“It’s not how I thought it would be,” he said. “It’s like … a jigsaw puzzle, with all the important pieces missing. I remember a lot, though. Fuck… I wish I didn’t.”
Malcolm looked at him, trying to think of something he could say that would affect the outcome of their encounter. It felt like weakness. He was there to kill Melt, and that was what he needed to do, even if he didn’t want to.
“You little fucker,” said Melt. “I respect you now.”
“You didn’t before?” asked Malcolm.
“Fuck no,” said Melt. “You were a bleeding heart. Didn’t think you had the guts to actually face off against a monster without buckling…”
Malcolm almost brought up the fact that it was that exact trait that had led to Melt becoming a demon. He’d been unable to fight Rose alongside him, and Melt, pushing his powers too far, had turned.
If he doesn’t remember that, I’m not going to remind him.
Melt eyes narrowed, sharpening the silence. Malcolm felt himself tensing up, the anticipation building for what was to come.
“I’m sorry, Melt,” he said. “This time… I have to do it.”
“Then come and fucking do it,” said Melt.
Despite himself, Malcolm found it hard to attack first. Melt didn’t have his guard up. He was capable of fighting back, but seemed like he was already defeated in spirit.
“Don’t have the fucking guts?” asked Melt. “Do you need motivation, kid? Maybe I should tell you about the people I killed on the way here.”
Malcolm clenched his hands into fists.
“That’s the real scary thing about being a demon,” said Melt. “Killing… is fucking automatic. I don’t know if it’s innate, or maybe, just cause we don’t remember enough to know any better. It’s easy using my powers, I just melt and go down people’s throats. Expand once I’m in their stomachs… Messy, but efficient.”
Malcolm forced himself into an attack. He rushed toward Melt, wind running with long strides. Melt watched him approach, dodging his first punch and countering with a knee to the stomach that completely winded him.
Malcolm fell to the ground, rolling to avoid Melt’s follow up kick. He grabbed at a couple of stray arrows at the wind and blasted them toward Melt’s chest with an intense burst of wind. Melt dissolved into red goo right before they struck him, dodging the attack easily enough to make Malcolm question whether it was worth trying the same tactic again.
He saw Melt, still in melted form, go for his mouth and throat. Malcolm had the wind on his side, and used it to create a powerful air current shield around his head, knocking back the red goo as it came within inches of his mouth.
He summoned as much of the wind as he could control and used it to blast Melt back completely. Melt reformed and assumed a combat stance. Malcolm lifted his own fists, drawing upon crumbs of martial arts advice from Tapestry, as the demon advanced on him.
Wind manipulation gave him enough speed to dodge Melt’s first barrage of punches. When Melt attacked with a roundhouse kick, Malcolm managed to knock him off balance with a blast of air from behind. He then rushed forward and managed to land a quick, grazing jab to Melt’s jaw.
“You’re out of your fucking league, kid,” said Melt. He dropped his guard, daring Malcolm to hit him.
Malcolm leapt, feet first, toward Melt. He went right through him. Melt dissolved just as Malcom should have made contact and reformed behind him, instantly grabbing Malcom and throwing him to the ground. Malcom cushioned his fall reflexively, but in his panic, he over compensated. Instead of catching his balance, Malcom launched himself ten feet into the air.
His head pounded with adrenaline and euphoria, from both the fight and using his powers so much. Melt was smiling, though the gleam in his eyes made his expression seem sad.
“You can feel it,” he called. “I know you can. Fuck, it’s the same thing that drew me in. It would fuck every champion over, if not for the stabilizers… and people like me and you. Well, now just you, I guess.”
Malcolm was circling around Melt through the air, trying to find an angle of advantage from which to attack. Melt suddenly changed form and surged up toward him as a red, gelatinous blob. Malcolm was too focused on shielding his nose and mouth to notice that Melt was aiming to get around him.
Melt reformed behind Malcolm, with one arm already in position for a chokehold. Malcolm was still airborne, and he struggled to stay aloft as Melt’s arms tightened around his neck. They began to plummet toward the ground as Malcom’s head throbbed from lack of oxygen. And then, the world turned off.
CHAPTER 30
When Malcolm woke up, it was with a pounding headache and a musky scent on his nose. He blinked his eyes, taking in the dim conditions of a small, dusty shack. There was a window on one wall, reinforced with metal lattice to make it virtually shatterproof.
He was sitting with both wrists handcuffed behind his back and the frame of a metal chair underneath him. Malcolm tried leaning forward, but the chair didn’t tip.
“It’s bolted to the ground,” said Melt. He stepped out of a shadow and into a beam of orange light. The sun was setting, telling Malcolm that he had been unconscious for at least a couple of hours.
“I’m still alive,” said Malcolm. “I feel like I’ve won a prize, or something.”
Melt didn’t say anything. A sinking feeling took hold in Malcolm’s stomach.
“Are you going to try to turn me?” he asked. “Force me to use my powers until I lose control, and become a monster.”
Melt slowly shook his head.
“I’m not like Rain Dancer, or Multi,” said Melt. “Those fuckers are just looking for excuses to kill.”
“Wait…” Malcolm frowned. “Multi… You’ve seen him since he was captured by Rain Dancer.”
Melt chuckled.
“They gave me the whole song and dance,” he said. “There’s a genocide against monsters, and we need to take a fucking stand. As though I’d sign up with them in an instant, throw away everything I believed in, just because I’ve got bumps on my skull now.”
“You met with them,” said Malcolm. “And they just let you leave, when you said no?”
Melt chuckled.
“Nobody stops me from leaving,” he said.
A couple of silent seconds passed. Malcolm’s concern over what Melt would do next was outweighed by his curiosity.
“Did he still seem like himself?” asked Malcolm. “I can’t imagine Multi… working with Rain Dancer.”
“Didn’t recognize me, not that we were best friends, or anything,” said Melt. “If I had to guess… The memory loss… I think it’s like trauma. Like a head injury. It depends on how hard you get hit emotionally when you turn.”
“Is that just a theory, or do you have proof?” asked Malcolm.
“Yeah, I got fucking proof,” said Melt, sarcastically. “I’ve just been doing science and taking notes these past few fucking days. Fuck you, Wind Runner.”
“Jesus, Melt,” said Malcolm. “I hope you don’t kiss your mother with that mouth.”
“I don’t remember my mother,” said Melt. “That’s one thing that’s definitely gone. But even if I did… I wouldn’t want her to see me. Not like this.”
I meant that as a joke. Now I feel bad.
Melt took a deep breath, and let out a shaky sigh. He pulled up another chair and sat down across from Malcolm. He produced a flask from somewhere and tipped it back, taking a long swig.
“It’s hard for me to understand,” said Melt. “Why would anyone want to keep living… like this?”
Malcolm was torn, unsure of whether Melt’s question needed an answer, and if so, what he could say.
“You could try to be better,” he said. “Just because there are a lot of monsters out there who have abandoned their morals doesn’t mean that you have to.”