#Yep. “half -plucked cyborg chicken” is officially my new favorite line I’ve ever written

[k-didathing]

Startober Day 9: Winged/Dangerous

(Applestruda posting Stareater fan art has inspired me to post this lil Grian fic I never released)

Grian wasn’t sure what he was anymore. He was neither animal nor human, neither living nor dead, neither organic nor robotic. He was completely one of a kind, which might sound nice on paper, but it was really the loneliest thing someone could be.

He stood on all fours, his metal limbs scraping against the ground. He tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was a low moaning sound, unnatural and animalistic. He tried to move, but the weight of his wings chained him in place. He tried to look around, but all he could do was peer straight ahead out of the bird-like mask affixed to his face.

Grian’s eyes snapped open, and he sat straight up in his creaky, makeshift bed. His eyes immediately fell on his arm, its metallic surface glinting in the early morning light, and it was almost enough to make him double over in horror. For a brief moment, he thought he was that thing from his dreams, all cold and sharp and meaningless. He tried to shake this belief away by standing up, but he cringed at the way his metal talons bent and tapped against the floorboards. Then the sudden presence of a weight nearly toppled him over, and his wings, the cause of the weight, instinctually flared out to balance him, the tips of the feathers brushing against the opposite wall.

Memories of what had transpired the previous days flooded his mind:

A sickly sweetness encompassing his lungs, making the world distant and hollow.

The muffled sounds of drilling, of sawing, and of dark, ancient words being sung over him. 

A cold dread creeping over him, grasping him, and forcing him to face the consequences of his choices for years to come, maybe even for forever.

Grian stumbled into the bathroom, the light immediately responding to his presence by flickering on. When he looked in the mirror, he barely recognized his face. Nearly all of his feathers had been removed, and new pin feathers were just beginning to take their place, making him look like some sort of half-plucked cyborg chicken. His metal hands now had four fingers, each tipped with a razor-sharp claw, a bit like those of an Ender. But the worst part was the wings. They curved in unnatural shapes behind him, sprouting feathers that he would one day be able to fly with, not like that made things any better.

His hands gripped the edges of the sink in front of him, his metal claws making a sickening screech against its rim.

What was he anymore?

Was this all people would think of him from now on? 

A criminal?

A freak? 

An anomaly?

What will they take from me next? He wondered. It seemed like nothing was safe.

But there was one thing the Watchers wouldn’t steal from him.

He would make sure of it.

(AU by @skimmeh and @kairamuwu)