I should run, but. . .

I grit my bloodied teeth and threw myself forward, dodging the creature's leap and gathering up the fallen knife.

I was afraid, and I wanted to run away. I didn't want to be hurt, and I didn't want to die. But, more than that, I didn't want to keep running. I hated running, being pushed away from what I wanted or from what I had. It was a detestable thing, running, even when it was wise.

I pivoted as the creature landed and drove the knife at it's back. My two handed grip and momentum, with the full weight of my body behind it, drove the knife through the layers of padded armor and into its side. I drove it to the hilt, but was struck by its turning backhand. The wound hadn't slowed it, or hurt it.

I stood up from where I had fallen, feeling a piece of tooth rattling around in my blood-filled mouth. The impact of the stab had jostled the knife from my hand, and the backhand had guaranteed it. My hands were quivering and shaking, partially from the impact and partially from the pain.

I wanted to run.

But I would fight instead.

A tiny candle-flame of resolution lit in me, and with it came a feeling of strength. My hands shook a little less as the creature came at me, and I stepped towards it. It couldn't leap at me without some distance, and so I advanced. My hands curled into claws as I ducked a heavy blow. It's motion overbalanced it, exposing it's back, and I grabbed the protruding hilt of my knife. I got yanked along with it as the creature turned to strike at me again. I held on tight, getting pulled to it's rear, and screamed out my pain and frustration.

Something surged from me, an energy unlike that of the demon. It came from it, certainly; I had just been a merchant's son, but it wasn't something of it. I had heard of people who could use this power; real adventurers, wise sages, a hero, and their counterpoints. Magic, spells, sorceries. I had done uncanny things before, by accident, in my escape from my hometown.

And again, here.

Lightning shot through the blade of the dagger, burning and blasting the innards of the creature, it shook and quivered and crumpled. The air filled with the acrid stench of burning flesh, and I staged back with my blackened dagger in hand; it was a poor conduit for power. I fell to my knees, grasping my stomach as an overwhelming pain shot through it. My skin had gone chalk white and black veins stood out prominently on my arms. horns had sprouted on my head, inching into my peripheral vision, and I could see strands of silver hair hanging in front of my face. Black talons poked through my shirt, digging into my sides, and I pulled my hands away from my stomach. I could see them clearly, despite the darkness.

How much energy did that magic take? How much did I need to feed to use it with any regularity?

How many of these creatures did the witch have? How many could I face?

Could I win?

I grit my teeth against the pain, reaching up to wipe the blood from my mouth. I spat out a glob of blood and tooth fragments, and froze as I touched my lips. They were healed; most of my aches had disappeared the moment I transformed fully. That had cost me more energy, I realized, and I came to another realization shortly after.

I needed more control over this form. And everything else, but especially my 'true' form. It took up too much energy and I didn't relish finding out what happened when I ran out.