"Shifting Bonds: A Tale of Survival in the Ruined City"
0 Points
0
The pain was sharper than a hunter’s bullet, white-hot and spreading up my side, radiating through every black-furred muscle. My paws slipped in the dust as I tried to run, faster, until the world blurred with wind and tearing agony. The city’s crumbled edge was close, if I could just make it…
But I couldn’t. Something was wrong—fangs of pain in my ribs and my front leg dangling useless. I tasted metal. I skidded, black spots flickering even in my own fur, and collapsed in the shade between broken columns.
The cheetah within me howled. But I couldn’t let go, couldn’t shift back into my human skin. Not yet. The dangers prowling this sector would sniff out a weakened boy, but a dying wildcat might pass unnoticed. Maybe.
I forced every breath. Blood leaked from my side, matting the glossy dark coat that marked me and only me. I was always the fastest, the one to scout, to lead the others from danger. Now I was prey.
Time stuttered. Distantly, I heard metal feet scraping concrete—scavenger drones, whirring for scraps. If they found me…
But then another sound layered over—soft, shuffling, cautious but lighter than drones. A bird’s chirrup. A whiff of fox musk. Something familiar coiled hope inside me.
"Jayen?" The chirrup again, and then a warm feathery wing swept over my back. Halima.
She shifted, gold eyes peering from her sparrow face. "He's here. Get the kit!"
Roux, the red fox, darted out, her brush of a tail flicking nervously. She clamped her jaws on my scruff, pulling me gently. Halima scooted under my wounded shoulder, helping to lift me. They worked fast, practiced—finding the folds in space where our shared secret made us more than human, the blurred border where fur met skin, wing met hand.
The agony nearly drove me under, but they chattered reassurance—Halima preening my ear, Roux humming a tune only we three knew.
"Almost there," Roux whispered, shifting into girl-shape long enough to press a bandage against my bleeding side. She laughed, shaky but real. "Only you would race a drone on a scouting run."
I coughed, tried to retort, but it came out as a growl. Halima ruffled her feathers soothingly. "Rest, Jayen. We've got you."
They carried me—dragged, really—under the city’s battered bones to our hideout. There, Halima pressed her warm body tight against my side. Roux fussed with antiseptic spray, her fingers glowing with the greenlight of healing nanotech we’d gathered from our fallen enemies.
The pain dulled, instead yielding to a warm rush of gratitude. The urge to run had always driven me, but this—being stilled by the strength of my friends, their paws and wings and hands the only thing tethering me to life—this was something I’d never understood before.
As the delirium faded, my friends curled around me—one sparrow, one fox, and me, the black cheetah—our breath syncing in the low light. For a while, the city’s dangers faded and all that mattered was this wild, precious bond: spirit and body, wounded but unbroken, together.
This story was generated by user kade with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Write me a story about a person and his friends who can turn into their spirit animals with him being a black cheetah and being badly hurt and helped by his friends from his pov
Response: The pain was sharper than a hunter’s bullet, white-hot and spreading up my side, radiating through every black-furred muscle. My paws slipped in the dust as I tried to run, faster, until the world blurred with wind and tearing agony. The city’s crumbled edge was close, if I could just make it… But I couldn’t. Something was wrong—fangs of pain in my ribs and my front leg dangling useless. I tasted metal. I skidded, black spots flickering even in my own fur, and collapsed in the shade between broken columns. The cheetah within me howled. But I couldn’t let go, couldn’t shift back into my human skin. Not yet. The dangers prowling this sector would sniff out a weakened boy, but a dying wildcat might pass unnoticed. Maybe. I forced every breath. Blood leaked from my side, matting the glossy dark coat that marked me and only me. I was always the fastest, the one to scout, to lead the others from danger. Now I was prey. Time stuttered. Distantly, I heard metal feet scraping concrete—scavenger drones, whirring for scraps. If they found me… But then another sound layered over—soft, shuffling, cautious but lighter than drones. A bird’s chirrup. A whiff of fox musk. Something familiar coiled hope inside me. "Jayen?" The chirrup again, and then a warm feathery wing swept over my back. Halima. She shifted, gold eyes peering from her sparrow face. "He's here. Get the kit!" Roux, the red fox, darted out, her brush of a tail flicking nervously. She clamped her jaws on my scruff, pulling me gently. Halima scooted under my wounded shoulder, helping to lift me. They worked fast, practiced—finding the folds in space where our shared secret made us more than human, the blurred border where fur met skin, wing met hand. The agony nearly drove me under, but they chattered reassurance—Halima preening my ear, Roux humming a tune only we three knew. "Almost there," Roux whispered, shifting into girl-shape long enough to press a bandage against my bleeding side. She laughed, shaky but real. "Only you would race a drone on a scouting run." I coughed, tried to retort, but it came out as a growl. Halima ruffled her feathers soothingly. "Rest, Jayen. We've got you." They carried me—dragged, really—under the city’s battered bones to our hideout. There, Halima pressed her warm body tight against my side. Roux fussed with antiseptic spray, her fingers glowing with the greenlight of healing nanotech we’d gathered from our fallen enemies. The pain dulled, instead yielding to a warm rush of gratitude. The urge to run had always driven me, but this—being stilled by the strength of my friends, their paws and wings and hands the only thing tethering me to life—this was something I’d never understood before. As the delirium faded, my friends curled around me—one sparrow, one fox, and me, the black cheetah—our breath syncing in the low light. For a while, the city’s dangers faded and all that mattered was this wild, precious bond: spirit and body, wounded but unbroken, together.
Post your own comment or use AI: