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Unfortunately, Serph’s stomach was growling.
It had been for a little while, yet only now did he give it the attention it deserved.
He could only question why it was his comrade’s blood that triggered such a reaction so easily.
Food was not a term that was familiar. Something that existed, yes, but had yet to be acknowledged. And that’s all rations were for a time. They just existed.
(So seemed to be the case for a lot of terms, really. Only now were they coming to mind with no real definition. It was like second nature to recognize certain things such as feelings.)
In some ways, they were… “magical.” Wounds healed upon consumption, usually enough to avoid death. That, or being crippled. It didn’t fix every problem—eating anything when dead was impossible—but for the living, it washed pain away. Gave what energy was needed to fight.
Hunger was a different beast. One that tore at insides, leaving a permanent hole in his stomach that begged to be filled. One that sought opportunity in the enchanting scent of metal, crimson streaks staining walls and floors, seeping into flowing water and furnishings. One that couldn’t be ignored for too long, its anger building with each passing minute until it became restless, sending waves of pain to the brand burned into his cheek. One that couldn’t—would never—discriminate what was considered edible and what looked edible. If it could temporarily keep hunger at bay, it was food.
Despite the horrific scene constantly played before them, painting signs of a struggle ending in a mess of flesh and bone, scraps of armor soaked in blood, he ate.
Constant talks of eating melded into conversation, threats, taunts, speech. There was enough to influence his way of thinking, of his own ways of communication, of what was worth stopping for, and Heat hadn’t helped.
The other man knew what he was doing, allowing his leader’s teeth to sink into exposed skin, gifting chunks of flesh, presenting the same offer.
Sera’s song could only ease so much. She’d been through more than they could imagine, and they knew well that their one means of avoiding the inevitable could be taken.
He needed to eat.
Unfortunately, Serph’s stomach growled again.
His grip on the chair’s arm loosened, sheepishly brought to his midsection, wincing as the rumbling intensified. Reddened teeth dug into his tongue as he swallowed as much saliva as he was willing to. Fitting how Heat didn’t need to worry anymore, seeing how his own stomach had been torn open by the silver fox minutes prior, blood gushing from the gnarly wound as if to further rub in what he did. What he had to do. While he was incapable of movement, his pulse had yet to completely fade. There might’ve been no saving him, but his consciousness was willing to put up enough of a fight, the occasional twitch of muscle barely noticeable under flickering screens. It was slight, yet reassuring enough that he’d be with him every step of the way.
They talked about this before behind closed doors. Despite the circumstances, most of the Embryon ate separately. Be it some vain attempt to hide their shame, nobody fully knew. However, the two of them shared more meals than they should’ve, swapping spit like it was nothing. What they had now could be the other’s body in the near future. Serph need only consider it preparation. A reminder that what slipped past his lips would become apart of him. What would fuel his actions and quell his insanity.
Each person tasted differently, from how their outer tissue mixed with what lay beneath to the thickness of blood. The preview he’d gotten was sweet. Warm.
He needed more.
He̷͚͐ ṅ̴̯e̷̘̍e̶̢͝d̴͓̈e̵̞̋ḏ̷̌ ̷̳̒t̸̠́ŏ̶͔ ̶̢͊ḙ̶͌à̶̠t̴͔̎.̸̗̄
Unfortunately, Serph’s stomach growled yet again.
It was surreal, Heat’s cheek in the palm of one of his hands, planting a kiss on his lips. Consider it a final farewell. He didn’t understand why he made the gesture in the first place, but the urge was strong. The dizziness was stronger. The unbearably empty pit in his gut was even stronger.
He let his comrade’s body fall lifeless, taking in his features one last time before widening the gash, unsure of where to begin.
If he didn’t have him now, somebody else would, so did it truly matter?
