them that they did the right thing. They saved people that were in danger via the best method they had available. I know that. It just… doesn't matter. Because I did that, I had to live through it, and I just killed someone. I will never, ever be able to take that back.

At least I'm not alone in my trauma. The only one of us who seems unaffected by the experience is Kagiso, who just seems sleepy more than anything else. Though all three big people trudge up the tunnel with obvious fatigue, Teboho and Sindri are both noticeably subdued in ways that feel like they go beyond mere exhaustion. I want to ask them about it and see if there's anything I can do to help, and I've almost worked up the courage to speak up when everyone suddenly halts.

Kagiso, hide Hannah, Sindri orders.

Wait, what? I ask, but I'm immediately peeled off of Kagiso's head and stuffed into her backpack, which is sealed overtop of me. Oi! What's going on?

People ahead, Sindri explains. They're heading down, we'll meet them. They're probably merchants, which means there's at least a half-decent chance that they're cultists. I seriously doubt every member of their group is going to try and kidnap you, but… well, better safe than sorry.

I stop struggling and curl up into a little ball, doing my best to act like luggage.

That makes sense, I allow. Why do you think they were after me in the first place?

Same reason I was, I suppose, Sindri answers. If you were just a monster, you'd be ridiculously valuable.

Did you not explain to the merchant who wanted to buy me that I'm a person!?

I did, Sindri insists. I suppose he just didn't care.

What makes me so valuable, anyway? It seems like you have tons of Space-aligned monsters, and I'm sure there are plenty of Order-aligned ones as well.

Hannah, I just saw you decapitate a Light mage with a Space spell. Those are opposing elements. Remember how magic resistance works? You completely ignored being electrocuted—which is normal enough, if admittedly impressive—but you also ignored your target's resistance to your magic. That speaks of a massive difference in relative power.

Wait, I was being electrocuted that whole time!? I didn't even feel it! I guess it was loud in there, but I assumed he was still zapping Teboho! Gah, I really wish I could see! Still though, I suppose it sounds like I have the standard bullshit isekai power level. That's… something, except I'm fairly certain it doesn't translate to anything like hit points. I can still quite literally be squashed like a bug.

I… I had no idea, I admit. So they just wanted me because I'm powerful?

Yes, Sindri confirms. That's my suspicion. It probably had more to do with the fact that one of them was a beast trader than the fact that they were cultists. The Disciples of Unification are a borderline pyramid scheme, sure, but they're not a bunch of bandits. They'd strongly disapprove of anyone wearing their emblem engaging in that sort of behavior.

What do you mean by a 'borderline pyramid scheme?' I ask.

Becoming a high-ranking Disciple of Unification requires sizable donations to ensure your dedication, Sindri explains. The more you pay, the more the 'truth of reality is revealed to you,' or some such nonsense. Anyone with basic sense knows to stay away from them, but they still manage to subsist off of aggressive evangelism among the merchant class.

Oh my god they're scientologists. That's… I hate that so much. I get sent to a fantasy world, but instead of deep and interesting cultures of tree-dwelling peoples who worship provably real deities that enact miracles directly on the world, I'm stuck still mucking around with the lowest common denominator of religion.

I… I see, I manage to answer, and then the incoming merchants come into my sensory range.

It's three dentron: a man, a woman, and a small male that I assume is a young boy. They have a strange wagon-like… thing, but rather than being pulled by an animal it rests on top of a large, flat lizard-like creature, which has no apparent trouble with the rough, steep tunnel even with an entire caravan and three people on its back. The creature is wide and low to the ground, both of its eyes resting on top of its head. Oversized feet grip so solidly into the wood that I suspect it could travel via the ceiling of the tunnel if it were so inclined, though its cargo might not appreciate that. Its body is longer than a pickup truck, not counting the tail, and on its back is what I suspect might be the life's wealth of the family driving it. Securely covered and attached, the storage area has crates upon crates of glass bottles filled with unidentifiable substances, from powders to liquids to animal organs to dried plants. There's enough empty space back there for the group to huddle up and sleep together, as well, so there are beds laid out and plenty of crates that just have travel food. It's all very interesting, but I'm more concerned with the risk they pose than the goods they sell. I search through their outfits, and to my dismay I find that both of the adults have the same centipede-engraved pendants that the other cultists have.

They're Disciples of Unification, I confirm to my team.

