Chapter 40: A New Man

Anthony took the bowl. He drank. He hit the floor and screamed bloody f*cking murder. His limbs twisted and contorted, like the gnarled branches of a corkscrew willow. That muscular body lengthened and stretched, bones breaking with sickening snaps. The golden robe he wore turned red, whether from his own blood or spilled from the bowl, I couldn’t say. He flopped, he flipped, he went full Exorcist on the dusty floor.

My hand flew to my hinged jaw. I felt like I needed to help him, to do something—but what? There was nothing I could do until the change was complete. Nobody could help him.

He writhed like a worm baking in the hot sun. Then, after nearly twenty unbearable minutes, he rose, panting. But he was not the Anthony I’d known for more than a decade.