Royal Alpha Roar.
It takes me no more than ten minutes to rip through the chains forged from lithium and mercury. My claws carved a jagged hole in the wall, wide enough for a man to pass through. Blood smears my wrists, it is of the force I’ve exerted to destroy the bindings I willingly placed on myself. The marks I’ve left—deep gouges in the rock and earth—stand as proof of my fury, of my refusal to bow to this curse.
Like every other full moon since the day my father died, I’m dragged back into the memory. The memory of how the attack unfolded, of how I stood there, powerless, watching. A blade thrust into his chest, a hand reaching in to pull out his beating heart, red and pulsing in the villain’s palm.
I still hear the sounds: my father’s groans, the wet, rhythmic beat of his heart