How can you tell? Teboho asks.

Pendants under their clothes, I answer. Centipede symbol, right? Long twisty bug, lots of legs?

That would be them, Teboho confirms.

There's no reason to assume they're involved with the group that attacked us, Sindri assures everyone, but it doesn't stop him and the rest of the team from tensing up for combat, muscles coiled and ready to fight in an instant. Kagiso doesn't draw her bow, but she subtly palms a stone in each hand while Sindri rests one of his own on the short sword at his hip. Teboho, of course, is neither armed nor armored, but the entire premise of his magic is the ability to change that in an instant.

Our tension must make the cultists nervous, as it spreads to them the closer they get to us. They don't make any aggressive moves, however, simply ordering their son to hide in the covered parts of the cargo before politely (or what I assume is politely) hailing us. They keep their huge (and kind of adorable) flounder-skink as respectful a distance away from us as they can, but we'll have to pass very close by in order to get around them.

Hannah, can you see what goods they sell? Sindri asks.

A bunch of weird stuff, I answer. Glass bottles full of crap. Maybe they're apothecaries? Magic potions or something?

There's no such thing as magic potions, Sindri chides. They could certainly be selling medicine, though.

Need medicine, Kagiso points out. Hurt. Stabbed.

You want to buy stuff from the people that tried to kill us? I ask incredulously.

It's better than going untreated, I suppose, Sindri grumbles. We need a doctor to look at Teboho's injuries, and we need to make sure Kagiso's wounds don't get infected, and I could probably use someone to look at my arm as well. Just… keep Hannah in the bag. Don't let them see her. Alright?

Hide the hat, no pat pat, Kagiso confirms seriously.

I can just hide in one of my dimensional pockets, I point out.

Your what? Teboho asks. I don't think Kagiso's pockets will be big enough.

Did that not translate? I ask.

I understood you, Sindri sighs. Do what you think is best, just don't be seen.

Okay, I'm hiding in higher dimensional space then, I say. Just don't leave without me. I'll sneak back into the backpack when you guys are ready to go.

I reach through the direction that shouldn't exist, carve out the wood in my way, and pass into the cool, familiar space of tunneled world tree, the blood caked to my body all dropping into Kagiso's backpack as it's unable to follow. It's second-nature for me to dig through the trunk like this, probably because that's what I was doing every night of my life until I finally emerged less than a week ago. …Geez, was it really less than a week ago? That's insane, it feels like so much longer.

Anyway. The team is going to go talk to cultists on purpose, even though we just got nearly killed by a group of them. That seems incredibly stupid to me, but I guess it's not my call. I need to stay out of sight. And if something happens, then I'll be in the perfect position to… to…

Oh god, please don't make me have to kill anyone else.

Ignoring an urge to vomit, I shakingly dig a tunnel towards where the cultist merchants have stopped, shoving the carved-out wood down my seemingly-endless gullet. Sindri speaks with them for a while, giving me the time I need to move behind their necks. Just… just in case. The merchants wear armor underneath their clothes, but have no weapons. That means nothing, of course. Weapons are somewhat less important when anyone can randomly be born with a deadly spell. Everyone is always armed, though most people have no idea what anyone else is armed with, making everything even more terrifying. Pneuma mages have it lucky, what with being able to see whatever 'auras' are.

I skitter in a circle, chasing the unfocused thoughts from my mind. This is dangerous. This could be another catastrophe and I have to be ready because if I'm not ready people could die! …And if I am ready then people will die and it will be my fault, but at least it won't be people I like. That's… fuck. Fuck! I hate this! I hate having to think like this! Why is every part of my life collapsing all at once!?

I wait, claws at the ready as Sindri negotiates with the cultists. I'm ready when he approaches them, showing proof that he can and will pay. I'm ready when a deal is agreed on, I'm ready when Sindri reports it's a good deal and these kind people aren't taking advantage of our desperation. I'm ready when clothing starts to come off so wounds can be treated. I'm ready. I'm ready through it all. If they attack, I'll make their kid an orphan. I'll do it. That's the reality of this world, so I'll do it.

An eternity later, my friends are thanking the traveling merchant-doctors, the two groups parting ways. I slip back into Kagiso's backpack, trying to ignore the small bed of dried blood shavings that I inadvertently created inside. Nothing happened. Everything was fine.

