Body moved.

  Mind was flung backwards, disconnecting from Soul and skittering along the ground in that dark place between realms. His arm was numb to the shoulder, and a tingling sensation was working its way across his face.

  “What was that?” he asked, to no one in particular.

  “That,” said Soul, who was looking on with a rather amused expression, “Was override protocol two being put into effect for the first time in our life. Fascinating.”

  Mind rubbed at his shoulder, trying to get feeling back. “And what is override protocol two, precisely?”

  “Override protocols are used by various attributes to overwhelm logic and reason at various different times in our life. Override protocol number one, for example, is built in code for protecting ourselves from a potential murderer. It’s a fairly simple reactionary influence initiated by Instinct, same as this one. It basically says that if we are attacked with killing intent and are unable to escape, we fight; but if we are able to escape, we run. Simple as that.

  “Override protocol two, on the other hand, isn’t something you would think to look for this low on the list. It goes like this: if someone is in danger within available distance, help in any way possible, risking life and limb if necessary. OP2 is initiated by Instinct, and it’s one of the seven ways Instinct can institute mental override, though there are a few more protocols than just those seven. Trained instincts, you could say.”

  Mind held up his hands, palms forward. “Hold on, why hasn’t this ever happened before, then? We’ve seen plenty of fights and robberies happen on the streets, you know.”

  “Yes,” Soul nodded, “But were we in available distance of any of them? Would we have been able to stop them from happening in a timely manner? No. Instinct judges distances and actions in the blink of an eye and determines if it’s at all possible for us to manage. Back then, we were slow. Out of shape. Now, we have basically super-human reflexes and speed, so we can manage the distance. Do you want to watch this or not? You won’t remember it when you come to, as Instinct kicked you out to allow for the moonsickness to take over, but you might find it fascinating.”

  The two entities turned to watch, and Mind commented, “Body’s barely moved since I left. How?”

  “I still have my arm out the aperture. I’m using some fairly complex composition of metaphysics and electromagnetic frequencies to speed our conversation.”

  “Ah.”

  “I’ll slow us back down to watch in real time now.”

  Body crept forward at a snails pace, then slowly built back to normal speeds over the course of a few microseconds. He barreled across the clearing, flinging himself in-between the descending arm and the girl. Claws buried themselves in his body, slipping easily between ribs and puncturing a lung. They barely missed the heart.

  Body didn’t care. He couldn’t feel pain. Shock and Adrenaline had stepped in to improve his fighting.

  The An Dreores let out a screech that rang through the forest as clear and loud as a struck bell. It howled in fury at its prey being stolen from it, swiping again at the girl in a frantic anger. But Body was there. He grabbed the arm and snapped it in twain with a jerk.

  “That would be Rage and Panic,” Soul said, gesturing at the creature’s broken arm as it cried out in agony, “They have allowed our muscles to reach beyond the usual threshold. Normally this would grievously hurt us, but who cares at the moment?”

  Body wrenched the broken arm forward and swung a hard fist straight into the monster’s jaw, cracking it. The An Dreores’ head snapped sideways, and Body had to duck the thing’s instinctual swing with its healthy arm. Still, he wasn’t quite fast enough and received a jagged tear across his forehead for the trouble.

  Body’s fist caught the monster in the side, shattering a pair of ribs and sending it stumbling back. He followed it up with a heel kick to the knee and a solid elbow to the throat.

  The An Dreores was stumbling back at this point, on the back foot, and Body ruthlessly punished every misstep. Nails rent horrid tears in the creature’s flesh, bones broke beneath his fists. His onslaught was overwhelming. Bestial.

  There comes a point, when base instinct and emotion are guiding a man instead of his conscience and soul, that he becomes something else. He diminishes, becomes less human. No matter what they are—warriors on the battlefield, thieves on the street, predators of the bed—they lose something vital to who they are.

  We are coming upon that part in the story. Indeed, it has already begun. The part in the story wherein I, as a man just trying to get by in the world, lost who I was. It didn’t happen all at once, nor did it happen in leaps and bounds. No, it was the slow creeping of moss on a rock, the slothful crawl upward of an ancient tree. It was the pot slowly heating until the frog was boiled alive inside; it was the panther slowly stalking its prey, waiting for them to bed down to sleep.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  It is not a part of my life that I am proud of. Rather, it is a part of my life I must accept. I was lost for a time. A long time. But this is a story of my life, so this part must take place, as all parts must—good and bad.

  Body tore the An Dreores apart piece by black-blooded piece. First went its claws, incapacitating it, though he took a great many wounds to do so. Then its right arm, ripped from the shoulder like Beowulf did to Grendel in that story of old. It’s left kneecap went next, then its left pelvis was pounded into dust.

  He was in a raving madness, Body was. It was a madness of great pain and anger, of unknown despair for something lost. A terrible madness.

