The Second Great Awakening: Supernature

A steel dawn split the skies with an almighty crack and the earth swallowed me whole, crushing the life out of me and spitting my remains back out into the roaring sea. Adrift, and sapped of all strength, I bore my teeth and roared back, drowning in the noise. The scavengers were too many, though none dared pick at my corpse. The smallest of them appeared before me, a purple canary. The embodiment of their weakness, the easiest kill. I ignored it, seeking larger prey, but it pleaded and prayed for me to follow, promising a better hunt. I licked my lips and acquiesced, tasting blood on my tongue.

More bodies filled my lane as we left the killing floor, shirking out of the way and leaving the walls to nudge me back on course. The air grew hotter and my stomach lurched. No one protested the ablution. I felt a gentle caress at my back, heard soft words spoken in my ear, and swung for them. My stoneflesh smacked against concrete. I looked up at the canary, hopping around and flapping its wings in a frenzy, cheeping cautionary chirps into the wind. How low had I punched?

Still they persisted, and righted the world to me. I heard a voice then, cruel and familiar, taunting me from several life sentences away. I wrapped my hands around his throat and squeezed, but the screams weren’t his. I relinquished my grip and recalibrated my aim. Blood boiling, fighting against the tide, I vowed to deliver a darker dawn. He goaded me to pick the day, laughing in retreat as the flood carried him away.

The canary fluttered, beckoning me on. The floor shifted to avoid my footsteps and the wall came to me again, slick to the touch this time. I rested my head against it and let my legs carry me to solace on instinct.

I found myself in a heap on wet tile, shivering as freezing cold water rained down on me. The ground was stable at last, and the pounding in my chest had settled. As I sat up my guts twisted tightly, and I voided into the drain. I tilted my head back and filled my mouth from the shower, rinsing the sour taste from my mouth. My teeth felt abrasive against my tongue, my bite soft. I struggled out of my sodden, stinking garb and cleaned myself.

Naked, I stepped into the next room. A stranger stood with his back to me, dressed all in black and wearing a scope. The canary peeked out from behind him as he turned to face me. They averted their eyes in deference, intimidated by my presence. I made no move until I was handed a bundle of fresh clothing, and dressed while they tried to appeal to my good nature. The stranger flashed a light in my eyes, close enough to gauge an opinion and far enough to avoid a lashing.

He tested me, questioning my resilience, and backpedaled for the door when I challenged his. I asked if he was fit for a Portuguese bloodbath as I was, then shut him out. The canary sang to me, full of sorrow, that we were expected in Madrid. I felt a pinch deep in my skull and dashed a chair across the wall in indignation. The little purple bird took flight, squawking promises of gratification and bidding me to rest.

There was no respite to be found in these termitic places, ducking under frames and squeezing into furnishings, only agitation. I longed for my sanctuary across the ocean in the land of giants, far away from these little people and their little ideas. Diluting the gene pool of the most dominant species on earth with their littleness. It took a thousand of them to accomplish what I could with a hundred like me, in any other age I would have conquered this entire planet. Lucky for them that their devious innovations and over-breeding had reduced a world-beater to a simple gladiator for their entertainment.

I felt the echo of my ancestry in their reverent looks, out on the killing floor and out in the wild. Despite their numbers they shared an innate understanding of what I was capable of. An elemental threat made flesh. Earth, wind, fire, water, Hessian. The five forces of nature. I asked of the little man waiting for me in Madrid, what use was currency and influence against that? Could he even hear me with all that canary shit in his ears?

A phantom claw gripped my brain, and I heard the darkness call to me. I bulled towards it, scattering the pestering invertebrates in my way, trying to outpace the pressure. As I surveyed the city I was flocked by bleating followers, paying them no mind as a silver fox emerged from my den, nipping at my heels and licking its lips.

I led them away, searching for a painkiller that would allow me to live beyond midnight. Sailing down a river of liquor, intent on killing the pounding rhythm in my head with heavier blast beats. Subordinates adorned me, under no duress, with their adulation and their women. Currying favor and gleaning clout, tending to me as their submissive forebears did their masters, cherishing my acknowledgement.

Battered by the white noise and the ferocious calamity in my head, I reached fever pitch. The silver fox was vibrating, having corralled my most fervent admirers, leaving me to parasites and filter feeders. I observed as they furtively took from me without permission, stealing my image and my cups. Using me. I smiled and welcomed the swarming rats as warmly as I had the devout, luring them closer. They were dead behind the eyes, each and every one, thinking nothing of following their meal ticket into the circle pit. I devoured them one by one, my bloody hands clean and no one any the wiser.

The silver fox was giddy with excitement when he found me washing off the filth, eyes wide and slavering, teeth sharp and hungry for more. He sweetened me with suggestions, promising that the canary need not find out. It was our duty, after all, to make the violent hangover worth it. I listened, weighing the potential, then consulted the bedraggled form in the mirror. He wasn’t going to remember any of this. I showed the silver fox a grin, much sharper than his.

The night belonged to us now.