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I can’t keep Ghastly under control now.
I don’t even try.
The shift takes me fast. My vision blurs into Ghastly’s, seeing more than my Jekyll eyes ever could. My back arches as tentacles burst from my skin, my spine, my shoulders. At lightning speed, the powerful limbs shoot past the bars in all directions.
Because that man was a fool. His buddies too.
They got too close.
Ghastly’s tentacles whip around their throats, round and round while their fingers pry at his flesh. He squeezes down, making their faces darken with panic and trapped blood.
But it’s not choking them that either of us has in mind.
Ghastly’s true gift, the darkest side of it, flows through his skin and out into the suckers now attached to their throats.
Images flash through our mind. Supernaturals crying. Screaming. Begging and pleading and whimpering. Mothers with their children being ripped away. Fathers flinging themselves at the bars just like Puck and Beastly did, fighting desperately to reach their loved ones.
Failing every time.
From the back of Ghastly’s mind, I watch as my Hyde’s madness—our madness—pours like burning lava into the traders’ brains. When we want to be, the two of us are monsters in every sense of the word, but my parents long since taught me that isn’t a bad thing.
Sometimes, it takes a monster to stop the monsters.
Sometimes, a monster is the only kind of good guy the world gets.
Pure insanity rolls inexorably across the traders’ brains, melting their thoughts, their wills, their identities, and their sick, twisted dreams. And they can’t withstand it. In the end, they were never brave or strong. They weren’t powerful, not really.
They’re cowards who feed on fear and who hurt others because they can.
And they can’t survive something like me.
Their bodies begin to seize and shake as their brains overheat and turn to mush. Blood vessels burst in their eyes and noses from the strain, sending red rivers streaming down. They gibber and they snap, breaking their teeth but still managing to bite off their own tongues with the jagged remnants. Choking on both, they spasm and blubber while their bowels fail and the reek of shit and piss fill the air.
Ghastly grins, and deep in his mind, I do too. Like hell these fuckers will ever hurt anyone again.
Lightning suddenly erupts from the bars so powerfully, it’s like the whole damn cage has become a box of electricity. Howling, Ghastly crashes backward. The smell of burned flesh chokes me, and from the agony, I’m guessing it’s probably ours.
I shudder. I’m still in the back of his mind, Ghastly holding prominence but only barely.
What the fuck?
Ghastly’s eyes flash around the room while he shoves up from the ground on tentacles that quiver with residual shocks. The bastards lie on the concrete, reduced to vegetables with bodies that will probably give up on living soon. Across the room, Beastly growls and Puck grins madly, both of them thoroughly approving of what Ghastly did.
“Well, that’s unfortunate.”
Ghastly’s eyes snap to the side.
By the double doors, and damnably beyond tentacles’ reach, a man in a suit stands, idly tapping something into a tablet computer in his hand. “We were hoping you would go over well with the Lovecraft enthusiasts.”
A rattling growl leaves Ghastly’s chest.
The man just sighs, looking back up at us. “Oh well.”
He motions to a redheaded woman beside him. Like the other sick fucks in this place, she’s wearing khakis. She even has a pith helmet on her head like she’s about to go on a gods-damned safari, and it makes me sick.
She stalks closer and then lifts a gun, nothing but ice in her eyes. Ghastly reacts instantly, sending his tentacles shooting through the bars at her.
But she gets her shot off first.
