Chapter Twenty-nine

CONTENT ADVISORY / TRIGGER WARNING

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEPICTIONS/STRONG IMPLICATIONS OF THE FOLLOWING THAT SOME READERS MAY FIND OFFENSIVE OR DISTURBING:

~ NUDITY

~ VIOLENCE

Eskil groaned as his head pulsated in pain. It felt like a boulder had landed between his eyes, and he could hear his pulse beating in his ears. He wanted to open his eyes, but they stung, his ears were buzzing, and his throat was dry. What had occurred the night before was lost to him, and the evening's events were filled with nothing but a black haze in place of his memory.

He felt oddly warm in his surroundings, and it was strangely quiet. He knew he had to assess the damage to his body, he'd likely be missing scales and lots of blood if what little he remembered of his battle with the slayer was correct.

He forced his eyes open and blinked, his vision momentarily blurred before his gaze found focus. Puzzled, he found himself staring at a stone brick ceiling. Where was he? He found himself thinking. Had the slayer imprisoned him in some temple?

Eskil sat up to inspect his surroundings, he needed to know where he was. Despite his sore body, he pushed himself up further and perched himself clumsily on his wings. He growled out, fighting the aches and pains that radiated all over his body. He blinked a few more times before freezing and taking in the sight.

A pair of mortal feet were stretched out in front of him, attached to two legs that extended up to a waist and an abdomen. He swallowed hard and began to breathe in and out rapidly. He raised his wings up to his face in order to inspect them, but what appeared in his vision were not his wings, but a set of calloused hands.

What in Odin's name is this? Where is my body? Where are my scales, my talons, my wings? Slayer, where are you? What have you done to me?

Eskil pushed himself upwards until he was standing, and he stumbled around the room, finding a large bowl of clear water. He looked into the water to see his reflection, but his familiar horned face was not the one that greeted him. What stared back at him was a mortal face, one with tanned skin, black hair, and golden eyes. The only part of himself that he recognized was the single pair of horns protruding from his head. He ripped the itchy wool material from his body, tore it into pieces and threw it to the floor. This body was not his, it was not one he recognized. He wanted to scream, to breathe deep breaths of fire and tear the stone building down, and he wanted to find the elvish woman who had placed this curse on him.

Slayer, I do not know what you have done to me, but you will fix it! You will change me back and I will kill you! I will break your soul into pieces and devour it! I will—

He needn't look far, because while he paced the room in an enraged fit, he caught sight of the slayer sleeping soundly against the wall right near where he had slept. She hadn't stirred the entire time he had been raising a riot. No, she was still sleeping with her head resting on her forearms that were crossed on her knees. She had a blanket wrapped around her, and ten pink toes peeked out from the bottom.

She's...unarmed? Why? Humph, I shouldn't bother myself with asking why. It makes her such an easy target. In this form I am...Am I weak? Curse you, elf, you will answer for this!

As quickly and as silently as he could, he rushed up to her with ideas of ripping her esophagus from her throat or her heart from her chest filling his mind. He was furious. He was about to reach for her thick mane of hair when she looked up at him with her icy blue eyes and an emotionless expression. He oddly found himself wanting to admire her, so he gritted his teeth and forced himself to lunge at her with his fist, trying to grab a fistful of her blankets. He wanted to slam her down to the ground and make her pay for what she had done to him.

Libelle effortlessly dodged the man-beast's grip, noticing that his movements were slow and cumbersome as he tried to adjust to his new form. His fist passed by her and slammed into the bricks behind her, but he did not yield to the pain. His eye twitched, and his lip curled into a snarl again. Libelle sighed, ducked beneath his muscular arm and pushed him backwards, hard. He stumbled and tripped over his bare feet, falling backwards to the cold stone floor.

"I will kill you! What have you done to me?" Eskil tried to push himself back up. He wanted this fight to continue, but he froze when the slayer plopped herself down across his waist. She grabbed both his wrists, pinned them to the floor by his head and gave him an icy glare. He found himself struggling against her grasp; he was actually struggling! For some unknown reason, he was not strong enough to pull himself away. Gods, he would kill her.

"Get off me."

She didn't respond and just continued to stare at him. Her eyes darting about his face.

"Damn you to Hel. I will kill you, slayer!" He struggled again, feeling like a hatchling caught in a trap. She still didn't respond, instead, she sat up and simply let go of his wrists. Eskil paused momentarily, trying to process what possible schemes she might be plotting before he sat up as fast as he could and wrapped his long, thick fingers around her neck. He squeezed.

The moment his malicious intent reached its peak and his hands constricted around her throat, Eskil screamed. His mortal scream sounded just as chilling as his dragon roar. His head snapped back and all his muscles went rigid like he had currents of electricity running through his body. His grip loosened, and he fell backwards panting as beads of sweat formed on his brow and his eyes clenched shut. She remained sitting across his lap, her buttocks on his waist and her heels tucked up beside his legs.

"Hmmm, so it worked,"