"Octavio Ramos jr -The Master" - читать интересную книгу автора (Ramos Octavio Jr)

THE MASTER by Octavio Ramos Jr.

Published in Classic Pulp Fiction Stories #78

For as long as memory serves I have dwelled with man. At first I was pursued and hunted, either as
game or as a sacred trophy won at the end of a long crusade. They came upon their mounts, covered
with metal and sporting their wicked piercing sticks, but they were no match for me. With each
successive form I embodied, I used all manner of violence against them: fire, ice, scales, the burning flesh,
and even sortilege. They left their wealth and accouterments behind for my enjoyment, and for a time I
even took the guise of a woman and partook of their flesh.

Do not misjudge me. I had grown bored. It is that simple. Indeed, I was simply bored.

Death to me had become commonplace. The gravy grew thick in my claws, the screams dampened my
senses. Life, once so precious to me, became a commodity to trade or bestow upon the pitiful. So I took
to the winds, leaving my island home, and at length came to a place where I was at last left in peace.

Oh, upon a long dark moon would come a maiden seeking council or an artist soliciting a pose for
whatever media he or she was a master, but for the most part I was allowed to be at ease with myself.
With this time my many wounds healed and even my magic returned. I grew fat with nourishment, at
length growing so massive that the cavernтАЩs entrance became a silken prison.

Then one morning everything changed. A miracle appeared before me-a wondrous thing of beauty. And
it was disguised as a man.

At dawn the world was glistening, and having wakened from a long slumber, I poked an eye out of the
cave and gazed upon the ocean. These actions in and of themselves held no significance. What did matter
was a solitary change in the environment.

In a barren, grass-laden field stood a man. He was thin, almost gaunt, yet his frame was coated with
rippling brawn. A pair of eyes squinted at the morning sun and long tresses of black hair hung as low as
the bottom half of his back. He wore a peasantтАЩs shirt and pants but stood as proud as a king.

Then he moved.

Amber flesh glistened as muscles tore through the thick air. He launched an arm forward, his hand balled
in a fist, the thumb tucked away. From here he withdrew, forcing the other arm to come into an arch, as
though he parried a blow. At the same time, he raised a knee, and when he was done feigning a blocking
maneuver, he thrust forward with his leg, the weight falling naturally to his remaining leg. The snapping
motion sent insects scurrying through the grass.

I could not help it. I laughed. Or rather, I roared. My noise frightened the youth, and soon afterwards he
was gone.

The scene had stirred emotions long ago suppressed. I wished to be once again among men. Harnessing
my newly awakened magic and my fat reserves. I fashioned a silken cocoon about my body. Hours later
I emerged as a human female.

The first village I came upon was fresh and exciting. Unlike the communities of my island home, this place
held no fetor or stink. Instead, traders bargained for silk, flowers, and food. Men and women bowed in