Fall was coming to Miami, and there was a slight chill to the night air as the stranger stepped around the corner of Alton road and First street, and stopped to peer in speculation at the building his footsteps had led him to. He stared up at the dark marble facade, noticing the letters etched deep into the stone above the door, spelling the word OBSIDIAN in perfect macabre beauty. It was a foreboding place, and the stranger smiled. It was to his liking. His journey had ended.

As we walked through the doors of the night club he barely took notice of the interior, with a bar along the left hand wall, a lounge area filled with plush red couches along the right, a stage at the far end, and a well crowded dance floor in the middle. No, instead his eyes were riveted to the dark haired, pale skinned man in the long blood red cloak moving toward him from across the room. Their eyes locked, and the red cloaked man gestured to the lounge area, indicating that the stranger should have a seat.

"I knew you were coming," the man said, as he settled onto one of the red couches, carefully tucking the end of his long cloak underneath him. The corners of his mouth lifted slightly as he stared in open fascination at the stranger, seeing his yellow cat's eyes, slightly more slanted than any human eyes should be, and the long fingernails with sharp retractable claws hidden beneath them. "Let us waste no time," he continued. "Who are you, my friend, and what is your story?"

The stranger gracefully arranged himself on the couch opposite the man in the red cloak. ""How can I be your friend if you don't know who I am?" he asked.

"Everyone here is my friend."

"Well if everyone is your friend, then your friendship doesn't mean very much, now does it? And how do you know I have a story to tell?"

To some, the remark might have caused an angry response, but the red cloaked man only smiled at the strange cat-like being. "Everyone at Obsidian has a secret, and everyone has a story." As he smiled, the ends of his lips parted, revealing sharp fangs.

The stranger settled back in his seat and carefully studied the ends of his long black claws, bringing them out and then slowly retracting them, as if to warn the man across from him that he, too, could be dangerous.

In the end, he decided to play along. "My past is very bloody and I take no pride in the telling of it." He paused for a moment before resuming.

"My name is Prysm, and my story begins in Bangkok, Thailand."

"I was 24, a musician, basically one step above homeless with no job, no money and no future. I was living in Chicago at the time, playing in whatever band I could and barely making ends meat. The thought of a day job drove me insane. The boredom finally got to me, and it gave way to restlessness as I struggled with the desire to find something more in life, something adventurous and dangerous and exciting.

"Haha. I had no idea just how dangerous my life was about to become.

"I had come across some interesting literature on the Hindu culture in Thailand, and for some reason Bangkok seemed to me the most mysterious and, I admit, dark and dangerous, place on earth. Out of desperation, I sold my music equipment and everything of value that I owned and bought a plane ticket to the city that called out to all of my darkest desires. It wasn't the smartest move I could have made because two days after I arrived I found myself living off the streets with no money and no one I could turn to for help.

"I was one day wandering the streets of the black market, ragged and malnourished. It was the day of the great Nagus festival, and the market was flooded with snake charmers, cult worshipers, and other exotic and wondrous people. Amazed, I walked around the crowded streets, taking in the colorful costumes, listening to the melodic chanting, and basking in the strange but fascinating world I had stumbled upon. For a moment I forgot that I was a poor starving peasant who couldn't understand a word of what anyone was saying. I had found danger and excitement, and for the time being, I was content.

"Turning a corner, my blood turned to ice and I froze with fear as a huge black panther leapt out of the shadows and came thundering towards me, teeth glistening and claws bared. I choked back a scream and found myself unable to run, unable to breath as the monstrous beast roared into me, knocking me to the ground and driving the last ounce of breath from my lungs.

'Vaishnavaa!' A voice cried, and I saw a tall bearded man in red and orange robes break from the crowd. At the sound of the man's voice, the panther immediately turned and went to him, much like a loyal dog would go to his master. 'And what have you found, there?' The bearded man asked his great hulking cat.

"Ecstatic at hearing English spoken for the first time since I had landed in Bangkok, I called to the robed man. 'Please, can you help me? I have no food and nowhere to go, no money. I have no way of getting home. I will do anything, any kind of work.'

"The man walked over to me as I got up from where the panther had pinned me to the ground. 'I am Sandama Sanat, high priest to Sri Paantada, the feline God. Who are you, son?'

"I told him my name. It matters not what I was called then.

'Do you know what today is?' The priest asked. 'It is the day of Nagus, the one day of the year that Paantada sends his priests out to find new disciples to worship the feline God.'

"I wasn't very knowledgeable at the time about Hindu religion, but the strange feline God piqued my interest. 'What does being a disciple of Paantada entail?' I asked.

"Sandama peered at me. Vaishnavaa, the panther, seemed to have settled down, for he was lying by the priest's side, licking his paws.

'The followers of Paantada are strong men and woman devoted to the feline God. The disciples go through several months of training, during which they must learn the ways of Paantada and are given his blood to drink. When they have reached spiritual enlightenment, they are rewarded by being granted the gift of shapechanging.'

'Shapechanging?' I asked, in disbelief.

