Chapter 09

Freyja was certain she wasn’t going nuts.

That much she knew, just as she knew her cat, Odin, had been taken over by some kind of alien parasite. She seemed to know a lot about the little shit, too. Something about a Hive and Spark and shapeshifting. It was right there, information on how to change her body, as natural as breathing. She tested it out by healing the bite wound on her arm. It stung, but sealed up quickly before the muscle filled back in under her skin.

“Oh, fuck,” the alien fleshbeast said.

He had a head, sure, but she wasn’t sure where the mouth was since the thing looked like a pair of giant muscle filled cat legs and fuzzy tail topped by a pile of agitated snakes wielding swords. He balanced himself with another set of long thin claw tipped limbs that grew out of the mass of tentacles somewhere. She wondered what sort of alien it was supposed to be and found the answer in the new memories she had: it was a combination of several different creatures the parasite had encountered during his long life.

Freyja leveled the shovel at the alien. “Odin, or should I call you...Fetter? Get the fuck out of my cat.”

They were in a stalemate. Both of them knew that.

She should be losing her mind but she wasn’t. Why? Neither of them knew. Maybe it was just because she had experienced enough shit as a kid that she didn’t want to put up with anything as an adult? Sure, none of that had involved aliens or shapeshifting, but still.

She didn’t have time for this crap.

The Old Man was finally dead.

She should be using this time to celebrate.

Maybe get a cake.

Like Hel am I gonna let some alien ruin my happy ending. I will turn myself into whatever the fuck I have to to kill this little shit and move on with my life, she thought to herself.

“Oh, fuck,” Fetter said again.

“Change back into a cat,” Freyja ordered again.

He hesitated a moment before shrinking into the shape she had come to recognize as Odin: gray fur, fucked up ears, scar filled face, and all. She didn’t jump as the cat’s missing eye regrew in the socket. The lid opened revealing a deep red iris instead of the pale gold of the other eye. He took in a deep breath as he stretched, like any normal cat, then sat on his haunches.

“We’re at an impasse,” Fetter said.

“No, you’re at a disadvantage,” she countered.

“How so? If you tell anyone about me they’ll think you’ve lost your mind. A talking cat? Really?” He scoffed.

“You and I both know I wouldn’t tell just anyone about this. You can read my mind, right? I can read your’s. I know why you’re here and what you’re up to. I also know about Follower.”

Fetter got on his feet and arched his back with a hiss.

Freyja planted the head of the shovel in the dirt in front of her like a sword, then leaned on the crossbar of the handle. “I know your heart’s not in this, Fetter.”

It was right there. Plain as day. The little brainworm, or whatever the fuck he was, was mourning his last Host. He had half resigned himself to just die if he failed to bite her earlier. Now, he had the problem of her not only putting up a fight but knowing how his powers worked. She could feel him poking around in her head the same way she was able to prod his memories. Like the prickly tongue of a cat against skin.

Not really painful but unique, that was for sure.

He was angry with his bosses because Follower had died and now he was confronted by the idea that a Spark might not go nuts. He had no idea a Spark could actually have an understanding of how to use the same powers he had and fight back with them. Freyja readied herself in the event she needed to unleash her new powers.

If this Spark is stable does that mean Follower could have lived? They lied about this Host. How many other lies did they tell me? Fetter wondered.

The thoughts weren’t what Freyja expected to hear, but she welcomed them. She could work with them for sure.

“They lied to you about your new Host, your target, and a Spark’s insanity, so it makes sense they lied about Follower needing to die. Have you ever actually seen a Host after one of you has left them?” Freyja asked.

“I...yes...they have a seizure and...but...it’s a mercy to...before that happens...”

“It’s a mercy to kill them either way?”

Fetter winced. “You’re trying to manipulate me. It won’t work. I’m centuries old and stronger than you know, human.”

“You know my name, Fetter. Member of the Hive.”

She felt a pang of shame across the Link every time she said his name. Not shame on her part, no. Fetter was ashamed she knew his name at all. Names were sacred. Other members of the Hive could know someone’s True Name, but anyone outside it was prohibited.

“Listening to my thoughts will drive you insane,” he warned.

“I don’t think that’s true and I don’t give a fuck at this point,” she replied before leaning down. “And I don’t think you believe it either.”

“You’ll try to stop our invasion,” he said flatly.

Freyja stood up and snorted. “I won’t have to. Your plan sucks.”

“What?”

“Come with me. You already know what’s in the Armory, right?”

