IV. Heart of Fire

There is something about the feeling of cold tile on your cheek that is comforting. One day, after a particularly hard training session, Charles couldn’t make it to his bed. This was back when he was training with the church, lacking regular access to food in order to ‘sharpen his mind in order to abstain from seeking Earthly Desires’ and train his holy magic. It mostly just made him hungry. After hours of sparring, his legs seemed to quiver and shake before ultimately they gave out some way between the main hallway and his bedroom. He was used to this. He grew familiar with the intricacies of small comforts that the floor brought.

The tile was soothing to his bruises, cooling him down in a way that a bath never could. And even here, waking up in yet another unknown space, he felt the gentle chill of ceramic on skin. Ultimately he knew he couldn’t make a habit of this. Passing out, that is. Surely there was time to lay on the floor in the future. Shifting his weight, Charles reluctantly pulled himself into a sitting position and tried to survey where he’d ended up this time. Surprisingly, it was quite familiar. 

One day, years ago- Charles couldn’t exactly tell you when- he had visited Paris. His late teens tended to blend together into a singular gray mush of hunts and evaluations. The important thing was that he had visited to seal up a dark passageway of the fabled catacombs that had awakened and started gobbling up tourists looking for a thrill and finding something much darker. Turns out when you store so many corpses in a single place, you attract ghouls. And eventually ghouls get tired of stripping the flesh off bones and want a little fresher food. Overall, though, ghouls don’t take as long as one would think. The Halberds’ local connection thought it was something much worse, a portent of something bigger and badder, so Charles had booked two days ahead of time rather than doing the customary one night with an extended stay. Hell, they’d even called in someone his family referred to as a lesser hunter. After their mission was over Charles was easily able to slip away from Morrigun the Half-Slayer, and just like that Charles was left with a completely free day in Paris. 

He knew he would get in trouble for wasting Halberd time and resources, but there was something so freeing about having a day completely to yourself in a city. No monster to hunt, no timetable to be on. And he was young. So young back then. In the decade since being yanked out of school, he felt like he had aged far faster than his peers. None of the girls that he spent his time with as a kid had to grapple with an arcane family legacy. They got to hang out at malls, get dragged to sites of culture on field trips, have awkward first dates, and just enjoy their time with their peers. It wasn’t fair. So with the last little gasp of rebellion that he stored in his heart, he went to visit the Louvre.

And for that day, Charles Halberd was happy. His family wasn’t when they learned what their newest monster hunter had spent his day doing, but the punishments didn’t matter. Charles had gone to an art museum and enjoyed himself, blending in with the average citizen. He took a tour, soaking in the tourists and school groups that filed through. He stared at all the different paintings and wondered what it would be like to create something unique and lovely. Each placard next to the works offering insight into the non-bloodstained lives of those brought enrichment through their craft.

As he took in his surroundings, Charles understood that he wasn’t really in the Louvre right now. Instead it felt more like his memory of the Louvre, a concept of a space rather than the space itself. Not to say that the rooms lacked art. There were paintings hung upon the wall, although from a distance he had a hard time figuring out what they were. At that moment he realized that he was in the liminal space between death and something new. Stranded on the floor drenched in a dream. He wasn’t dying, but his old self was. But hey, at least he got to enjoy some art before he was reborn.

A throat clearing in a quiet space caught his attention, and as he turned he caught sight of his host. Malicia had also seemingly gone Parisian, wearing a stereotypical black and white striped blouse and tight pants. She was even wearing a beret, which was a feat considering that her hair seemed to be in a constant fight with the laws of physics. “Well, who would have thought that your happy place was an art museum. Y’know what they say about books and covers.”

“Check to make sure there are no spells on the bindings or else you get snared in a perpetual story, never to walk the Earth again?” Charles said without even thinking. At this point he had gotten okay at realizing when he’d completely missed something, so he shook his head and thought about how a normal person would respond. “No… You’re probably talking about not judging me, huh?”

“Well, at least you got it in two. I count that as a win. Welcome to the fun part of Monstrous Transformation, the part where we figure out what kind of critter you’re going to be. And before you ask, nah, I’m not in your head. I’m just a projection of the magic taking on a shape you’re comfortable with to help guide you through the process. Your simple little noggin can’t handle raw magic, so it conjured me up to help you. Isn’t that so sweet? I’m gonna be flattered when you tell the real me.” The not-really Malicia seemed to take great joy in teasing him, which to Charles seemed pretty par for the course. 

“Alright, spare your jests, Dream Malicia--”

The magical construct cut him off before he even finished the sentence. “You can just call me Malicia, it’s easier that way. Less syllables.” 

“Fine. Spare your jests, Malicia. What happens next? I figured I would just wake up and join you in the army of the damned, no offense obviously. At least that’s what Faith said.” 

“Yeah, here’s the thing. Everyone’s experience with Monstrous Rebirth is a little bit different. Some souls find their way directly to their best fit. Faith? Complete puppy girl from day one. That bitch was even wearing a dog collar before I met her. Got it in one without even really trying. You, my friend, are a tough egg to crack. Right now, your brain and magic are kind of slamming against each other trying to get things sorted. In cases like this where things take a little longer, you spend a little time in a waiting room.” Malicia gestured again to the art gallery. “Soooooo, what we are gonna do is we’re gonna go on a walk. Check out some of the stuff around here. See what stands out to you. Think you can do that?” 

