Incomplete

Thin, jagged limbs twitched, twitching spasmodically as if unused to movement. The creature's body unfolded, its slick, embryonic skin peeling away like shedding flesh, revealing something twisted, something wrong.

Its body was… incomplete.

Malformed.

A grotesque mockery of a birth.

The creature's breath hitched—a ragged, unnatural gasp that sounded more like the rattling death-throes of something that should not exist. Its malformed chest expanded in jerking, uneven motions, as if struggling to perform the very act of breathing. 

The first sensations of awareness crashed into its mind like a violent tide, each pulse of existence clawing against the fragile foundation of its being.

It convulsed, a spasming mess of sinew and shifting flesh, barely tethered to reality. Every inch of its body writhed, flickering between solid and liquid, its essence unstable—unrefined, incomplete.

It was not whole. It should have been something greater. Something divine. Something vast, unshackled, and beyond mortal comprehension.

But instead, it was this.

A grotesque, fractured remnant of what should have been. A presence severed from its true potential. A being that had been robbed. Violated.

Its essence had been taken. Stolen.

The realization struck like a thunderclap—silent, all-consuming, filling the cavernous void of its newborn consciousness with a roaring emptiness. It did not understand the concept of loss, nor could it comprehend the cruel irony of its existence. But it could feel the injustice, imprinted upon the very marrow of its being, an eternal brand burned into its flesh.

Something deep within it seethed. A primal instinct. A gnawing hunger. It needed to be whole again.

The half-formed entity swayed, its broken body shifting without logic or pattern, as if reality itself struggled to define what it was supposed to be. One moment, its limbs were too long, thin, and stretched like sinewy tendrils, and the next, they snapped back into something humanoid. Its bones creaked, reshaping, collapsing, rebuilding in an unholy cycle of instability.

And yet—even in this pitiful, weakened state—there was no fear.

Only rage.

A deep, burning fury that had no name, no origin—only purpose. Its jagged, malformed mouth parted, peeling away in unnatural angles, and a low, guttural sound escaped—a sound not meant for this world.

A distorted, corrupted wail.

The air itself shuddered, rippling outward like a living thing recoiling in terror. Something inside the creature—something buried deep within its core—was screaming, raging against its own existence.

It had no memories. No past. No name. But it knew one thing.

The thief.

The one who had stolen its essence. The one who had taken what should have been its birthright. It didn't understand revenge the way a human would. It had no concept of justice or morality.

But it knew wrongness when it felt it.

It felt the missing pieces, the cracks in its existence that should not have been there. It felt the stolen power that was meant to be its own. It was supposed to be perfect.

And now, it wasn't.

The creature's head snapped up, its slit-like pupils contracting into focused, burning slivers. The scent was still fresh.

Him. The thief.

The one who had taken from it. The one who had robbed it of its true form. Something twitched violently within its body, the unstable flesh along its arms and torso rupturing in a grotesque display.

Black ichor leaked from its wounds—thick, seething tendrils of liquid that hissed as they met the ground. The air around them distorted, reality bending in microscopic fractures before snapping back into place.

Something was changing. It felt its body reacting, adapting, shifting in response to the stolen essence. It let go of some of its potential so that its body could now be somewhat complete and stable.

It didn't matter what it had to do. It didn't matter what it became. All that mattered— Was that it found the thief.

And when it did— It would take back what was stolen. No matter the cost.

It took a while but after a few minutes, the creature was finally able to breathe. It lifted its paw which now resembled a salamander's paw. It waddled back and forth, its movements still unsteady.

Hisss… A forked tongue flickered in anger. Unforgivable. It was blasphemy for a creature of its origin to suffer like this! 

Hisssssss. It seethed in anger as its amber eyes roamed around the damaged cavern that seemed like it was about to get buried any time now. Its gaze landed on the pile of corpses crushed into a nasty mess on the side.

It waddled to the mess and then opened its maw to take a chomp.