Needs

She breathed easier now it was over. The weight was already less; the plates and spikes and ridges withdrawing, retreating, melting like icebergs back inside of her.

She had survived. She knew she would. The fight, anyway. She'd Changed to survive. She just hadn't been sure she'd survive the Change.

Her opponent was in a furrow, buried under rubble. The ruins still smoked where he'd touched. Sirens sounded in the distance. She had to leave. Might not be bulletproof when they got here.

Something itched at her shoulder blades, among the ruins of her shirt. Something rustled. Something twitched.

Wings.

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A Good Servant, But a Poor Master

He was unlucky. The window would have melted to slag, but he struck one of the steel support beams instead. It bent out of true with a clang, and shards of glass and drywall fell around him.

He stood, a dribble of fire leaking from the corner of his mouth. Tongues of flame licked from a dozen small cuts.

“Why?” she rasped, crouching low as he collected himself.

He spat. It flared across the ruined tables and ignited on the countertop.

“This is what’s inside me,” he said, his mouth painfully bright to look upon. “What can I do except burn?”