See, that's how things usually go with the Disciples of Unification, Sindri grunts. Those four we fought were just rotten, greedy bastards.

You speak as though you have a history with this group, Teboho comments.

I wouldn't say a history, Sindri hedges. I just travel a lot, and they're one of the few organizations prominent on both the Tree of Souls and Pillar. They accept basically every sapient species to their ranks and mainly recruit other travelers, like merchants. They're usually quite fair merchants, too, they just have a horrible tendency to constantly prod at me and try to get me to join their organization. They're annoying, is all.

Talk too much, Kagiso groans. Sleep soon?

It'd be bad form to set up camp inside a tunnel, Sindri insists. Not enough room in here. Just a little further, everyone.

But sleepy, Kagiso whines.

Your brother nearly got fried to death and he's not complaining, Sindri sighs. I mean it. It's just a little further.

I think it's a little weird that we're avoiding rest when we nearly all just died, but I guess I'm the only member of the group that didn't get injured and I'm also the only member of the group that doesn't have to walk, so I figure I don't deserve a say in the matter. Sindri isn't lying, at least. Less than half an hour later, we make it out of the tunnel onto another branch, the cool wind indicating we once again stand under open sky.

I'm sure it looks beautiful to everyone that can see it. To my senses, it's just a few structures and a bit more dirt.

There's no village here, just a small outpost. We avoid it, Sindri navigating us away from anyone else and setting up camp somewhere secluded. We agree on a watch rotation, and since it's apparently dark enough right now that my senses see further than everyone else's, I'm included in the shifts. Sindri takes first watch, followed by me, and ending with Kagiso. Teboho is excluded, since he's the most heavily injured.

Hannah want? Kagiso asks, patting the dirt next to her sleeping bag.

I think I'll sleep somewhere no one can get to me, I tell her. Thanks for the offer, though.

She pouts a little, but nods. I start trying to burrow into the tree… and realize that we're out on a branch again rather than inside the trunk, so I'm not able to burrow in whatever direction I want. I have to find a nearby barren zone and step into it. I'm not sure why it works that way, but that's the way it works. There's a small barren zone nearby, though, so into it I go.

I curl up, dig a bit to get myself comfortable, and then wake up on Earth. My alarm is going off. It's Monday morning. I guess it's time for this traumatized little murderer to go to school. Once I remember how to walk, anyway.

The morning routine isn't so bad today, at least. It doesn't take long for me to figure my limbs out, and I head to the shower without any trouble. My horrifying mutant bits are still horrifying and mutant, but other than my skin getting a little bit darker and the exoskeleton slowly growing up my toes I don't see anything notable. I don't even lose another patch of skin from my leg, although that patch of bony exoskeleton sure is a thing still.

Nope, it would seem I've hit a new normal. The only odd part about today is how I start shaking like an insane person every time I stop moving for more than five seconds, having to think about the taste of glorious, horrible blood in my mouth as I burrowed into a man's chest cavity. It makes my toes curl and my leg itch and my stomach growl for bloody meat. Will I kill someone here on Earth, too? Will it be in self-defense again, or will the changes to my body just drive me mad?

No. Don't think about it. Press forward. I get long, thick socks on to hide my mutating leg and claws, with a basic T-shirt and jeans covering… hmm. No. I put a jacket on, one with a hood. Then I find some gloves and stuff them into my pockets, just in case. Now I'm ready. Or at least as ready as I can expect my useless preparation skills to be capable of. I walk to the bus stop and immediately realize my mistake.

I have to wait. There's nothing to do here. I pull out my phone in a desperate attempt to acquire distractions but it's too late, I'm already thinking about human flesh sliding down my throat. God, why did the one cultist I ended up killing have to be the human one!? I mean, would it have been better if he was a dentron? Is it racist to say yes? Oh good, now I'm a murderer and a bigot. Great work, Hannah, you're really striking off the unforgivable monster bingo card! Keep this up and you'll be going for a blackout before the end of the month! I'm sure you can find someone to torture if you put your mind to—

"Hey, Han—"

I leap away from the sound, twisting in the air and trying to get a half dozen limbs that don't exist up and ready to protect my face from the predator that somehow just snuck up on me. How did it do that!? I can see… I can… wait.

I land in a slight crouch, my heart throbbing a mile a minute and my breathing heavy. It's just… it's just Brendan. It's Brendan, it's fine, it's okay, it's Brendan. It's okay. I'm fine. There's no attack.