'Yes, Sandama confirmed, 'The priests of Paantada can change into cats. Black panthers like Vaishnavaa, easily capable of tearing a man from limb to limb with the slightest of ease.' Sandama smiled at that thought, a thin crooked-toothed smile that caused shivers to run down my spine.

'And how do the disciples know when they have reached spiritual enlightenment?, I asked, spellbound.

"When they have finished training, the disciples are placed in a chamber with Vaisnavaa and a fight to the death occurs. If they manage to transform into feline form before Vaishnavaa tears them apart, they survive and become a priest. If not...' and here Sandama trailed off, 'well we consider the ones who don't a sacrifice to the feline God.' He smiled that chill smile again.

"I was fascinated. Just the thought of turning into a powerful beast like Vaishnaava appealed to me in very many ways.

'The disciples of course live in our temple during the time they are in training. I can take you there, if you like. We need young, strong men like you to uphold and maintain the glory of the feline God.'

"I was starving, homeless, and without a cent. What other choice did I have but to follow the priest?

"I did not know what horror I was condemning myself to.

"Temple was putting it nicely. Pantaada's shrine was more like a prision. The disciples were kept in filthy holding cells infested with rats and insects. We were fed moldy, stale bread and water, and crammed together like maggots. Disease and filth ran rampant and many disciples died each day. On the second day I was dragged from my cell by a priest in dirty white robes and taken to the 'teaching room' where I was to learn about the glory of Paantada. While a priest read to me words of worship and praise for the feline God, another filled a scum incrusted syringe with a blood red liquid.

'What is that?, I asked, horrified as the priest grabbed me by the shoulder and shoved me down on the cold cement floor.

"The blood of the God,' the priest replied, forcing my hands behind my back and reading the needle for the injection. 'Do not struggle.'

"I screamed and fought him, but I was too weak from malnourishment to do any good. He plunged the needle into my arm and I howled in pain as the red hot liquid seared through my veins, burning.' In an instant it was over and I lay on the floor, unable to get up without help. The priest shoved a of cup foul smelling liquid to my lips and threw my head back, pouring the substance down my throat and forcing me to drink. I stuttered and choaked, coughing up the liquid as fast as the priest could pour it down. When the cup was empty, the priest let go of me and my head fell back to the floor as a dizziness washed over me, making me nauseous. My lips and tongue were numb, and drool poured from my mouth. The priest just laughed as he ordered someone to drag me back to my cell.

"Every day for two months they injected the bloody liquid into my veins and poured the foul brew down my throat. Every day I fought, but every day I grew weaker and my will slowly began to subside along with my strength.

"One day the priest was careless with the liquid and spilled it down my face instead of pouring it into my mouth. Immediately my entire face started to tingle and then went completely numb. The clumsy priest cursed aloud. 'One missed dose won't matter,' he said to me. 'You will die tomorrow anyway. Tomorrow you face Vaishnavaa.' He sneered.

"And he kicked me so hard that I blacked out.

"Upon awaking I found myself back in my cell, weak and numb, but more aware than I had been since had entered the temple. I heard screaming, and I looked up to see a man being dragged down the aisleway toward my cell. He was a ragged mess of exposed bone and muscle, and a he left a trail of blood in his wake. I was amazed that he could even scream at all, in the condition that he was in. With the mutilated man's screams reverberating through my ears, I shrunk to the back of the cell as the door was flung open and the half dead thing that had once been a man was thrown inside. Eventually, the screams gave way to horse gasps.

"In revulsion I crept up to the man. 'Who did this to you?, I asked.

He could barely squeak out an answer. 'Vaishnavaa.'

'The panther?'

"The man was clearly dying. His speech was slow and broken. 'He... doesn't always eat... the people who are thrown... in... with him. Sometimes... he leaves them torn apart. And the priests... drag them to their cells... to die. No one has ever... transformed before. The disciples... are slaughtered... they are injected... with feline hormones... and blood... and forced to drink... drugs... that sedate them and... weaken them. Then they are given... to Vaishnaava... a sacrifice to the feline God. '

"I thought of the blood red liquid that the priests injected into the veins of the disciples. 'But why bother to drug us and read to us and give us hormone injections? Why don't they just throw us to the panther to begin with?'

'The priests believe... that one day their God will... walk the earth... in human form. They search for... the one. The one who can... change into... a feline. It was foretold... that they must inject... the disciples with... what they call... the blood of Paantada. It is... a mixture of hormones... blood, urine... and other bodily fluids... taken from the panther. Look... at what it does to you.'

'What it does to me?'

'Yes,' the dying man rasped, 'Your eyes have... changed. They are yellow. And... look at your hands.'

"I looked down and noticed strange claws below my fingernails. Curious, I thought of pushing them outwards and they came out, like the claws of a cat. I wondered why I hadn't noticed them before.

'The drugs,' wheezed the dying man, 'They have... kept you unaware, and groggy. So that... you don't fight the priests.'

"Horrified, I rose to my feet. 'How can they slaughter innocent people like this? I looked around at the hundreds of disciples crammed into their nasty little cells. And a thought hit me. 'I need to get out out of here. Tomorrow I will be thrown to Vaishnaava.'

