TRIGGER WARNING: HARD VIOLENCE AND GORE

Frost bit at his ungloved fingers as Hawke aimed the gun from Gelick's legs to his head. The lava that ran his life force crackled, freezing in his veins. The starshit shouldn't have stood in his way. Not when he was like this. Like his father. Hawke popped a suppressor pill, but it did nothing to stop it. Indra and Haim had tried multiple combinations over the years and at first, they had worked, they had chased away the Harken monster growing inside of him. It did nothing more than delay the inevitable.

Hawke couldn't remember where he was last night. He couldn't remember where he was for a stretch of three days the week before. The only signs that he had been outside the mansion were the mud on his boots and the dried blood on his hands. It was getting worse. How much longer would it be until he lost all of himself to this creature he was becoming? This monster?

Pain pounded at the back of Hawke's skull, begging for more death, more conquest. It was a foreign feeling, one he knew wasn't his own. He needed it to stop. To be quiet. He'd satisfy it long enough to delay the blood thirst in the presence of those he cared about. What if one day he turned on them? What if he woke covered in the blood of allies? Hawke punched the Lavarkin in the chest and watched them shatter into pieces on the floor. It wasn't enough to satisfy the urge.

Hawke stepped forward, crushing what would have been Gelick's head beneath his boot like glass, at last bringing the violent desires to a temporarily null. "Run." Before I hurt you. I don't want to hurt my family. "I'll see you at home."

Indra, despite her poor state, pulled away from the vigilantes disguised as guards and grabbed his hand. "No. You're coming with us. We can't leave you here."

Clenching his hand into a fist, Hawke resisted the instinct that was screaming in his head. 'She's in the way. Kill her.' "Indra. Let go. Now." It was coming, there was no way to stop it. He knew that within the next few moments, the remainder of the night would be nothing but a blank memory of rage and blood. "It's happening again." Hawke couldn't stop it. Agony began to rip through his hands as the burrowed claws tore their way to the surface. Grimacing, he put his hands where no one could see them as fresh blood dripped down his fingers.

No one else knew what he was talking about, but just having Indra know was enough. More than once she had helped Haim lock him away when a rampage hit, saving everyone from the destruction the Harken side of him sought. It wasn't an instinct to protect, it wasn't a desperate attempt at self-defense, no, it was a thirst for agony, suffering, and blood.

The way Indra's oi'ek stood up stiff at his words made Hawke's chest hurt. Seeing the Se'li who was like a sister to him afraid was like getting his heart crushed into a million pieces. He didn't blame her. He was scared too. Scared of what was going to happen, what the aftermath would be, how many he will have murdered. Or worse—what if he woke up captured on some enemy vessel as someone else? With no knowledge of who he used to be?

"Go!" Hawke cried, feeling the heat from the world around him igniting the growing rage inside. "Go now!"

The vigilantes obeyed him, taking Indra and Akio far from the cells surrounded by lava and stone.

Hawke screamed, falling forward as his wings tore through his back, cracking his spine and ripping at the flesh of his shoulders. His forearm's split open, with searing agony that made the world blurry around him. They turned inside out, growing eight claws from his wrist bone. Crimson dripped from the blackened flesh, puddling on the floor.

How many times?

How many times was this going to happen before it became permanent?

Footsteps halted behind him. "Kill him before he kills you," the Commander's cold voice commanded.

A loud ringing clang in Hawke's head, drowning out the world around him. His vision turned black as the sensation of the first blood touched his tongue.

Searing pain in his chest jolted Hawke back into control. Black and crimson blood flew from his mouth as his senses slowly returned. The blurry figure of a Harken with wings double the expanse of his own towered over him.

"I thought I eliminated all of you," the Commander's far too neutral tone declared. "It seems I was wrong."

Hawke gurgled as the Commander ripped a glowing sword from it's point in his chest to his throat in a vertical line. This was probably for the best. That he died before he could bring harm to the vigilantes or other innocents. Reaching a trembling claw forward, he weakly swiped at the Commander, missing entirely. If only his death meant something. If only he'd killed him.

The instant the Commander tore his weapon from Hawke's body, everything began to mend. What?

The Commander growled. "What the fuck?"

Hawke's vision cleared to see the Commander's claws dripping blood, his blood, on the floor. Clear surprise at his ability to recover was etched into his features. He had the same golden brown eyes as Hawke, the only thing that separated their appearance the beaked mask on his face, and brushes of grey on the Commander's side burns.

