The "Becoming Monsters" LitRPG setting was originally created by AiLoves, and is now managed by OtterlyMindblowing.
Content Warning: Blood, Violence, Mind control, Self-harm.
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Four years earlier
Katrina's phone buzzed on her pillowcase, falling to the floor with a heavy thud. Looking over to it, she groaned in frustration, but didn't bother picking it up at the moment; she was far too distracted trying to wrangle her hair into submission. Her bright, ginger hair was incredibly curly, and unmanageably voluminous. At the moment, she was sitting in front of her vanity mirror, an industrial grade brush in one hand and a pile of hair ties in the other.
She heavily preferred sleeping with hair tied back, but doing so required a solid half hour of annoying, painful brushing. It's not that she disliked her hair, she honestly loved its color, but she desperately wished she could find a product that would reduce how easily it mangled up.
After another ten minutes, once her hair was mostly in check, she finally kneeled down to pick up her phone. It had gone off a couple more times since hitting the floor; apparently her friends were trying to plan one last beach trip before the weather started turning cold. After checking her calendar, and the weather forecast, she started typing a response in the group chat.
Katrina:
I'm fine either weekend, but can we find a spot with lots of shade? Even with sunscreen, the sun will burn me alive if I'm not careful.
Memories of her last trip to the beach returned, and she unconsciously rubbed her shoulders as she thought about the horrible sunburn she'd gotten. Despite all the hassle, it was still worth it; she was really happy she'd managed to stay in touch with her college friends after they graduated. She'd heard too many stories of friend groups that drifted apart after leaving school; her parents basically didn't have friends, content to watch TV all day, and Katrina wanted better for herself.
She looked out the window, staring at her tiny corner of the Chicago skyline. She loved the night breeze, and happily left the window open all night long whenever she could. She also loved the noise of the city; it helped her sleep, and was an ever-present reminder that she was never quite alone. Growing up in the distant suburbs, she'd quickly developed a distaste for the overwhelming silence and lack of activity. She'd left for the city the instant she had an opportunity and had never looked back.
Katrina plugged in her phone, then set it on the nightstand and took one last trip through the house. She made sure the lights were off, locked the front door, and then stopped in the kitchen to grab a glass of water. She always kept one on her nightstand in case she got thirsty at night, and wasn't a fan of walking through the house in the dark.
She had almost left the kitchen when her body suddenly lurched forward. She fell to the ground, the glass shattering on impact, as pain surged through her. She had no idea what was happening, and panic set in immediately. She feared it might be a seizure, or possibly a heart attack, but she could barely think as her body flailed uncontrollably on the floor. In the chaos of the moment, she even thought she saw a flash of blue floating in the air, but it vanished as she kept crying out in pain. Her skin felt like it was on fire, and her entire body felt like it was stretching and snapping. She screamed out, desperately trying to grab something to steady herself, but recoiled when she saw her hands.
The lights in the kitchen were off, and she wasn't even wearing her glasses, yet she could see everything in perfect detail. The hands that tried to push her up weren't her own; they were deathly pale, and their nails were far too long. When she managed to crawl to her knees, bending over and panting in exertion, a curtain of unfamiliar hair fell in front of her. It was pitch black, and perfectly straight.
What's happening to me?!
Somehow, Katrina found the strength to stand up, but even that proved to disorient her. The apartment almost seemed smaller, the ground further away, but she didn't have the energy to try and figure out why. In fact, she felt completely and utterly drained. When had she last eaten? Based on how she felt at the moment, it was like she'd never eaten anything in her life, and she was ravenous.
Opening her fridge, she pulled out the second half of a sandwich she'd made earlier that day, and eagerly took a bite. Attempting to chew only served to further disorient her; her teeth felt wrong, somehow, like they had all switched places.
Her confusion over her teeth, however, was immediately replaced by another shock; the sandwich was repulsive. How? The ingredients were fresh, the fridge seemed to be working, yet she wanted nothing more than to spit the food into the garbage. She tested everything in her fridge, desperate to find something to fill her stomach, and everything she tried was as horrible as her sandwich. With her body screaming at her, desperate for some unknown food, she ran back to her bedroom.
She fell more than once, still swearing that her body had somehow grown, and managed to turn on the lights. She collapsed in front of her vanity, the chair skidding slightly as she did, and grabbed the edges of the mirror, hoping to find answers in her reflection.
