BEASTMARKED

Hermes stirred awake, His body felt heavy, his limbs still tired, but the cool morning air against his skin offered a strange comfort. He yawned, rubbing his eyes, and slowly began to sit up—until he noticed the bed.

A thick, dark tuft of hair lay scattered across his sheets, a mass of it in places where it shouldn't have been. The strands glistened like something out of a dream, glossy and slightly too long to belong to him.

"Wait..." Hermes muttered, blinking hard to clear the sleep from his eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, but it felt... different.

There it was again. His hair—already strange in color—felt thicker, softer, almost unnaturally so. His heart skipped a beat. Something wasn't right. He reached up and touched the back of his head, where the sensation was most intense, and found more hair than usual—longer, almost fur-like.

His pulse quickened, unease creeping into his chest. The events of yesterday, the strange message, the shift he'd felt at practice... It all came crashing into his mind. This was real. Something had changed inside him, and now it was starting to show on the outside.

He threw off the covers in a rush, standing up too quickly. The room seemed to spin for a moment, but he steadied himself, his eyes locked on the mess of fur on the bed. His breath hitched as he crouched down, his fingers sifting through it. The texture felt... odd, foreign.

He swallowed hard, heart pounding, before making his way toward the bathroom, determined to face whatever this was head-on.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Hermes flicked on the light. He winced at the sudden brightness and squinted at the mirror, almost afraid to look. But when he finally did, his reflection hit him like a punch.

His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his throat. The first thing he noticed were his ears.

They weren't normal.

They were... furred. His hair had grown longer around the edges of his head, tapering into tufts. His ears were larger than they had been the day before, round and slightly pointed, perched atop his head like a cat's. He blinked, and the reality of it hit him all at once. His green eyes had shifted too, no longer just bright and sharp—they were brighter, almost glowing in the fluorescent bathroom light, their shape subtly altered.

His hands trembled as he reached up, fingers brushing against his new features in disbelief. The fur around his ears felt warm, and when he brushed his fingers over them, they twitched slightly, like they were... alive.

His gaze dropped to his reflection's other oddities. He could see it now, the faintest hint of claws just starting to form on the tips of his fingers. They weren't fully sharp yet, but they were definitely more than what they'd been the day before.

"What... what the hell is going on?" he whispered to his reflection, his voice thick with disbelief.

His mind raced back to the cosmic event—the flash in the sky, the strange feeling that had settled deep in his chest. Had it all been connected? Was this transformation part of it?

Without thinking, Hermes slammed his hand down onto the countertop, a sharp pain shooting up his arm. But as his hand made contact with the surface, a strange sensation erupted from his fingertips. A faint, glowing aura of smoke-like energy shot from his hand, trailing behind his fingers in ghostly, claw-like shapes. The energy pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, like it was responding to him.

He yanked his hand back, staring at it in shock.

"What the hell...?"

The energy faded as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him staring at his trembling hand. His pulse hammered in his ears, the weight of the change pressing down on him harder than ever. What had he just done? His reflection seemed to answer back, but it didn't offer any comfort. He was different now—more than just his appearance. Something deep inside him had shifted, and it wasn't just his body.

The thought of running—of hiding from what was happening to him—crossed his mind, but then he thought about the message he'd received the night before.

"We're watching. You're not the only one."

He wasn't the only one.

Hermes stood frozen for a moment longer, staring at his reflection in disbelief. The longer he looked, the more surreal it seemed. His breath came in shallow gasps, his heart pounding in his chest. The image of his glowing eyes and fur-covered ears wouldn't leave his mind. What was happening to him?

Shaking his head, Hermes pulled himself together, trying to push the panic back down. Focus. He had to think. He couldn't just sit here, staring at himself forever.

With a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, willing himself to act like everything was normal. He tugged at his hoodie's sleeves, hiding the claws that were starting to emerge, and made his way toward the stairs.

The house was quiet, almost too quiet, as he moved down the hallway toward the stairs. His mom was usually already up by now, making breakfast or organizing her day. He could smell the faintest trace of coffee in the air, but there was something... off. The house felt tense, like the calm before a storm.

He stepped down the stairs slowly, his bare feet making soft thuds against the wooden steps. As he rounded the corner into the living room, the first thing he saw was his mom sitting on the couch, her eyes wide, glued to the television. The flickering blue light from the screen cast a pale glow over her face, and her expression was one Hermes had never seen before—genuine shock.

"Mom?" Hermes called hesitantly, stepping into the room.

His mother's head jerked toward him, and her eyes went wide as she took him in. For a split second, she seemed to freeze, then blink rapidly, as if trying to focus. She quickly stood up from the couch, but her gaze never left him.

"Hermes...?" she asked, her voice a mix of concern and confusion.

Her words barely registered, as Hermes's attention snapped to the TV screen.

The news anchor's voice filled the room, cold and robotic as usual, but today it carried a different weight.

"...and in an unprecedented event, multiple reports have surfaced from all over the world of a strange transformation occurring overnight. Early this morning, people across the globe began experiencing significant, physical changes—some of which appear to be related to animal traits. Eyewitnesses have described everything from increased size and strength to the sudden appearance of wings, fur, claws, and even new eyes. While scientists are still investigating the cause, the phenomenon has sparked widespread panic and confusion."

Hermes felt a chill run through him as he watched the footage on the screen. Several clips played in quick succession: people looking at their hands in awe, someone's skin rippling and transforming into scales, a woman staring wide-eyed at the large green reptilian tail that had sprouted from her back. The images flashed by, but one thing was clear—he wasn't alone.

"What the hell...?" Hermes muttered under his breath, his gaze snapping back to his mother.

She was staring at him now, her hand pressed against her chest, eyes flicking between the TV and him. She swallowed hard. "Hermes... this is happening to you, isn't it?"

His stomach twisted, the words he had been trying to avoid now coming to life. He hadn't wanted to admit it, hadn't wanted to say it aloud, but his transformation had just become something much larger.

"I... I think so," Hermes said, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn't look at her—couldn't stand to see the worry in her eyes. She had always been his rock, but right now, he felt like everything was slipping through his fingers.

His mother shook her head, almost as if she was trying to deny it. "How—why? Why is this happening?"

Hermes didn't have an answer. He opened his mouth, but the words caught in his throat. What could he say? That this was some cosmic event? That his body was shifting, changing, and there was nothing he could do to stop it?

Before he could respond, the news anchor continued, and Hermes's stomach dropped further.

"We've just received an urgent report from several governments around the world. People with these changes are being... detained. Authorities are advising citizens to stay inside and remain cautious. There have been claims of people being taken from their homes, but details are still unclear. Local and federal law enforcement agencies are coordinating efforts to address the situation."

The anchor's voice went on, but Hermes's mind stopped listening. He could feel his pulse quicken, a knot of dread forming in the pit of his stomach. Detained. Taken. Experimented on. The implications hit him like a ton of bricks.

He turned to his mother, his voice shaking. "Mom, what's going on? What's happening to us?"

Her eyes softened with fear, and she stepped toward him, reaching out to touch his arm. "I don't know, Hermes. I don't know."

But there was something in her eyes. Something that made him realize she knew more than she was letting on. And the more he looked at her, the more he felt it—something was being hidden, something about this event that she wasn't telling him.

His mother's hand trembled as it hovered near his arm, and her eyes were clouded with a mixture of guilt and fear. For a moment, she just stared at him, and the silence in the room was suffocating. The air felt thick with tension, like something was about to break, and Hermes could barely breathe through the weight of it.

"I'm sorry, Hermes," she said, her voice small, almost too quiet to hear.

He blinked, confused. "Sorry for what?" He stared at her, trying to find some kind of explanation in her expression, but there was nothing. Her gaze avoided his, and her fingers clenched at her sides like she was holding something back.

Before he could press her for more answers, a sound cut through the heavy air—a loud thud, followed by a sharp crack.

The door to the house exploded inward, splinters flying in all directions. A group of armed men in full tactical gear stormed through the shattered doorway, their boots pounding the floor as they moved swiftly into the living room. They wore black helmets with dark visors, their faces hidden behind metal and glass. Hermes's heart skipped a beat. The sight of them was enough to stop him dead in his tracks.

