Myriamorph Massacre

Alysm crouched on a wooden rafter, her tail flicking behind her for balance. The bladed end glinted faintly, catching candle light from below. Out of her third eye, in the center of her forehead, she saw Shade and Cipher crouching a few beams away, eyes focused and expectant. They had waited here for hours, growing ever restless. She heard the others breathing in the darkness of the rafters. Cale picked at the antlers protruding from her skull. A nervous tick. Cipher nudged her to stop with her wing and Cale pulled her hand away with a soft apology. Fogs’ breathing rose beside Alysm, ragged as she dug her claws into her beam in long, slow scratches. She wanted blood.

They all did.

Alysm smiled and pushed her curly hair out of her three eyes, fixing her gaze on the targets below. She and the other myriamorphs loomed over a tall, dimly lit room, hidden in the shadows. In the center of the room sat a small, square table surrounded by squabbling humans. Goblets and bottles of wine and ale sat atop the table, forgotten in the midst of tense, hushed conversation. A cluster of candles in the center of the table illuminated the room. Light and shadow flickered across their faces like competing ghosts. Wax dripped slowly, pooling in the dish.

Cale picked at her antlers, the quiet ticking sound seemed as loud as a hammer strike. Alysm shot her a warning look and Cale shrunk beneath her gaze. Alysm shook her head, turning her three-eyed gaze back to the humans below.

This may be her first mission, but she should know better.

Cale had approached Alysm that morning.

“We’re attacking tonight, right?” Cale asked. She was a timid little thing with a wild mane of green hair, sharp deer antlers poked out of the tangled mess. Alysm eyed the slave brand peeking out from under the edge of Cale’s sleeve, the skin still red and raw from the burn. Cale had escaped the slavers not long after her initial capture, then Alysm had found her in a pile of weeds.

“Yes,” Alysm replied, spinning her knives between her fingers, feet kicked up on her desk.

“And they’re going to be at the safe house on the west side of Illurette?”

“Yes.”

“And we’re going at half after midnight?”

“Yes.”

“And we’ll attack when-?”

“So many questions,” Alysm said, driving the point of her knife into the desk.

Cale cringed and picked at her antlers. “I just… want to be prepared.”

Alysm pulled her knife from the wood, slid her feet off the desk, and leaned into Cale’s space. “Prepare to kill,” she whispered. “Prepare to slaughter.” Cale’s eyes widened as she shrunk away from Alysm. “The humans will learn, one way or another, that animals bite the hand that feeds them, when it’s also the hand that beats them.”

Cale had nodded and skittered away.

That night, there were ten of the merchants at the safe house. A secret meeting of Illurette’s filthiest. These were the people who truly ran the island, no matter what the politicians said. The merchants controlled the money, the money controlled the politicians. This was the heart of power. A secret heart, but a heart nonetheless. And Alysm was going to crush it. She grinned as she surveyed the room. All kinds of nasties were pushing their weight around at the table, from casino owners to trade ship captains to brothel investors, all merchants in their own right. But tonight, there were no deals or exchanges or bartering. Tonight, they were talking about one thing: the myriamorphs.

Us.

“This resistance is a threat to our industries!” the owner of half the bars on the island hissed. She was a middle aged woman, dressed in teal and gold finery. Her elegant clothing didn’t match her aggressive stance, leaning into the table, hands splayed across the wood as if she intended to gouge the surface into submission.

“My establishment is not so fragile that it would fall to a ragtag gang of revolutionaries,” said the casino owner. He stood a step away from the table, hands clasped behind him. He seemed to meld with the shadows that consumed the edges of the room, his black suit, hair, and dark skin fusing with the darkness. Only the glint of his gold eyes and jewelry kept him from fading away entirely.

“The very myriamorphs you employ could turn against you,” said the teal woman.

“I assure you,” said the shadow man, “they will not.”

“Still,” said a man in a red velvet suit. He lounged in a chair, his feet kicked up on one edge of the table. “They are gaining support. You have to wonder what this will do for your… dealings.”

The shadow man scowled but said nothing. Others around the table murmured and shifted uncomfortably.

It always hurts when your pets bite, doesn’t it?

“We should have just killed them all when we had the chance! Before the creatures multiplied! They’re invasive! Basically animals,” said the teal woman.

Fogs growled on the beam next to Alysm. She shot Fogs a look. Not yet.

“But you have to admit they’re good for business,” said the red man.

“Good for you slavers, perhaps,” the teal woman spat.

“I am not a slaver,” the shadow man said. “I am a contractor.”

“Who forces myriamorphs and slavers to work for your establishment,” the red man said.

“They agree willingly,” said the shadow man.

The teal woman laughed humorlessly. “To get off the streets! Certain death or slavery!”

“Why do you care?” asked the shadow man. “You were just complaining about the vermin.”

“I’m telling you your entire business would be ruined if there were no more of the creatures to exploit.”

The shadow man smiled. “There will be more. There’s always more.”

Alysm stood slowly on her rafter. She’d heard enough. She felt the eyes of the other myriamorphs follow her. Their eyes screamed murder, their claws craved blood. Alysm smiled. She would give it to them. With deft hands, she drew the knives from her belt, spinning them in her hands. The familiar feel of the leather handles against her palms brought a smile to her face. The other followed suit, rising and drawing weapons. Shade drew his dual swords, Cipher brandished her crossbow, Cale fidgeted with her dagger, and Fogs licked her lips, her eyes darting between the humans below, still standing on both hands and feet like an animal. She might as well have been.

If they want to see animals, Alysm thought, I’ll bring them the forest.

Alysm waited, staring at the group of filth arguing around their candles, feeling the tension rise. The myriamorphs grew still, tense, waiting for her move. With a flick of her tail, Alysm leapt off the rafter, her feet hit the wall on the right side of the room where she pushed off and crashed onto the table below.

