Chapter Text
It had been a cloudy day too, not unlike the one on this strange planet, when Bill last saw his home planet with his own eyes. The eyes he was born with the first time. According to his sensors, it was far colder than he would be comfortable in, assuming he could still feel the chill in the same way. He couldn't.
It shouldn't bother him, really it shouldn't. Who enjoys feeling the sharp, biting cold? No, the heat is what he had loved once. The hot rocks of communal basking grounds, warm and full bellies, soft chatter. He tries his best to remember it, sometimes he pretends the frozen faces resting in their capsules are simply dozing under the midday sun, and that his presence among them is quietly tolerated like before.
More alerts flooded his head, forcing him to get his mind back to the task at hand. The hull of his dear friend was badly damaged, most of the ship's guns were non functioning, and he needed material to patch up the large holes and repair the weapons before they came. He peeked his head out of the hole and sniffed open mouthed at the unfamiliar green landscape, drawing in as much information as he could through his snout. Cold, moist, but the air was safe and would not harm what was left of his charges.
The force of the impact had another consequence, one more frightening than being stranded and vulnerable in this open alien meadow. Skuttlebutt, his dear friend, his only friend, had been speaking in an unfamiliar tone since they landed. No warmth, no love, just cold commands relayed to his mind or over her speakers. This was not the voice of the only friend who consoled him with soft words and recordings of old lullabies when he cried, bellowed like the beast he now was, caked in blood and frightened after the first few battles of this mission when the violence was still new to him. The hollow voice of not-Skuttlebutt stated that an emergency reset was needed. The chances of the previous personality setting resurfacing? Slim. Not a priority at this time.
Bill was alone. His friend was dead. He would die too, alone, and he wasn't sure if the idea was terrifying or no longer existing was appealing. Like everything in this horrible body, every feeling was either dulled, amplified, or conflicted by foreign impulses. He couldn't trust himself. The only thing he could trust was his orders.
He finished repairing one of the more vital sections when familiar alarms started blaring. An intruder. Bill tossed down his tools and not-Skuttlebutt sent him the coordinates of the lone demon. It was odd, the demons nearly always strike in large packs. A shiver ran up the his spine, what kind of cunning and fierce monster could this be to be bold enough to work on it's own?
The smell hit him before he could see the creature. It smelled of flesh, demons eat flesh so that is no surprise, but another musty strange scent he could not identify also radiated from it. Organic for sure. Some alien animal. Dead, not fresh, but not rotten either. It was eerie.
The squeak of glass sent a jolt throughout his body, the demon must be clawing at one of the capsules for the sleeping defenseless person inside. In an instant he felt himself slip from nervous child to angry beast, charging madly at the intruder that dare touch his people. No, his pack. He knocked the thing away from the capsule with a backhanded swipe of his heavy clawed hand, and it went flying across the corridor with a shriek.
The demon was small, but he had fought smaller. What was strange was the fiend seemed to be wearing clothing. Strange soft clothing, not the same color or texture as the fine dead-grass colored fluff on it's head, were the source of that musty undead smell. A piece of rubble smacked him in the nose and Bill snarled in surprise, the feral anger in him rising once more as he glared into the blue eyes of the defiant little monster armed with chunks of metal. It's harsh voice making sounds, it seemed like it was attempting to communicate, something he didn't think possible. A small signal in the corner of his vision he had been told about before but never had to use appeared, the ship's translator did indeed detect language and was attempting to make sense of it's foreign tongue, and an automated order to stand down flashed in his head. Bill pawed at the metal ground, scraping his hooved toes across the floor, impatient and uneasy with leaving this threat alive in his territory.
Smack. Another small part of his fallen friend was flung at his muzzle. This time he would not spare the demon his full force of claws, and he roared as he slammed his hands down. It was a quick demon, but Bill managed to snag it's fluffy layer of clothing on his talons, ripping it from it's body. Up close the scent was unmistakable.
The demon was wearing dried flesh.
Frightened and horrified, Bill's mind raced, thinking of all the nefarious plans of torture the little demon had planned for him, for his people. He was thankful when the beast took control again. The beast wasn't afraid of the tiny predator, he was a bigger one. The thing wielded a sword, and it clanked uselessly against Bill's armor, even without it the force wouldn't have come close to piercing his thick hide. It was weak..