His pulse raced, his muscles coiled, and his instincts kicked in. He barely had time to process the situation before one of the soldiers aimed a weapon directly at his head.

"On the ground. Now," the soldier barked, his voice harsh.

Hermes's heart dropped. Without thinking, he moved to shield his mother, stepping between her and the men. His body reacted faster than his mind, and before the soldier could take another step, Hermes was already in motion, his claws extending from his fingers, ready to defend.

"Stay away from her!" Hermes shouted, his voice shaky with adrenaline.

The armed men didn't hesitate. One soldier fired, the sound of the gunshot deafening in the small living room. Hermes barely had time to react, but his reflexes—sharpened by whatever change had overtaken him—allowed him to dodge the burst of bullets. He ducked low, spinning away, narrowly avoiding the next round. His body was faster, more agile than he'd ever been, his instincts guiding him with a predator's precision.

But the men didn't stop. Their movements were coordinated, practiced, and they quickly closed in. A soldier grabbed Hermes by the arms, twisting them behind his back with terrifying strength. The pain shot through him, forcing a gasp from his lungs as he tried to fight it.

"Stop resisting!" the soldier ordered.

Hermes's claws extended, but the moment he made a move, a blow to the side of his head sent him reeling. The world tilted, his vision blurring, and his body crumpled under the impact. The rush of adrenaline faded just as quickly as it had arrived, leaving him struggling to keep his balance. He tried to push himself up, but another soldier yanked his legs out from under him, forcing him onto the ground.

As the soldiers restrained him, tying his wrists tightly behind his back, Hermes could barely see. His head was spinning, his body sluggish despite the newfound abilities, the harsh blows to his skull leaving him disoriented. The soldiers secured him with metal cuffs, and he was lifted off the floor with ease, too weak to fight back now.

"Mom!" Hermes shouted, his voice muffled by the cloth the soldiers had stuffed in his mouth. His eyes were wild, trying to catch a glimpse of her, but she was nowhere to be seen.

His pulse raced, panic flooding through him, but then—he saw her.

She was standing in the corner of the room, not a step closer, not a step further. She was watching, her hands trembling at her sides, her eyes wide but cold, devoid of the warmth he had known all his life.

His breath hitched as their eyes met for the first time since the raid had begun. Her lips trembled, and in that moment, he saw something he'd never expected—guilt.

She wasn't fighting. She wasn't screaming. She wasn't begging them to stop.

She was just... watching.

"Mom? What's going on?" Hermes tried to ask, but his voice was muffled and distant. His body felt heavy, his limbs bound by the men's strong grip. His vision swam as they moved him toward the door.

The soldiers didn't harm her. They ignored her, their focus entirely on him. Hermes felt his stomach churn. Why wasn't she doing anything? Why wasn't she trying to stop them?

A cold realization dawned on him as they hauled him out of the house. His mother wasn't just scared. She wasn't a helpless victim caught in the middle of this. No... she'd made a choice.

"Please, Hermes... I'm so sorry..."

Her voice barely reached his ears, and when it did, it cut through him like a blade. Her words were muffled, barely audible above the chaos, but he heard them clearly. He heard the apology. The deep regret. But it didn't make sense. She wasn't the one fighting against this.

She wasn't the one trying to stop them.

And then, it hit him—the truth he had been too terrified to acknowledge.

She had called them.

The thought tore through him, but there was no time to process it. The armed men shoved him into a waiting vehicle, locking him down with restraints as they slammed the door shut.

"Take him to the facility," one of the soldiers said coldly, not sparing a second glance at his mother.

As the vehicle roared to life, Hermes struggled to sit up, his heart hammering in his chest. Through the tinted windows, he could still see his house—his home—fading into the distance.

But what hurt more than anything was the image of his mother, standing there, silent and apologetic. She hadn't even tried to stop them. She had let them take him.

Her eyes—full of fear, but with something darker lurking beneath the surface—haunted him as the world around him began to blur.

Hermes struggled one last time before he stilled, laying defeated in the back of this armoured vehicle.