"Hannah…?" he asks slowly, opening and showing both his palms.

I open my mouth to tell him I'm okay, and a hiss leaks out. Brendan takes a step back, which immediately makes me want to chase him claw him predator danger kill eat I'm going crazy oh god I'm going crazy help me help me! I feel my breathing get faster, my eyes grow wider, but I'm not going to hurt Brendan, I refuse, I refuse, I categorically refuse. Not the best thing in my life. He's fine. He's safe. I'm safe.

…Except I'm clearly not safe. Not safe to be around, not safe to exist. I'm still stanced like an animal, still completely certain that something is trying to kill me and I'll have to kill it first if I want to live. Just like last night. He had to die. He had to. I had no choice.

"Hannah," Brendan repeats, kneeling down slowly. Smaller. Less aggressive. Good. "You in there, Hannah?"

Yes, I'm in here. I'm in here and I need help. I know how to say the words but they won't come out. I feel tears start to form in my eyes. I'm completely, mortally terrified, and I don't even know what of. I want to run, I want to fight, I want to scream until the sun dies, but as usual the action that comes easiest to me is doing nothing at all. Stay the course. Maintain status quo. I stay stock still, not trusting myself to attempt anything else.

Brendan takes a slow step forwards. I let him. He takes another, and another. Cautiously, treating me like the wild animal that I am, he extends a hand forwards. I track it carefully with my eyes—I don't think I could choose to not track it—but I continue to otherwise stay still until it inevitably reaches its target.

Brendan pats me on the head, the motion rough and uncomfortable.

"There… there?" he says awkwardly.

Something about that—maybe the odd humor to it, maybe the sheer absurdity, maybe the contact itself—breaks the dam of tension and I break, my body dropping out of fight-or-flight mode like a stone. I gulp for air and then have to stop gulping for air, worried about hyperventilation. Brendan catches me as I stagger, then quickly releases me once I get my balance back. I look up into his worried expression, embarrassment sparking inside me but lacking the energy to flare.

"...Bad night?" Brendan asks.

"Y-yeah," I confirm. "Yeah. Pretty bad night."

"Maybe you shouldn't go to school today," he ventures.

"I'm fine," I insist. "I'll be fine."

"Hannah…"

"I'm fine!" I snap. "I just… let me pretend."

He stares at me, not knowing what to say for a while.

"Tell me about it?" he eventually asks.

I take an involuntary step back, my body starting to shake with stress again.

"I…"

I killed someone. The words are on the tip of my tongue but they don't come out. I killed someone and I ate them. I was almost kidnapped and my friends almost died.

"I-I…"

Hannah you pathetic imbecile, just say the words! The Best Friend Code demands it! Yet the bus arrives before I can choke out the truth, and before I know it we're at school, getting off the bus and neither of us have said a single word. We're going to have to split up to get to classes. Now or never.

Come on, Hannah. You're not this weak.

"I killed someone," I manage to choke out.

Brendan stops and stares at me for a while, taking in the severity of my words.

"You should definitely see a therapist," he says simply.

I'm taken aback by the comment for a moment, feeling offended and betrayed.

"I-I'm not going to see a therapist!" I snap.

"Okay, but like, intellectually you understand that you need a therapist, right?" he presses.

I hiss at him. Again. Because apparently I have a hissing response now. I'm still too exhausted and angry to be embarrassed about it.

"I know you hate therapists, Hannah," Brendan says, putting his hands up placatingly. "But bad experiences with them doesn't mean you don't still need one. No, actually, it means you need one more."

"So I can do what?" I challenge. "What am I gonna say, Brendan? That I wake up in an alternate universe every night and I ate a man because he was shooting lightning? I'd get thrown in a looney bin!"

"I think you're more than lucid enough to avoid being forced into a psychiatric hospital," Brendan answers calmly. "You're not… okay, I mean, you are a danger to yourself, but not because you're insane."

"Oh, har-dee-har!"

"Hannah, that was emphatically not a joke."

I hesitate at that. He's really serious. Even worse, he's not wrong. I'm obviously traumatized, I'd have to be a thousand times more dense than I already am to not see that. Therapy is how you deal with trauma. The problem, of course, is that I'm traumatized by therapy.

