Castle [Exemplary]

[King Ghidorah]

*      *      *

With exceptions at the Duke's discretion - on the initial occasion of my arrival, for instance - curfew in the town of Harnburg doesn't begin until well after sundown. As I stalk the torchlit cobblestone streets in an impotent rage, scales shining with crimson-gold firelight and reflected shadows, the evening crowds of shoppers, servants and tavern-goers have already begun to thin. Those who remain give way before me, ducking into alleyways and crossing streets to avoid my path. My entire body is buzzing with the need to destroy, flavoring the world with a hideous too-bright clarity;  I can only imagine the look on my face.

Of course, I've always wanted to destroy these people. I'd even begun to grow accustomed to exercising restraint - but it's different now. Not incinerating Harnburg's citizens because the time was not yet ripe was one thing - but now that I've been threatened with consequences that matter, now that the hand of another explicitly holds me back from doing a thing I wished to do?

It's painfully obvious how the penalty for invading the castle might be leveled upon me for other transgressions, and the looming specter of it is maddening. It's unbearable! Is this, then, what its like to be beholden to things like 'rules' and 'laws'?  

Appalling. Utterly appalling.

If only I had more power! I can feel it roiling inside me, the vast sea of cosmic energy that shines within my very core. Though far less restricted than it was when I first arrived in Omni's vile playground its tributaries remain kinked and knotted, stifling the flow of astral charge, locking away the deeper wells of strength which would allow me to assume my purest titanic form. 

With no destination in mind, I wander for hours, thinking on these things and seething. The moon comes out, lending a silver highlight to the shadows of the town. The air grows cooler and the smells of the night set in in earnest, the aromas of the lake over-riding the scents of civic life. Curfew comes and goes, but the Duke's municipal guard, every one of whom I've long since interviewed with excruciating thoroughness, have enough sense to leave me alone. Eventually, I find myself rounding the corner of the very same street upon which my enraged march began. 

There are men standing on the cobbles outside the tavern where I met with Chatterly - three of them, wearing cloaks and hoods in a familiar style, huddled together and speaking in hushed tones. One of them is even bigger than me, and has a face so hideous I can recognize it even beneath a cowl and from half-way down the street: the spymaster's thug, Cutter.  

I duck back around the corner, shocked from my wrathful malaise by this unexpected development. What are they doing? Why are they here? It likely has something to do with the damage I did to the tavern earlier in the evening, but I can't imagine what. 

A vicious smile begins to creep across my lips. This could be an invaluable opportunity. 

I steal a furtive glance back around the corner in order to be certain the little group is still there, and then I turn and face the wall of the building around whose periphery I'm skulking; It's the office of the tax collector, a half-timbered two-story affair with bars on the windows and a shingled roof. 

It will do. I take several steps back and flex my legs, feeling my ridiculous linen trousers stretch and strain against the peerless muscles of my thighs - and then I jump. 

Although this humanoid body lacks my higher form's lordly stature and golden wings, I've yet to discover a height to which it can't leap; two stories is trivial (I say it aloud - 'Trivial' - a velvet-tongued word with notes of dismissal and disdain bred in its fabric). There's a brief rush of heavy midnight air against my face, the arcing thrill of free-fall, and then I land heavily on the tax-collector's roof - practically on top of a very surprised little man with dark paint on his face and mottled velvet clothes.    

I recoil, nearly losing my footing on the sloped shingles amidst a moment of shocked confusion. The stranger, meanwhile pivots on his heel and takes off across the rooftops with astonishing speed. I instantly hate him for it; Once I've regained my balance I follow, pounding across shadowy shingles, thatch and tiles with equal abandon. My flawless body glows electrum in the moonlight. Whoever my unexpected quarry is, they were either watching me or they were watching Chatterly's men; either way, I want to know their secrets.  

The footing is treacherous, and my prey is faster than I am, but I have two distinct advantages: I don't have to worry about hurting myself if I fall, and we're running out of rooftops.  Harnburg's  avenues are wide, and while I could certainly make the jump to the next row of buildings I doubt the man I'm chasing is so athletically gifted.   

I turn out to be wrong about that. 

It doesn't quite look real; With barely a hitch in his step he bunches his legs under him and sails out across the torch-lit void, rolling to his feet on the flattened stone roof of the silversmith across the road and clambering up the red granite facade of the adjoining inn's third story.

A growl rises deep in my throat. I draw upon my astral wellspring and golden lightning crackles across my body; I surge ahead in a sudden burst of speed, estimate the angle as best I can and leap, streaking across the sky trailing bright orange sparks;  Unfortunately, I've put too much power into my long-distance pounce. Instead of intercepting the stranger I find myself arcing above him, towards the darkened waters of the lake.

I twist and flail in the still night air, desperately trying to alter my trajectory. On a rooftop far below my prey watches as I soar helplessly towards the water. I reach out a hand, straining as I plunge from the sky; I could blast him, but from this distance I'd almost certainly miss. I howl in frustration...

...And to my enduring surprise, I change direction! It had never occurred to me to try it before while wearing a form without wings,  but I recognize this feeling. Even in this warped and diminished body, my nature continues to find ways to shine through; I'm flying!

The stranger is at least as surprised as I am. Whether he's confused by the moonlight glinting off both the water and my scales or if he just doesn't understand what he's seeing I don't know, but either way he freezes, rooted to the spot on the roof of the inn.

By the time he turns to flee, its already too late. Descending like a golden meteor in horrible trousers, I tackle him viciously onto the tiles.