Become One (2)

Ollie followed Julian down a cracked stone path that led into an abandoned church on the edge of town. The structure leaned with age, its wooden beams twisted and rotten, stained-glass windows shattered and bleeding colors onto the dusty pews inside.

Julian didn't say much, just walked with that slow, unbothered gait, coat flapping in the cold breeze.

"Place looks like it got exorcised and left to rot," Ollie muttered, glancing at the broken cross hanging sideways above the altar.

Julian smirked. "Good. Means it's still safe."

He led Ollie behind the pulpit and pulled open a trapdoor hidden beneath a moth-eaten rug. A rusted metal ladder led into darkness. Julian hopped down without hesitation, landing with a heavy thud.

Ollie sighed. "This some Resident Evil shit," he muttered and followed.

The ladder led into a concrete hallway lit with yellowish bulbs that flickered like they were one breath away from dying. Pipes creaked overhead, and the walls were lined with old shelves filled with books, glass jars, and weapons. Knives, pistols, some blades that didn't even look human.

They stepped into a wider room—what looked like a war bunker, carved into the earth. A map of Europe was pinned on the wall, riddled with red pins, strings, and notes in chicken-scratch handwriting.

"This is the Cracked Nest," Julian said, throwing his coat on a chair. "My little hole away from the bullshit."

Ollie looked around. "You live here?"

"Sometimes. Depends who's trying to kill me that week."

On one wall was a collection of photos—dozens of them. All teenagers. Some looked tough, some didn't. Every photo had the same word written underneath: "DEAD."

Ollie's eyes lingered. "Who are they?"

"People like you. Young, untrained, full of fire and no idea where it burns. Some of 'em made it a few weeks. Some didn't make it a night."

Julian walked over to a desk and grabbed a dusty book. "You ever hear of Osteo-Typers?"

Ollie shook his head.

"They're rare. Maybe 1 in 1,000 Beast Killers. Bone manipulation, reinforcement, exo-forming, that kinda stuff. But yours…" he paused, flipping through pages, "yours looked different. Wild. Like the mutation didn't know when to stop."

"I didn't even know I had a mutation," Ollie said. "I just stabbed myself and—bam—a damn beast shows up like it was waiting for an invitation."

Julian lit a cigarette. "Yeah, that part's weird. Most powers don't pop like that unless something serious triggers 'em."

He handed Ollie a knife.

"Try it again."

Ollie blinked. "What?"

"You're here to figure out what the hell you are, right? That means bleeding a little."

Ollie hesitated, then took the knife. He made a shallow cut across his forearm.

For a second, nothing.

Then the burn came. His hand twitched, and veins bulged. Skin around his fist bubbled, then split. Bone twisted and cracked outward, reforming over his hand like armor—spikes curling from each knuckle.

"Holy sh—"

Julian stepped back. "Now that... is interesting."

The spikes pulsed, and Ollie fell to a knee, groaning. His body shook.

"Yeah, don't hold it for too long," Julian warned. "You're not used to it yet. The mutation will eat your muscle if you let it overstay."

Ollie panted, the bone armor cracking and falling off like ash.

"What... the hell is happening to me?" he muttered.

Julian crouched down and looked him in the eye.

"You're becoming a Beast Killer. Or something close to it. And you're gonna need to learn fast, 'cause this world doesn't wait for you to figure it out. Either you kill... or you die."

From the corner of the room, a radio buzzed.

Julian walked over and flicked it on.

"...Red Howler sighted near Brentwood outskirts... two confirmed kills... backup requested..."

Julian glanced at Ollie.

"Well, look at that. Fresh meat."

Ollie stood up, arm still shaking. "You gonna make me fight again?"

"No," Julian said, pulling on his coat. "I'm giving you a choice."

He grabbed a bag off the wall and tossed it to Ollie.

"Come with me… or go back to wherever the hell you came from and pray that thing in your blood doesn't wake up again on its own."

Ollie stared at the bag. Then at his scarred hand. The weight of the moment settled in like chains.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go meet this Red Howler."

Julian smirked and cracked his neck. "That's the spirit, Boneboy."

***

The streets of Brentwood's outskirts were ruins. Cracked sidewalks, broken traffic lights flickering like they were clinging to life, and an air that smelled like rust, burnt rubber, and secrets.

Julian and Ollie moved through it like ghosts, blending into the shadows, every step measured.

But they weren't alone.

Ahead, three men swaggered down the street. Red bandanas tied tight on their foreheads, denim vests, sagging jeans, and sneakers too clean for this neighborhood. Real "city boys" trying to act like they owned the block.

They were joking around, chuckling like nothing out here could touch them.

That changed real quick.

From the side of a collapsed pharmacy, the ground twisted. Concrete cracked, then burst as something long, wet, and gray-green slithered out. At first glance, it looked like a giant snake—maybe mutated, maybe just wrong in all the right ways. But as it uncoiled itself, it stood high—taller than any building left standing on the block.

The bottom was snake. Slimy, armored flesh, moving like muscle wrapped around steel cables.

The top... was something else entirely.

A woman.

Or... something that wore the shape of one.

Her face was all mouth—no eyes, no nose, no ears. Just a lipless grin lined with serrated teeth, stretching from one cheekbone to the other. Her chest? Looked like it had breasts, but no nipples. Just a smooth, plastic-like texture like someone tried to sculpt femininity and ran out of reference halfway through.

The three guys froze.

"...Yo," one of them whispered. "What the fuck is that?"

The one with the pistol raised it and barked, "Y'all ready to blick?! Let's spray this mother fucker!"

"I only got my knife, bro!"

"Same here!"

Without hesitation, the guy with the pistol popped one shot—dead center between the creature's eyes.

The bullet hit.

But the beast didn't even flinch. The hole closed instantly, like it breathed the wound in. Then, with a squelch, the bullet spit itself out—clinking to the floor in front of them.

"Oh hell naw," the knife guy muttered.

They turned and booked it, sprinting away from the beast like their shoes were on fire.

"Yo! CALL THE BOSS MAN!" one of them yelled while running.

"He's a Beast Killer, right?! He'll light this freak up!"

"YE YE—!"

He fumbled his phone out, hit the call.

No answer.

"HE AIN'T PICKING UP! THIS DUDE GOT ME ON 'DO NOT DISTURB' WHILE I'M ABOUT TO DIE!"

Behind them, the creature screeched.

It wasn't loud—it was low. Like a bassline through your bones, like the sound of wrongness humming in your chest.

Julian watched from a rooftop, cigarette hanging from his lips. "Well shit."

Ollie stood next to him, jaw clenched, fists tight.

"She the one we're hunting?"

Julian shook his head. "Nope. Different monster. But this one? She's hungry."

Ollie's eyes narrowed. "We helping?"

Julian took a drag and grinned, eyes gleaming behind the smoke.

"Thought you'd never ask, Boneboy."