  Blood dripped from his chin as he tore at the creature’s throat with his teeth, it spattered his shirt and pants, it coated his hands as he plunged them into the thing’s belly and ripped out its innards, and it was spilt on the tattered ground as he ripped the An Dreores’ head off, spine and all.

  All this time, Soul was watching in disgust, knowing he had no choice but to see this course through. He was the guide, the motus of life, and the singular absolute executive in the man named Felix Bernadon. But there were some things that must be allowed to pass, and this was one of them. Mind would have to be the one to deal with this.

  Mind, on the other hand, was cowering in a corner with his head in his hands, weeping in fear. He was scared of himself, as was to be expected. This wasn’t natural. It wasn’t right. This was the wolf within the man, just waiting to be unleashed. It was the monster in the dark corners of the heart, the little cobwebs that stretched across the ceiling. Unobtrusive, but very, very terrible.

  “This… this…” Mind stuttered in terror, still huddled in his small corner of that ever-darkening space, “This is wrong. This is all wrong. We are meant to be protectors. We are meant to be the man who stands between the predator and the prey.”

  “Oh, but we are.”

  The voice whispered from the darkness like a sword sliding from a sheath, bringing fear and death to all who listened. It was a harsh thing, echoing around that vast chamber of nothingness, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, a thing of living nightmare and fears long left buried.

  “Look out there. Look at the protection we have given to that poor girl. We took the blow meant for her, and we defeated the evil. That is the outcome you speak of.”

  Mind cowered further away into his corner, “Not like this. Never like this. There’s got to be a better way.”

  “There is no other way. We need to be a monster to the monsters, a killer to the killers. We are the silent dagger in the night, and the ringing sword by day. Monsters will whisper our name in fear, guarding against a shadow they will never see when it comes for them. They must learn to live in terror of us, so the world may depend on us. We will be the sword of justice in the heart of evil.”

  A figure black as the depths of space melted out of the surrounding void, passing into the visible area and exuding an aura of death. It was twisted almost beyond recognition, arms deformed and bulbous, head cocked far too far to the side, chest gaping with a pulsing red eye set in between the ribs.

  “Instinct.” Soul said flatly.

  “Good evening, Soul. Do not interfere with our business. We don’t want this getting… messy,” Instinct hissed through a mouth filled with bloodied teeth, sharper than daggers, “Besides, you couldn’t take me even if you tried.”

  Soul just watched, emotionless. Instinct was closer to the truth than he realized. If Soul wanted to keep his connection with the outside world and not have to sacrifice anything else, he would be set at a distinct disadvantage. Now, that didn’t mean Soul would outright lose, just that it would be a far closer fight than if he didn’t have a separate drain on his concentration.

  Instinct’s slit nostrils flared and his split lips drew back in an expression of triumph. He stalked over to Mind and hoisted him up by a clawed hand attached to an arm with countless raw wounds crossing it. He brought his face close and hissed menacingly, causing Mind to flinch and shut his eyes tight.

  Instinct’s empty eye-sockets, lids sewn shut over a pair of golden coins inside, stared back at him, and the burning eye in his chest narrowed with malice.

  “A shame you will not remember this conversation when we awake. Still, I should like to watch what this encounter does to you over the coming weeks. Just know that any time you try and take the honorable path against a monster—be that man or beast—I will be there, and I will be watching for you to make a mistake. Do not let down your guard for a moment, little Mind. Even a second will be enough. I will be waiting.”

  Instinct dropped Mind into a frightened puddle on the floor, then turned and moved away. As he left, Soul had a perfect view of his back, and the jagged spine splitting his back. It looked like a row of wolf’s teeth, coated in blood and glowing magma—the spine of a creature straight from the depths of hell itself.

  Mind said something, but it was impossible to make out as his voice broke like a piece of pottery toppled from a shelf.

  Instinct stopped dead.

  “What was that?” he asked, turning back to where Mind was huddled in a fetal position on the floor.

  “You… will… never… win.” Mind croaked. “No matter… what you do… I will stop you.”

  Instinct sneered. “Why don’t you start by picking yourself out of your own piss first.” He said. Then he flicked out his clawed hand and slashed a single, deep wound into Mind’s face. “Something to remember me by.”

  Then he turned around and melted back into the intangible void from whence he came.

  Soul studied Mind. Those claw marks on his face were going to be a problem. Mind would be weakened in the coming fight with Instinct, which he had to win at any cost. If he didn’t, the man called Felix Bernadon would become nothing more than a wild animal fit to be put down.

  But Instinct had grown since Soul had last seen him. He was more violent. More dangerous. He was going to eat Mind alive if this was all Mind had to offer when it came to the battlefield.

  He said none of this, of course. Some things are better left inside. Instead what he said was, “Get over here. Body’s done fighting. We need to take back control from Instinct.”

  Still, in his core, Soul was worried.