"You can go to a completely different treatment center, Hannah," Brendan points out. "Hell, there's no way your parents would let you go back to that place. That's not how things normally go and you know that. You had a good therapist for years."

"I had a useless therapist for years," I counter. "It never helped, it was just… not that."

The bell rings, announcing our impending tardiness. I turn to head to class, hesitantly looking back at Brendan one more time.

"We'll talk more about this after school," he insists.

I nod glumly, hurrying off to my first class of the day. It's just English, so nothing particularly interesting or difficult, which is good because I have biology next and there's a big test today. Ignoring whatever nonsense about The Scarlet Letter the teacher is droning on about, I pull out my science textbooks and start to get some last-minute review in. The teacher calls on me with a question part way through class to try and gotcha me into paying attention, but that only works if I can't answer the question correctly. Obviously, I can. No complaining, teach, I have straight A's and you know it. Leave me the heck alone.

Studying biology isn't exactly productive, but it's engaging enough to work as a proper distraction and that's what I need to get through the day. I expect the test itself to be similar. Not difficult, but definitely taking my full attention to accomplish. I sit down, manage to distract myself with my phone until the bell rings, and then it's testing time. Multiple choice, too, just the way I like it. I look forward to forgetting all of this crap in a few months. Who needs life skills if you can just regurgitate information without context? It's not like our society has created a searchable database of nearly all human knowledge or anything. Memorization is definitely the most important thing to focus on. …Although what I should really be focusing on is this test.

As time passes, that quickly starts to get more and more difficult. There are a few questions about blood, and just thinking about them brings up horrid memories, horrid tastes that creep into my mouth and refuse to let go. Warm, wet iron sliding down my throat like syrup. Pooling in my mouth. I've heard that human meat tastes like pork, but I can't say I agree with that. Maybe that's true when you cook it, but when you devour it raw from a still-spurting neck? It just tastes like blood.

My mouth tastes like blood. So much blood. More and more, I try to lock my focus on the test in front of me, but I just keep tasting that awful, revolting, glorious blood. I fill out an answer as it fills up my mouth. I can't get the taste out of my mind. It's so real, almost like I—

A drop of liquid leaks out of my cloth facemask and stains the test paper red.

Oh. Oh. My mouth tastes like blood because it's actually bleeding. I don't even know if that's better or worse. I move my tongue around, and wow, okay, there's actually a lot of blood collecting in here. Where's the cut? What's happening to me now? I prod at one of my teeth on a whim and… it moves.

It comes loose.

I'm so startled I open my mouth, just a little, an audible splat of blood hitting my desk as a result. Now that I'm scared of it, I can't help but apply pressure to other teeth—poking them, sucking on them, just a little—and one by one they all start to collapse out of my gums, filling my mouth with enamel and blood. Oh god. Oh god! In a panic I jump to my feet, hand over my mouth as my chair clatters behind me. Everyone looks my way. Everyone sees the blood oozing through my mask, over my fingers, and dripping onto the desk. The teacher shouts my name as I run out of the classroom, but I don't listen. I rush for the bathroom, no nurse, not again. I rush to a sink, block the drain, pull up my mask and spit.

Every single tooth in my mouth clatters into the porcelain, all of them drenched red. I… I don't have any teeth anymore. I don't have teeth. And that is a lot of blood. My blood. All that blood is coming out of my face. It's still bleeding. Oh no. Oh no oh no. Stop. Please stop.

My chest starts to ache. I guess we're doing the panic attack thing again. I hardly even feel like I'm in my body this time, like I'm some casual observer feeling this pain, seeing this bloody-faced girl in the mirror start to hyperventilate and nearly choke on her own blood. C-calm. I have to calm down. Face down, let the blood drain out. Don't swallow it. It'll stop. It'll definitely stop. You're lightheaded because of the panic attack, not because you're dying. I don't know if that's true but I'll keep telling myself that. Oh, fuck, what's happening to me? What's happening to me!?

I mean… I suppose there's only one thing it could be, when you think about it. I've already lost all my baby teeth, of course, and my father is a dentist for crying out loud. My teeth were impeccably healthy. The only thing that could have pushed them out is new teeth coming in. I prod my gums with my tongue, quickly finding telltale points starting to emerge. Because of course they're so damn pointy I nearly cut my tongue on them before they're even poking out of my gums.

I suppose I'm a maneater now, so it only makes sense I grow the teeth to match.