Pushing off the ground with his fists for extra support, Charles unsteadily took to his feet. His dream body was oddly light, but awkward. He took a tentative step, and then another, until eventually he made his way over to the first group of paintings. With every step he realized that the subjects of the paintings, captured on the canvas as if by the masters of old, were all monsters. The first that he came to was a still life of a werewolf, curled up gently in front of a fireplace. The closer he looked the more the painting seemed to breathe, with little details changing the moment he looked away. As relaxing as it seemed, this wasn’t the one. He knew it.

“Ah, yeah that would be too simple. Shame, I’m sure Faith probably wanted to have a buddy to run around the woods with. And you’d also look good in a collar too. Maybe even a matching maid outfit, wouldn’t that be so precious?” Malicia beamed as Charles huffed, turning his attention to the next painting so the projection wouldn’t see the blush creeping up his cheek. 

The next one was two monsters in one. A simple scene of a kobold and her dragon mistress. The dragon girl was laying down on her back in the sun while her kobold washed her scales. Of course, they both had to be naked, heating Charles’ face up even more. Perhaps he had been repressing things a little more than he thought. As intriguing as this scene was, and as much as he wanted to be the one receiving said affection, it was the same as with the werewolf. A brief understanding of who these monsters were, but nothing that resonated with him. He felt like there had to be something more. Something he was missing. 

Malicia shook her head, “Not either of these either? Eh, that’s okay. The dragon population is pretty well maintained as is. The regional matriarch’s influences are pretty well balanced and we don’t want another power player destabilizing things. Whew. That one had me a little nervous.”

“Because I’d be a dragon?” Charles said, turning to Malicia for elaboration.

“Because you’d be a powerful dragon. Proud lineage like yourself, know how to fight. Dragons can be a little rough and tumble with newbies and I think you’d hurt some of their feelings. Anyway, let’s keep moving. There are a ton of paintings in the gallery and I’m sure we’ll find something.” Malicia’s stereotypical French outfit warped into that of a tour guide, complete with a name tag and a smart pencil skirt and kitten heel combo. 

What followed was an endless parade of art. Time didn’t really exist in Charles’ Fake Louvre; instead the pair seemed to have eternity to gaze at countless depictions of monsters. Charles turned down a pop art reproduction of a skateboarding bigfoot. They both agreed that the mournful impressionist banshee was pretty, but not necessarily for him. The dreamy underwater selkie would have been fitting, in an ironic punishment way for the sins of his parents, but Charles didn’t really vibe with that either. 

There was an entire wing of the gallery that was a little too grisly for Charles, filled with the monsters that his grandpa loved, knowing that they unnerved the hell of Charles. The surrealist depiction of a Scissor Woman with garden shears that were glued onto the canvas turned his stomach. The Monet- inspired Kappa was painted a little too pretty to be sucking the soul out from that particular part of the body, thank you very much. The failed monster hunter let out a sigh of relief when he exited that particular wing, grateful that nothing too grisly struck his soul as the right choice.

“Hey, Malicia,” about a hundred paintings in, a question lingered in Charles’ mind, “how come all of the paintings in here are of girl monsters? That was just a succubus and some lesser lust spirits, but we have yet to see an incubus. I’ve seen mermaids, sirens, sphynxes, a gaggle of harpies and water nymphs, not even to mention the various witches and elements of the fairy courts. Are we just working through these first and then moving onto the guy monsters? Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I would turn down being some kind of monstress.”

The faux Malicia shrugged, “Beats me, man. This is your subconscious pulling up matches. I guess maybe you need to have a long hard conversation with yourself about what you really want.”

Charles scoffed, “No, no no. It wasn’t with you, but I already told Malicia. Humans can’t change their genders as they please. Monsters can because. . .” Charles paused for a moment, taking in how absolutely ridiculous he sounded. He sounded like his grandfather. Why couldn’t anyone decide they wanted to be a girl? Hell, why couldn’t she be a girl? She already was becoming a monster. “I want to be a girl, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you definitely do.” Malicia smirked.

“I am going to be a monster and a girl. And then I’m going to work on unlearning a bunch of the garbage my family taught me,” Charlie said, adapting Malicia’s nickname for herself. It could be short for Charlotte, or hell, she could keep it at Charles if she really wanted to. The first name wasn’t the one with all of the baggage tied to it. 

“Atta girl. Nice to have a little moment of self-reflection. Now let’s figure out where you fit here.” The fake Malicia patted her on the back.

“That’s it? I solve a pretty important bit of my identity and all I get is a ‘Nice job, great work?’” 

Malicia shrugged again, it seemed to be her favorite go-to expression. “Hey, you’ll get all the emotional catharsis from real deal Malicia, I’m just the cheap knockoff. The Mountain Thunder to your Dew. But kudos, kid, even I can tell that you’ve been grappling with this for a while. Feels good to get it off your chest, huh?” 