He pounced, slamming the small body down and effortlessly pinning it to the floor with one hand. Language identified: Asgardian flashed in his head, new words now rushed through his mind.
"S-stay down, demon", he felt the strange language escape his throat, along with thin strands of spittle he never could completely prevent when speaking. "You have pursued me only to find death! And when I am through with you, you will welcome it!"
Before he could crush it's tiny little ribcage , something sent him crashing like a ragdoll down the corridor . What was it? He whimpered, his sensors were so jumbled, he could barely tell which way was up. Pain wrecked his body as he laid curled up on the floor, lapping tenderly at now exposed holes in his hand where cables of his armor had connected to his flesh moments before, feeling it begin to repair itself only added to the agony.
The scientists in charge used to tell him that the procedure dulled his reaction to all pain stimuli, not just temperature, that the pain he thought he felt was just him overreacting and panicking like the dumb beast he was. Bill could not bring himself to believe that. He believed in most of the foul things they said, but his pain WAS real.
They used to curse their luck, that of all the subjects, he survived. They lured Bill in with promises of helping the cause, just like the brave soldiers all the young ones idolized! They left out that his role was to provide data, the soul transferring technology was nearly always fatal, and when it didn't kill the pain would torture the subject mad. He was to be practice, a disposable test. They lied to him then blamed him for not dying as he was supposed to. Unprepared, unskilled, unworthy of receiving his sacrilegious and hideous new form of the most hated creature of Korbin's empire. The bodies were supposed to go to great warriors whose minds could handle the burden. Despite everything he begged to help, his family could not tolerate the shame upon seeing the mewling mess of a monster he had become and would not allow him to return as one of their own. Out of desperation the scientists had no choice but to entrust the monster-child with their lives as they fled their doomed planet. Further alterations had to be made to compensate for his lack of fighting experience, clouding his mind with the hated, bloodthirsty beast's primitive instincts he had come to both rely on and fear. Skuttlebutt had been vital in keeping them safe, she had been a friend, but she was gone.
By the time he attempted to rise to his feet, a seemingly endless number of demon bodies piled on him, knocking him back down. No amount of snarling or wriggling or panicked kicking would dislodge them for very long. They were smart and strong, keeping his limbs pinned, but he made sure they'd not have such an easy time gaining control of his jaws. He managed to maul a few arms and ankles, feeling something like grim satisfaction when he smelled what must have been fear mixed in with the scent of their blood and sweat. He didn't know demons felt fear, but then again he never met this breed of skin wearing fiend. They wrapped chains around his muzzle, clamping it shut. He heard the sound of the ship's phasers shooting the intruders and the remaining drones trying their best to drive them off, but they knew how to deal with the technology and soon the guns grew silent.
An imposing figure soon arrived, clad in gleaming armor and with a wild bush covering much of it's face, glaring fiercely at Bill, no fear in it's one visible eye. Only cold, intense scrutiny that somehow made him feel small. It picked up the smaller demon, spoke softly and sounded... concerned ? Demons don't concern themselves with the wellbeing of others.
These were not demons.
"Foul creature", it boomed, "you trespass on my land, you attack my son? My name is Odin, son of Bor, king of Asgard, and you will be shown no mercy for your crimes."
Bill felt like a child again. No orders from the ship, the beast submitting and resigned to it's fate in the presence of the stronger creatures, it was almost as if it was just Bill in Bill's head . Weak. Helpless. The exhausted cyborg did not struggle against the grip of his captors . What would become of his people? He failed, they would all die because of him. He is bad. He is weak. He deserved death, almost wanted it, he is a dirty and wretched thing, but his people did not deserve to suffer.
A flash of yellow movement caught Bill's eye. The child, he had something. He felt a bleating, pathetic sob build in him that he could not stop as he realized what the boy child had. His solider. His little cloth soldier. The last thing he owned from his previous life, the only thing they let him keep. The scientists sneered and mocked him for being so attached to a toy, his hulking frame cradling the tiny thing was a pathetic sight, but it was his. The only thing that was HIS. He did not want to die without it.
The only thing he could do was cry.