Chapter Text
It was fine so long as Knuckles was never truly scared.
He was an echidna warrior. Trained since birth and facing trials since childhood, there was no foe he couldn’t fight. He was strong and his heart was mighty, fear didn’t find him easily. Especially not here on Earth, where it was so unusually safe. Why should he ever have to fear? It’d been so long since he’d rested easy, Knuckles forgot that fear could find you in your sleep.
Later, he wouldn’t even remember what he dreamed. To him, the nightmare was waking to see the glove of his left hand coming apart.
For a moment, he was that child in the arena again, watching his spurs melt into his claws, and horrified at losing them forever. He jerked upright and recognized familiar blankets and the merry frame of a bed shaped like a red truck. With this awareness came the memory that this was only temporary, his spurs would go back to normal eventually. But then came a new horror. He was at House Wachowski and he was changing.
His brothers, usually safely nearby, were now dangerously close. He tried to run, to put distance between them. If he’d been thinking clearly he might have realized that blasting through the ceiling was only guaranteed to wake them.
He meant to jump to the ground but his feet fumbled inside shrinking shoes and he landed on the grass wearing only one of them. He scrambled across the lawn, clumsy as his limbs changed shape. And then there was the pain. His bones rippled, lengthened, shortened, twisted and split. There was a pop as the seams of his glove came undone and claws cut through the ground. The burning in his other hand was lessening only because the bones had finished fusing. It was little more than a grasping mallet now. He smashed it into the grass and forced himself across the earth. One foot felt fine, the other screamed in pain, crushed inside the sturdy boot.
Knuckles’ body was changing faster then. His awareness altered along with his form. He only knew that he had to get away. From what? He couldn’t remember. Away! Away! He couldn’t be here! Here was pain and fear.
Tears stung his eyes as the quills on his head hardened and lengthened. It felt like nails were being driven into his skull. Shouts filtered out of the house and he struggled across the lawn.
Crack! He flinched from the sound, but it was only his remaining shoe. The shredded leather fell away. Sensation gushed from the freed limb.
His jaw ached as his teeth shifted, back teeth grinding together as his canines lengthened. The lower ones grew so fast, he tasted metal. His mouth flopped open. He wouldn’t be able to close it again. His teeth were made to look fierce and tear flesh, not fit nicely in a mouth. Bloodied drool dribbled freely from his parted lips.
His clumsy movements became more sure as the rippling convulsion of limbs finished turning into something else. Something not-echidna. A toy for scientists. Twisted and altered again and again to make him more exotic, more exciting. A spectacle for spectators. All it took was a drop of mortal terror. The fear that he might be killed unlocked a new level of play: Berserk Mode. The beast of the arena.