“I will be honest, I’m terrified. And excited. But it’s hard for me to keep my feelings separate. They’re too intertwined. I wish I could say I knew I was a girl all along. Or there was some big a-ha moment that I could point to as a child that was beaten out of me by my family. There was just a yearning for something more, which could be misinterpreted as disdain for my profession, of course. But it was deeper than that, and I convinced myself that it wasn’t. I was just content to have it with me until death, and I suppose that was true.” For a brief moment Charlie thought she was going to cry, whether through elation or sheer panic. The emotions in her head were waging a war to see what would come out on top, and rather than succumb to the feelings, she pressed on back into the eternal gallery of the monstrous. There wasn’t much talking after that; instead, Charlie was content to bury herself in her work at hand. 

Eventually it was down to one last painting. Another direct stylistic rip-off, this time a jackalope in the desert done in the way of Georgia O’Keefe. It was cute, sure. Charles wanted to reach out and stroke the incredibly soft- looking fur. Its big eyes begged to be held and squished, just like any other bunny. Ultimately though, that was pretty much where the urge ended. Was that really it? Did magic and the universe itself really not want Charlie to be a monster?

Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. A beam of light must have hit just right to draw Charlie’s attention to a door. A gallery that had somehow slipped her notice the first time she passed this way. It was closed off with the dream version of caution tape, but as soon as she passed through, it dissipated like a child’s sandcastle meeting high tide. Before she even saw the art, she knew she was in the right place. It was too perfect. Every cell in her body thrummed and pulled her towards a single marble statue standing in the middle of an otherwise empty space. She was gorgeous.

Charlie had never seen anything like her in person; how could she? Three pairs of wings jutted proudly off her back, pointing in three different directions. It didn’t seem like it should logically work for flight, but logic had stopped being present the moment that Charlie asked Malicia to bite her. She was tall, taller even than Charlie was now. Imposing, but not threatening, she stood above Charlie in almost a protective manner. Above her head were two golden halos, intertwined with each other and slowly spinning. 

She was built like an amazon, with long arms and legs packed with muscle. Charlie could have gotten lost staring at her eight-pack, but she knew that eventually she would be able to see those cheese graters in the mirror at any time. Pulling her attention away from the body, Charlie settled on looking at her new self’s face and found that it looked like a younger version of her mother’s. There was a familial resemblance there, but perfected. While her mother’s face was owlish in nature, the new Charlie’s large eyes and gentle smile reminded her most of her gran. She was beautiful, with soft lips and curled white locks of hair framing her kind face, but almost unnaturally so. It was almost too perfect. Too radiant. It hurt Charlie’s heart to gaze upon her as she was now, but she knew it would only be a matter of time before she was greeted with this perfection every single day. She couldn’t wait. She was ecstatic. 

“Oh goodness gracious me, real Malicia is gonna have a God Damned fit when she realizes your ultimate monstrous form is a Host. Well, not my problem. In fact, I think it fits you pretty dang well if you ask me.” She looked at him like she was proud, or maybe even a little bit in awe. Charlie wasn’t necessarily sure how to take that.

It was enough, however, to snap Charlie out of her reverence for her future self. God, was it possible to be gay for yourself? Before she could spiral into how much of a pervert that would make her, she verbalized an issue with her new form. “But that’s an angel. A messenger of God. How is that monstrous? I don’t get it?”

“Pfft, God-schmod. Nah, that’s a Host right there. Christianity might have stolen their imagery a little bit, when don’t they, but there hasn’t been one of those on Earth since they all ascended to a higher plane centuries upon centuries ago. This is a genuine bonafide Messenger of Retributive Vengeance and Protection. An ethereal creature doling out just desserts to those that deserve it. Protector of innocence. God doesn’t give two shits about innocents, and his angels are nothin’ like this. I don’t even know if God exists anymore, to be honest. I’m more of a clockmaker theorist myself. And angels? They’re all like, uhh, geodesic domes and weird 5D shapes. Left behind images when your old TV has been on for too long and the message is still burned in. Those puzzles that you have to stare at for a long time before your brain parses it’s a picture of a polar bear or somethin’. You don’t want to see an actual angel, oofa doofa.”

Charlie ignored the presumably blasphemous ramblings of the doppelganger and instead found herself entranced by the statue again. It was hard to keep her eyes off it. “Those wings, they’re beautiful. Are they going to be cumbersome?”

“Nah, you can retract them. Only thing you can’t get rid of is the halos. That shows a member of the Host from a mile away. That and the glow.”

“The glow? Wait, what?” Charles looked at Malicia with growing concern. “What else do I need to know about myself? About the creature that I am to become!”

“Ah, that’s all the time we have for now, kid. If you ever do some edge of death magic shit, maybe we can meet and chat again. Have a good eternity! Ah man, I wish I could see the look on Mal’s face.” As Malicia spoke, Charlie’s world began to get dark around the edges of her vision. She needed to stay. She needed to know more about herself. She had so many questions for someone who even began to know about what a Host even was. But alas, the darkness didn’t seem to be considerate of her needs and swallowed her whole.