Rising to his feet as his wings hung low, Hawke smiled, a mixture of pain and warmth. "You did kill them all, Commander but you made a mistake." Gore sloshed across the ground beneath Hawke's wings, like a puddle of slop during an earth quake. He stepped across the bones of the weapons that he had likely attacked during the black out. They splintered beneath his boots. "Remember the night you visited this planet, twenty - four years ago? There was a woman. You laid with her for a fee, expecting nothing to come of it."

Stumbling to the side, he forced his wings to rise. It took more strength than he had to spare, but he couldn't stand the sensation of organs and gritty, partially devoured insides grinding against them any longer. "Do you remember?"

"No and I don't care," the Commander said, drawing a sword. "Tell me, whoever you are, can you heal if there's nothing left to attach?"

Hawke drew his gun awkwardly with his claws, shooting the Commander in the shoulder. He was not about to wait and find out. Running down the hall, Hawke heaved from the exertion of the added weight on his back. It was like he was carrying boulders twice his size, but no break remained unless he removed them himself. After getting to the ground level, he froze. If he went back to the vigilantes, he would just lead the Commander straight to them. If he stayed, he was going to die. If he ran—where would he go?

Several Lavarkin's roamed the hall. They turned all attention to him when they noticed his state, what he was, what he'd done. "Harken! He's not the Commander. The Commander's wings are red. Kill him."

"Starshit!" Hawke cried, weaving in and out between them.

Laser fire scraped his sides burning a path on his skin that quickly mended, but didn't hit anything major. One Lavarkin reached out with faster reflexes than expected and grabbed his right wing. Their hand crushed the bone between their fingers. A trail of burning finger lit up every area they touched. Hawke cried out, falling to his knees. He had to get up. He had to get up, if the Commander found him, he was going to die.

He didn't want to die.

Hawke glanced behind his shoulder, fear spiking his racing heart into a painful overdrive.

The Commander had reached the top of the stairs. He looked pissed. Murderous. In his hand, he grasped a needle and syringe. "I haven't encountered anything like you in years, but that doesn't mean I've never met a Harken like you."

No! No! No!

Hawke jerked forward in desperation. The wing broke in half, sending sharp, burning pain down his back, and vomit up his throat. Lurching, Hawke covered the ground in blood laced stomach fluid. "Fuck!" There was no time to rest, to think. To plan. He needed to run. The imbalance of weight almost caused him to fall. One foot in front of the next, he ran. His legs were the only things preventing him from death.

The door to the outside world was only a breath away. He was going to make it. He had to make it. Just as he turned the knob, a heavy pressure slammed into his spin, pinning him to the ground. A sharp pinch stabbed into his neck. Burning fire started at the point of contact, traveling through the entirety of his body. Hawke screamed as blood filled his mouth. His insides felt constricted, crushed beneath the weight of a nonexistent force.

"You should have aimed to kill," the Commander hissed, pressing his boot into Hawke's spine and digging in his heel. "There's no way to heal when you're on the constant verge of death." Grabbing the remains of Hawke's partial wing, the Commander disconnected it from his body. "I'm going to tear you apart until there's nothing left to put you back together."

Hawke flailed as the Commander grabbed the other wing. More blood filled his mouth. Each breath was a claw ripping his organs, he gasped for air, his vision blurring in and out. He had to get away. He had to get out. A loud crack stole everything left of his focus. The Commander disconnected the wing and stabbed the snapped bone out the other side of Hawke's body, ripping at his organs as it was pushed further into the ground.

Hawke screamed, each barb tearing with agony incomparable to anything he'd ever experienced.

If he hadn't missed.

If he hadn't come.

If—

Hawke spit out frothy blood. Breathing became increasingly difficult.

If.

The Commander stepped off, grabbing Hawke by his long hair and threw him through the air.

Hard impact that made the world temporarily dark shattered across Hawke's back and head. He could hear the crack, feel the separation in his spine, seconds before everything became numb. The loss of sensation was a temporary mercy, as his body fought to heal itself, bringing every sensation back in a crashing wave of torment.

The Commander stalked toward him, in hazy multiples. Liquid seeped from the side of Hawke's mouth, making a splatting sound on the ground.

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

The Commander grabbed Hawke by the shoulder, slamming his spine across his knee. Static was Hawke's only alley in a temporary darkness, cursed to end in agony.