Wood cracked beneath her feet. Wine spilled. Humans screamed and scrambled for the darkness. Shade dropped to the side, slicing a merchant across the neck. Blood sprayed. Alysm whirled across the table slashing out with her knives and bladed tail. She was a tornado of death.

The teal woman screamed as Alysm split her face open with her tail. Alysm silenced her with another strike, burying a knife in the woman’s sternum. Hot blood washed over her hands as she wrenched the knife out of the teal woman’s chest. Behind her, the red man screamed.

Ale and blood dripped from the table. A merchant choked on one of Cipher’s crossbolts. He tumbled to the ground, gargling his own blood. Fogs screeched as she tore open a brothel investor’s throat with her teeth. Five dead. Alysm whirled around, grinning, and lunged for the shadow man.

Light flooded the room. Alysm stumbled, raising her hand against the onslaught.

“Guards!” Cipher screamed from the rafters.

Men in red and gold uniforms rushed in the open doorway, shouting. Humans and myriamorphs alike cringed away from them.

“Get out!” Alysm shouted. She leaped backwards, ducking as a crossbolt came flying in from the open door. It thudded against the far wall.

Cipher fired. Glass shattered. Alysm dashed for the broken window. Fogs screamed.

“No!” Shade froze by the window, eyes igniting with fury as Fogs fell.

Her body thunked against the floor, riddled with crossbolts, thrashing. Slowly, her gray skin began to pale. Pearlescent skin grew across her body as she drew still. Her eyes turned milky white, and the blood dripping from her body turned transparent and silvery. A white, myriamorph death.

Killed like an animal.

More crossbolts fired. “Out!” Alysm shoved Shade through the window and dove after him. Glass crunched beneath her, digging into her skin as she rolled across the cobblestone. The screams and shouts faded as they ran.

...

In their worn-down excuse for a hideout, Alysm paced the small living room, tail twitching in agitation.

“Five dead,” she hissed. “Only five out of ten.”

And Fogs. Alysm shook her head. Many will die for the cause. Fogs is just the first.

“Five less than there were before,” Cipher offered, lounging across Shade’s lap on the couch. Shade cleaned his swords, carefully wiping blood off the silver metal.

“And yet with more reason to try and stop us,” Alysm said. “This was supposed to be a one and done operation.”

“A little optimistic, don’t you think?” Shade said, turning his blade in the light.

“We lost Fogs,” Cale whispered, huddled on the floor by the fireplace, poking at the coals with the tip of her dagger. She would ruin the metal doing that.

“Fogs was a liability.” Alysm stopped in the middle of the room, staring out the window into the night. “The guards shouldn’t have been there.”

“Merchants hire them?” Cipher asked, messing with the strings of Shade’s shirt. Shade swatted her hands away.

“No. Those were city guards.”

“No merchants deal with the city,” Shade agreed. “They couldn’t maintain their shifty businesses with those prying eyes. The politicians may benefit from them, but they can’t actually support them.”

“They fly over and under the law,” Alysm said, still staring out the window. Her own, three-eyed reflection glared back at her. “They wouldn’t risk drawing the city’s attention.”

“Then they were there because…?” Cipher asked, her hands now pinned to her chest by Shade’s elbow.

Alysm let silence hang in the air. They knew. All of them knew why the city guards had shown up. No merchants would hire city guards, nor would they host their secret meeting close enough to a guard house for them to arrive in such a timely manner. The presence of the city guards tonight had been no accident.

“We were sold out,” Alysm said.

The silence remained. None of them moved. Alysm began to pace the room again, walking slowly from the fireplace to the window and back again. Shade and Cipher had been with her from the beginning. Fogs had always been more animal than not. There was only one of them Alysm didn’t know by heart. Only one she shouldn’t have trusted.

Shade met Alysm’s eyes as she passed, nodding. Cipher let out a small sigh and shifted, pressing her face against Shade’s abdomen, eyes closed. Cale watched Alysm’s slow steps with widened eyes, fingers seeking her antlers. A nervous habit.

“Who?” Cale asked, breaking the silence with a small voice. Her eyes dropped to the floor. She picked at her antlers.

Alysm stopped beside Cale by the fireplace, staring at the hot coals. She whipped her tail to the side. The blade raked across Cale’s throat. Cale fell to the ground, gasping and choking against the blood.

“You,” Alysm said. She turned and paced back toward the window.

Cale gagged and spasmed behind her, clawing at the ground. Alysm stared out the window through her reflection. Minutes passed, the only noise in the room Cale’s desperate choking and the popping of coals. Alysm watched through the reflection in the window. Cipher kept her face pressed into Shade’s stomach. Shade stared at the floor, away from the dying girl.

Eventually, Cale fell still. Blood soaked into the wood floors. Cale’s eyes rolled back in her head. Her skin turned pearlescent, her eyes went milky white, and her blood turned transparent. A blank, white canvas. Death.

Silence ate at the room. Alysm reveled in it.

“We lost two of us in a single day,” Cipher sighed, pulling away from Shade and sitting up, still refusing to look at Cale, “There won’t be any of us left if we keep dying at this rate.”

“There will be more.” Alysm said, tail flicking behind her. She turned her gaze from the reflection in the window to the city beyond. Dim streetlamps cast a sickly yellow light across the stones. A stray cat darted out into the street, ears forward, paws light. The cat leaped forward, too late. A second figure lunged out of the shadows. They had dark green skin, like rotted moss. They buried their teeth in the cat’s neck. The cat screamed.

“The myriamorphs will fight back,” she continued, “We just need to prove it’s possible first.” Alysm watched her reflection grin. “Illurette will be ours.”