He is fourteen when he starts to notice a change.
He is fourteen when he begins to notice the skin of his hands become swallowed up by hard and rigid scales that are as deep a green as the water of the bayou he grew up beside. He is fourteen when claws erupt from his fingertips, when a flap of skin stretches its way across his hands and feet, and when his teeth become more jagged, and more knife-like, like the crocodiles which his body now resembles.
The doctors call it a genetic defect, a gene leftover from the reptiles. They can't do anything about it of course, nature has run its course, and they very much doubt his human body will survive such an extreme physical transformation. But it does, and he eventually gets to the point where he resembles a two-legged crocodile instead of a man covered with scales. The transformation, painful and monstrous as it must look to others, isn't the hard part; it isn't the thing he loathes with such passion.
It's the people; the humans who look at him with such a look of disgust as they shiver and shake, ready to strike whatever monstrosity they've wandered upon with an almost zealous fervor. And that's the thing that makes him hate them so much, they do it because they're scared of him, afraid that he'll eat them and their children alive if he's allowed to live. The beatings he can take, but the fact they're from such a fearful species who will happily grovel at your feet if you promise them their life, that's intolerable. And he thinks it's why he eats them now. Not only is it what they're scared of most once they take a look at the lumbering crocodile man, but they're not better than meat in his eyes either.
Only the strongest will survive, and at least through consuming them the weak are able to offer some purpose in a world that would eventually mercilessly murder them anyhow.