“You’re inviting me into your stronghold?”

Freyja poked around some more of his memories.

“Mass. It’s not a huge factor in your powers but usually the Host with the most has the advantage in a fight, right? I’m bigger than you. If you and I fight, I win. Simple. Come inside before the neighbors think I actually have lost my mind talking to my cat.”

She leaned the shovel up next to the door as she went into the building, leaving the door open for the not-cat to follow. Fetter’s distaste for being the follower crept up her spine as the creature entered the Armory. She shut the door behind him.

“You want some guns? Take your pick.”

He stopped walking and chirped at her like Odin had then shook his head. “What?”

Somehow, she didn’t find it strange to see a cat talking. She chalked that up to having watched a lot of anime. That or having a load of memories from the brainworm riding in the cat rolling around in her head. This sort of thing wasn't impossible to him.

“I said you want some guns? Take however many you want. Arm up your little friends. Yes, I am going to fight like Hel for my planet, but you’re gonna lose even without me doing that.”

“Why is that?”

She leaned down in a kneel toward him. “Because you were dumb enough to follow me in here.”

Fetter didn’t have time to react. Shapeshifting felt, weirdly, normal. One moment Freyja was herself, human, the next her tank top was shredded as she surrounded the cat as a sphere of sharp metal spikes that grew from her upper body. She wasn’t even sure where her face was, or if she had one, but she could still perceive the terrified cat in her maw. She could feel his fear at being on the other end of these powers in this way for once. Sure he had sparred other members of the Hive but hadn’t felt this sort of fear. Mixed in with his terror was shame for falling into such an obvious trap, but also...resignation and...depression.

It was lost.

It was over.

There was no point in him trying to fight.

He wanted her to kill him.

Freyja backed off, shifting back to her human form. Her shirt was gone but it wasn’t like she cared if a cat saw her topless, even if he wasn’t really a cat anymore.

“You want to die, so you get to live.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s the worst punishment I can think of.”

Freyja stretched her arms before plucking the remaining bits of her shirt from her waistband and walking to her sleeping area to dig around for a new shirt. She slipped on one of the over-sized t-shirts she had picked up at the thrift store then took her phone out of her pocket to sit it in her backpack.

“You must kill me,” Fetter said from where he sat.

“Why the fuck do you want to die so bad, Fetter?”

“Allowing a Spark to know my name is enough reason for me to deserve death. I have failed my mission and my life is forfeit. I do not deserve to live. Please. Kill me.”

Freyja rolled her eyes. “The only thing you failed at was eating me. You can still do the rest of your mission.”

“If anyone of the Hive discovers you know my name, they will kill me, not to mention you’re part of the Link.”

She sat down on the rolling office chair next to her air mattress then leaned forward again. Fetter stared at her, trying to pick out what she was thinking. She felt him poking around her thoughts just before cutting him off completely. This made him jump back a little, like a cat seeing a new bug for the first time.

“There, no Link. Pretty sure either of us can turn it back on if we want, though. At least based on what I saw in your head, but it’s not your head, you don’t actually have one. As for your name, I’ll only call you ‘Odin’ so it won’t be a problem. No one has to know I learned your True Name. Take all the guns you want.”

“You’re not going to kill me?”

She huffed. “Like I said, letting you live is the worst thing I can think to do to you.”

Fett-no, Odin. She had to think of him as ‘Odin.’ It wasn’t much but it was the only respect Freyja particularly wanted to show the little brainworm. The shame she had felt from him about her knowing his True Name outweighed almost everything else. The little shit’s spirit had been crushed. Not to mention, if she marked him for death from his own kind he wouldn’t be punished enough for, basically, killing her cat and then trying to eat her.

“I will not thank you for any of this,” Odin said before walking to the door and stopping. He looked up at the knob for a moment. Then, he got on his hind legs and hopped up a few times, batting at the handle. It was cute, despite the fact that he was a man-eating shapeshifting monster from beyond the stars.

“Need some help with that?”

“No, I got it,” Odin replied while grabbing hold of the knob with both paws and promptly slipping off onto the concrete floor.

“Sure about that?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you just change shape so you have thumbs?”

Odin stopped jumping. “I don’t deserve to shapeshift.”

She got up, walked to the door, and opened it. Odin blinked at her before silently slipping through the gap. She watched him slink across the yard toward the house, find a shadow from one of the overgrown bushes ruining the building’s foundation, and collapse in the dirt in a heap.

Okay, that guy’s way more depressed than I thought.