Side note: New POV, bit of a mess. . .  I'm sorry

TRIGGER WARNING: HARD VIOLENCE AND GORE

Frost bit at his ungloved fingers as Hawke traveled 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 him.

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. Still—he answered the call as he punched the Lavarkin in the chest and watched them shatter into pieces on the floor.

Hawke stepped forward, crushing what would have been Gelick's head beneath his boot like glass. "Run. 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."

No one else knew what he was talking about, but just having Indra on the know was enough. The way her oi'ek stood up stiff at his words made Hawke's chest hurt. Seeing the woman 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?

"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 whatever weapon he held upward, 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 evident with the beaked mask on his face.

"It gets better," Hawke said, rising to his feet as his wings hung low, dragging on the gore on the ground. He stepped across the bones of the weapons that he had likely attacked during the black out. They splintered under his heavy step. "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 raise. 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 with each step. "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, but didn't hit anything major. One reached out with faster reflexes than expected and grabbed his right wing. Hawke glanced over his shoulder. The Commander had reached the top of the stairs. He looked pissed. Murderous.

No! No! No!

Hawke jerked forward in desperation. The wing snapped, sending sharp, burning pain down his back. "Fuck!" There was no time to rest, to think. To plan. He needed to run. The imbalance of weight almost caused him to fall multiple times as he pressed on, one foot in front of the next.

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.

"You should have aimed to kill," the Commander hissed, grabbing the remains of Hawke's partial wing and disconnecting 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. He had to get away. He had to get out. A loud crack stole everything. 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 further away at his insides.

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. But everything became numb. 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.

Drop.

Echoing louder than the footsteps on the stone, the sounds of death.