"But the other man didn't hear me. He had lapsed into silence. In terror, I forced my eyes away from his bloody form as he lay dying.

Helpless, I wondered what the morrow would bring.

"There was no way to tell night from day in the temple. No sunlight was allowed inside and there were no windows to the outside world. The passing of time was marked by the daily coming of the priests to shove food into our cells and to drag us off to be injected and drugged. The next day, however, instead of being dragged off by a white robe priest, Sandama himself, in his brilliant red and orange garb came for me.

'It is time for you to prove yourself worthy of becoming a priest,' he said, opening my cell door.

"I spat at him in disgust. 'You lie,' I said. 'No one has ever won against Vaishnaava. That is a story the priests tell the disciples to gain their allegiance. It is a cover up for the horrific sacrifices you make in the name of the feline God. You've never undergone the training of the disciples. You don't have the yellow eyes, or the claws. I don't know how you got to be who you are, but I don't want anything to do with your viscous cult.'

"Sandama only gave me his cruel smile. 'It saddens me to hear you say such cruel things about our God. I had high hopes for you, boy. Embrace Paantada or not. Either way, you will die.' And with that he backhanded me across the face, sending me sprawling to the floor. From somewhere he produced a cup of the drugged liquid I had been forced to injest many times before, and taking my head in his hands he poured it down my lips.

"Listless and groggy, he drug me from my cell and down the aisle, to a part of the temple where I had never been before. He paused at a barred gate and pulled a lever that was sticking out of the wall. The gate rose, and with a laugh, Sandama threw me into the arena on the other side. As the gate came down behind me, locking me in, I could still hear his cruel laughter.

"The floor of the arena was covered in sand, and there I lay, content to just give up and die there on the spot. For many minutes I was left there alone in silence. But suddenly, out of the darkness, the great lurking black form of Vaishnaava sprang forth, snarling, hungry, and thirsty for blood.

"Slowly, he advance on me from across the arena and my heart quickened as I felt adrenaline rush through my body. Everything in me was suddenly pulsing with the desire to live, the desire to fight, the desire to be free. Every second brought the panther one step closer to me and I was completely defenseless against his razor sharp fangs and his enormous claws, which made the ones on my hands look microscopic in comparison.

'No,' I said, thinking of the bloody and ragged man who had been thrown into my cell the day before. 'I can't die like this. Someone needs to stop this madness. These people shouldn't have to die this way.'

"I reached out then, to Paantada, or whatever God was willing to listen to my prayers. And as Vaishnaava made his final move on me, I changed. It happened so quickly that as first I wasn't sure what exactly had transpired, but the panther was leaping through the air and I met his attack with one of my own.

"As the panther lunged at me in the air and tore at my throat with his teeth, I let my body slam into his, throwing him off balance with the sudden change in momentum. He hesitated for an instant and that was all it took for me to latch onto the soft tissue on the underside of his throat and tear it out, blood and gore spraying all over my face. Vaishnaava let out a painful howl, and fell to his side, where he was still. I looked down at the bloody corpse, and a feeling of great power surged through my feline form.

"Horrified gasps filled the air. The gate to the arena was being opened and the priests came pouring in, chaos and pandemonium reigning supreme.

'He has come,' Sandama declared, kneeling down in the sand before me. 'Paantada is made flesh.' And suddenly all around me there was silence as the priests knelt in prayer.

"Maddened by their insanity, I threw myself at Sandama, grabbing onto his throat and ripping it out as I had done with Vaishnaava. His body convulsed, and fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. The sad part is that none of the priests ran from me after I had killed their leader. In their minds, I was a God, and if my will was to kill them, then they would gladly die. They did die, every one of them, in recompense for the hundreds of disciples they had slaughtered in the name of their feline God.

"When the bloody task was done, I left the temple, making sure to unlock the cells, but leaving the disciples to come out of their drug induced haze by themselves and make their own way to freedom.

"I raided the priest's quarters and found enough money to buy passage back to the United States. I no longer thought of Bangkok as wondrous and mysterious, but as a dark nightmare. Shortly thereafter, I took the name Prysm, the name by which I am now known.

"I found that could change quite easily from feline form to human form and back again at will. But I was no longer the same person that I was when I first arrived in Thailand. The claws and the yellow eyes marked me as an outsider and I knew I would never be welcomed in society again. And so I would up here. It seems that you cater to the, eh, unusual, shall we say."

Finished with his tale, the stranger stood and stretched his long legs.

The red cloaked man stood with him. "Yes, my friend," he said, "all are welcome here. You may call me Magnus."

"Magnus," Prysm mused, testing the name on his lips. "I know of you." He took in the man's pale skin and the sharp fangs that showed when he smiled. "Yes I know all about you."

"There is the matter of payment, of course, for lodging," Magnus said. "I hear that feline blood is almost as potent as its human equivalent."

Prysm unsheathed his claws and stepped forward. "Perhaps you will soon find out."

Outside, the night wind howled. The city was quiet, as the dawn approached from the east and another day waited paitently in the shadows. Summer had ended, and fall had at last descended on Miami.