But it wasn't there.
The mirror was completely empty, and when she pulled back in surprise, the chair behind her clearly moved in the reflection.
"What's going on?!" Katrina shouted, barely holding herself together. In a panic, she grabbed her phone and turned on the selfie camera. This time, an image appeared, and it terrified her.
The creature in the camera had ghostly pale skin, jet black hair, and blood red eyes. She stared into the crimson irises, almost getting lost in them, before realizing that they were glowing brightly. Without fully understanding it, she could tell this creature was dangerous, but worst of all, it was her.
Terrified, Katrina dropped her phone on the floor, and lost control of her body once more. She stumbled backwards, hoping to escape the beast she'd just seen, but failed to sense how close she was to the window. She tripped, tumbling over the edge and beginning the four-story fall to the pavement below. Time seemed to freeze as she stared at her apartment, tiny and contained in that little box, and she knew she was about to die.
Yet, time stayed frozen.
Except it didn't. She heard horrible noises from all over the city, cars crashing and people screaming, yet she stayed perfectly still. Time hadn't frozen, she had. Somehow, she was suspended in midair, her body floating on the night breeze.
Underneath her, another scream echoed out. Someone had burst out of her apartment building in a panic, and she watched him fall to his knees as he made it to the sidewalk. Some instinctual side of Katrina took hold, and she managed to float lower to the ground, eventually landing safely on her feet. She approached the man on the ground, still scrambling to get up, and saw that she recognized him. His name was Marco, he lived on the floor under hers, and she saw him frequently at the grocery store down the street.
Marco made it to his feet, and he grabbed Katrina's shoulders. "Please, you've got to help me! My wife, she... I don't know! I woke up and she had turned into some... some monster! I don't know what's going on, 911 isn't picking up, and I've been hallucinating this weird, blue box thing!"
Katrina gently placed her hands on Marco's arms, trying to calm him down. Before she could speak, however, a delicious smell filled her senses. It was the most glorious thing she'd ever experienced, yet she couldn't identify what it was. For some reason, it almost seemed like it was coming from Marco.
"Hey, it's gonna be alright, let's take a deep breath, okay?" Katrina said, staring into Marco's eyes.
When he stared back, something strange happened. He instantly took Katrina's advice; he took a deep breath, and his iron grip on her shoulder relaxed. "It's... going to be alright," he said, his words slow and methodic.
Katrina's eyes briefly moved off of Marco's and she kept looking for the source of the smell. Except, it wasn't just a smell. It was an idea, a purpose, a celebration. It was a beautiful symphony of perfection, an elusive dream that she was on the verge of discovering. The sensation grew louder, overpowering every thought in her head, and she suddenly knew exactly where it was coming from. She stared at Marco's neck, the source of everything, the origin of the most rapturous overture the world had ever created.
Whatever it was, it was trapped.
She looked back into Marco's eyes. "I can help, you just need to trust me, okay?"
Marco nodded, his voice quiet and distant. "You can help, I trust you..."
With a deep breath, Katrina ran her tongue over her teeth. Were they bigger? Two of them seemed unnaturally long, and felt strangely powerful. She wrapped a hand around Marco's head, pulling him close and exposing his neck. The song was right there, just underneath his skin. She just needed to free it, that would make everything right.
Opening wide, she sank her teeth into Marco's neck. They punctured deep, releasing a heavenly river of blood, and the symphony exploded in Katrina's head. Ambrosia passed over her lips, and her body sang with delight as she tasted the most delectable cuisine the gods had ever created. She drank deep, convinced she'd just unlocked the secret to life, the hidden truth that tied everything together.
Her ears rang with the most joyous melody she'd ever heard, and she was ecstatic that she'd been the one to free it. It was passionate, vivacious, and bombastic, and it was all hers. The drinking continued, and the melody began to slow. It became a romantic waltz, then a passionate sonata, and before long, a powerful, thrumming dirge. Nothing that Katrina had ever experienced came remotely close to the joy of this moment, and she was on the edge of her seat as she did everything in her power to savor every last note of this performance.
When the music ended, the deathly feeling in her stomach had somewhat abated. Her thoughts felt manageable again, and in a panic, she let go of Marco.
