Somewhere in the dead of night, Artie lay faced down on a wet sandy ground. Unrelenting rain coursed on his nude, unconscious body for hours before life returned to his inoperative senses.

Slowly, his hand twitched and closed, grasping a handful of coarse grey mud-like dirt. Artie groaned and gradually raised his grimy body off the ground. He labored to his knees, where his arms gave out, and limped to his side.

Unable to focus, he progressed within the moment without thinking about where he was or how he arrived there. He pitched his head up toward the midnight sky, then pried open his tired, weighty eyes.

Emerald. The exquisite gem of a moon was full, caressing the earth with its green tint. Artie rubbernecked at it for minutes, blinking sluggishly and mindlessly admiring its beauty.

A brief wish or sentiment flashed across his psyche. He wanted the storm to cease, for it diminished the enchanting scenery before him. And, within a minute, the shower reduced to a drizzle.

He continued his survey of the sky for some time. Eventually, his soaked, naked, shivering body could not maintain its current state. The discomfort he felt roused him up, and he strayed for warmth.

No matter where he ended up, the environment never ceased to amaze him. This time, instead of mountains, or forests, he found himself inside a graveyard of bones. Millions scattered across the dirt and pilled up into mounds.

The absence of trees allowed him to see far and observe something even more concerning in the distance. In a simple glance, he identified it as a colossal skull. It was cracked at the temple and had huge tusks like elephants. Whatever it was, it could have stood at the altitude of clouds. If it had its missing body.

Still away from himself, Artie walked toward, then unworriedly entered the skull through a rupture in the jaw. He took several paces in, and his ears picked up fleeing footsteps, followed by panicked chatter.

It was indistinct, but the weight of the steps was human-like. Artie carelessly trekked forward and made an incline of land before looking over a cliff at a populated village of bones. One lit only by green flaming torches and the moonlight that seeped through the busted skull.

Despite its appearance, it smelled of sweet flowers and mint. The structures were tightly knitted, and only one building surpassed one story. While bones were used as a building component, the loose parts were thrown outside the town, so they lived on gray dirt and patches of green grass.

Interested, Artie began a descent toward the town. He eyed it, attempting to zoom in on the locals, but couldn't make out their form. He wanted to know what new fascinating race he'd encounter.

From yards away, Artie heard what sounded like a damped whistle. It barreled toward him, so he halted and examined the dark expanse. Only, he looked with curiosity, not concern.

Following a swoosh and a fleshy splatter, a thump hit the ground below Artie. He adjusted his sight to the floor, where he spotted a frisbee-like disc constructed from bone; only its circular base had been sharpened. Next to it, was his very hand, cut clean off.

It took time for the scene to register, but when it did, he woke up. The hazy feeling that plagued him after his mysterious transformation had faded like a drunk who'd sobered up after an ice bath.

Artie raised his spurting right arm and observed the lack of hand there. His adrenaline spiked, and his face widened in terror. He wanted to scream, but too much had happened too fast.

He didn't know where he was nor what had happened, but he felt fluid terror. Footsteps climbed up to him, and he guessed it was the residents coming to finish the job.

"I smell blood; you must have injured them," communicated a man.

"Sir, this is weird, isn't it? The Uran haven't attacked us before. And just one?" Another spoke, concerned.

"I swear, I saw one; it had ears just like them!" Convinced a younger-sounding male.

"Then, it might be a trap; get your shit together."

Artie heard, then gazed at the people that sprinted into his sight with readied weapons. Their jaw dropped, and their stupor rivaled his own at the predicament of their doing.

"That's not-" fretted a man, no less human than the individuals of the forest town. He bore a bone scythe and was dressed in a raven cloak.

No, it wasn't. Whatever the people thought they were hunting was absent. And only the bleeding Artie was present, holding up his snipped right arm.

"Those aren't bear ears; those are cat ears, you idiot!" Yelled an older man, grabbing the face of his younger companion. The boy looked to be an early teen and clearly disturbed.

"You just started a war with those seaside cat bastards!" Continued the older hunter.

"Chill, it was a mishap. No one needs to find out about this," communicated a calm, stout man, raising a weapon identical to the one thrown before.

Artie's naked body boiled in agony while strangers proposed his unreasonable execution. He peered at them and began to grind his teeth while trying to fathom his situation.

He found no rationale within his scrambled thoughts, just outrage. Artie tucked his bleeding wrist under his armpit, then mumbled angrily. "Fuck you."

The human faces lit up upon hearing him speak the same language as them. Then, Artie rasped and dipped toward the ground with his left claw tensed.

"Fuck you!" he repeated, roaring before projecting both his anguish and lethal bolts of brilliant lightning at the small group.

They exclaimed, and beyond the radiance, one of the men grabbed the youth and flung them out of the attack. It was just barely in time, the youngin crashed into the dirt ground, but the other four were blasted and ignited with their own share of agony.

Artie never got used to the pungent scent of burning human flesh. As he watched torched and flailing humans clutch at their own roasted skin, he felt sick.

"Dad!" Yelled the youthful hunter as he bolted from safety toward the older man that tossed him aside. He leaped onto the person he called father, then winched upon making contact with their singed skin.

As Artie watched the waterworks form, he felt guilt. Not because he had to defend himself, but because he may have made a child an orphan. More than anyone, he understood the despair of losing a father.

The light and racket alerted more from the village; before Artie knew it, he was surrounded. He understood he needed to escape, but the blood loss and agonizing pain stapled him to his site.

His senses became overwhelmed. The ache, the vile smell, the blazing torches that surrounded him, and the clamorous yelling of a vengeful mob. At least if he knew where he was, who those people were, or at least know that his friends back home were alive.

Too many wires were crossed, his mind folded, and his psyche crumbled. Artie's intense expression withered, his eyes narrowed, and he ceased to feel.

...

Inpatient weapons aimed, then commenced their assault with solidified resolve to kill. They neared; however, their world abruptly erupted and flared.

 

<>

 

Again, Artie gradually awakened. Another new, unfamiliar location, at an unknown time after his episode. He pushed himself up with two hands but still didn't have the clarity to consider how it was possible, Or anything that'd happened previously.

Once again, he stared up into a dusk atmosphere. Clouds overtook the overhead and very scarcely did the pale light from either moon bleed through.

The storm had resumed in full effect. Each rumble impaired Artie's ears and startled him. Incredibly cold, he wandered for protection, but the trees in the area were thin, dried out, and bore no leaves.

Minutes turned to hours. The night expired, but he'd discovered nothing other than dead land. At the very least, in the time he journeyed, he was able to refresh from his disarray.

Upon inspection, he noticed that his arm was mended. There was just a broad streak of lemon-colored glow where the hand was detached. Like it was stitched back on with restorative light energy. Undoubtedly, it was a function of the ability that carried him there.

Unfortunately, he wasn't as lucky as to dock near another human community. He walked and walked, but the early day also lapsed. Before long, he returned to his nightly travel, using his gift to track various stirs in the hope of it being human.

It took two whole days before he finally discerned chatter among the void sounds that haunted a dead forest.

Judging from the time passed since sunset, Artie reckoned he arrived between 1-3am, right when most individuals would be sleeping. However, a small village of pitched tents appeared more active than comfortable, working through the rain without light to create a tall, unidentifiable structure from lumber.

He peered at the residents from behind an impoverished tree. Even though it was dark, he could discern the movement of dozens of human'ish figures'.

Artie contemplated approaching, though not for long. The cut on his wrist deterred him from making direct contact; instead, he crept to the home furthest to the perimeter. At least if they were hostile, he could flee before the majority spotted him.

He was reluctant to simply enter a stranger's dwelling, so he planned to quietly call for assistance; however, the tent's entry was opened first. When it did, a fire's benevolent glow hit his yellow irises. He squinted to accommodate the sudden light and identify who or what had appeared and began staring at him.

Startled nonsense was tossed around between two individuals. In response, Artie simply raised his arms up in rapport. "I need help," he clearly stated.

Their faces became apparent once his eyes adjusted.

Two women, though not quite human. Their skin and eyes were ordinary enough, but their long hair covered where their human ears would be seated. Instead, they had furry, round, bear ears on their head the same color as their hair. Their center teeth were typical, but the rear choppers were sharp like fangs.

Generally, every race he'd encountered was dominantly human and excessively attractive. Artie found it difficult not to look at their stout nose, which made them look younger than his first impression.

Just briefly, Artie recalled a lengthy conversation with Laria, where they predicted what kind of degenerate designed their world and its many gorgeous ethnicities.

As he stumbled to fix his gaze, so did the two inside the tent. Only, their increasingly flushed faces wandered toward his waist before jerking back up and away. That's when he realized they weren't distracted by his peculiar tail; well, they were, just not the rear tail he expected.

Artie exhaled, then deliberately rotated his trained, bare body away from the females. "Well, will you help me or not," he said, latching his gaze onto the more nosy woman.

Her rosy brown hair bounced when she was called out, and she hurriedly covered her mouth in embarrassment. They both muttered in their foreign language, then stepped away from the entrance. Artie saw this as a sign of admission, so he entered their warm abode.

It was tall enough that he could walk without hitting his head and large enough that they were able to lay two sleeping mats around a campfire. Artie gradually walked toward the blaze while scanning the space. After what happened at the last community, he was highly guarded.

Following a thorough inspection, he sat, balled up, and sighed laboriously. "Just for a moment... I'll rest."

Both of the strangers sat across from him and supervised with tense countenances. Artie found their watchfulness fair since he, too, was mindful of them.

"It's hard to relax when I can feel their gaze like this," he thought, planting his head into his arms and knees.

"You definitely heard me approach your doorway. So instead of watching me, couldn't you just use your ears...."

Again, the two whispered to each other. Artie heard every syllable that exited their lips but couldn't understand any of it. A minute later, one of the women kissed the other on the cheek and then bundled in their sleeping mat. The remaining continued to monitor him as if a warden of a prison.

"They're taking shifts."

"Our group did the same when we traveled. I remember Sebastian would always go first because he is disgustingly unlucky at rock-paper-scissors."

"I'm sure he's alright... if not just bugging everyone."

Despite the uncomfortable condition he sat in, the toasty fire slowly toted Artie from consciousness. As he drifted off, his body relaxed, and with it, the excessive precipitation.