Ser̸͎̝͆́p̸͈̓̀̈́h̸̝̯̱̒ ̴͈͍͊̋͐d̶͙̉i̴͓͎͈̩̥̥͚̠̓ḑ̷͗̌͌̔̃̏͠n̵̨̫̑̈̌̈́͊̈͠’̴̡̡̩̰̺̅̎̊́̔̑͘t̷̜̝̳̀̾̐̄ ̸̨̡̢̛͕͙̙̭̙̦̿̓̑̀͘͝k̷̛̜̙̔̈́̾̽̋̕͜n̴͖̱̂̋̈́̀́̈͑͝o̸̡͇̠͐͌ẅ̴͙̲̗̻́͜.̵͇̟͙̓͆̐̈́̍͛̚ ̸̨̰̩̪͕͓͒̍
H̶̟̺̮͉͓́̔̈́͛̇͊̓͋́͋̀̂̿̀̈́͝è̶̦̘̻̽̃͊̌̈͑͊͌̆͘̚͝͝ ̸̲͈̻͍̩̳̲̘̠̭͓̜͉͐̌̈́̆̽̏̇͛̄͘̕̚͜j̵̼̜͚̗͓͐̅̄̌̉́̈̕͘ư̴̱̩͇̟̤͓̲̹̫͖̱̝̘̜̣̻̒͐͒̋̈͒͒̐̓̒̒͘͜ͅs̷̛̬͚͓͎͉̥̗͍͖̳͚͍͓̔̑̂̂̉́̍̉̐̚͜ṫ̴̞͇̲̤̜̈́͐̊͛ ̵̛͉̋̅̾̈́̍̋͝n̶̞̼͈͖̟̱̣̫͖̔̇̒͗͒̚͘͝e̷̳͖̒̿͗̅̊̆͌͒̏̍̏̑͐͌̚̕͠͝ẹ̵̡͔͓̩͈̼̰͈̽͛̃̈́͂͆̅̐̓̅͋̉̆͛͑͘̕͜d̷̻͓̝̣̞̲̳̘̞̦̞̄͌͐̄̒́́̒ẻ̴͔̰̮͍̟̥̜̜̤̻̏͜ͅͅd̴̳̖͖͕͇̦̦̥̘͖̦̑͜͜ ̸̡͕̙̤͉̰̮̫̭͈̯͚̭͓͚̀̐̈̋̎̑̚̚͜͜͜ẗ̷͕͈̙̂͆̃̐̈́̿ó̸̘̝̳̟͖͜ ̶̥̲̱̣̼̫͖̬͇̠̻͇̰͔̦͓̯̙̞̀̓̐́ẹ̵͇̋̅̎̒̋͗͐̌̄̄́a̴̭̘̪̫̣̍̾̓͂̀̋͊͐̉͊̾̎͂̇̆͗͂͆͘t̷̢̡͖̼͔̹͉͐͌͋͒̀͒̏͛̚̚.̴̡͙̮͔͖̱͖̱̼̞̯̉̈́̀͗̇̈́̑̏̀̆̋̑̏̀̓̈́͘̕͠ͅ
As his stomach began to growl once more, he was already tearing into organs.
There wasn’t a moment where he fully took in that warmth he so desperately craved, the syrup that soothed his throat, how easily so much went down without gag reflexes triggering, how sof̵̱̤͐̕ṭ̸̛́ ̷̠̦̃h̴̪̤̒̂e̴̗̥͋ ̸̟̀̊w̶̛̱̝å̶̺͔s̵̨͙̐̀,̷͚̀ ̴͍̲̿̀h̴͓̉̃ō̴̠ẅ̴̧̛̘͓̯͇́́̓ ̵̲̾̊̋ḧ̵͓́̿̃̿͐ḯ̷̮̐̚͝ś̷̡̥͔̣̥͈̀ ̴̨͇̤̰̜͔͑̋̒̃f̴͎̰͘l̶͉̹͖͊͛̆̉ȩ̷̢̦̱̻̈́̽̅̎s̴̘̼̣͐̆͝ȟ̶͉̉͗̏͆ ̷̦̹̭͇̱̈́ḿ̸̛̦͈̇̈́̇ę̶̨̺͓͇̥̀̚l̷̖̲̉̊̀̌̊t̴͕͕̣͂́ͅe̶̫̍̓d̶͍̭̬͎͂̆ ̸̮̈́̇͒́̿̚i̸͎̍͐͋̿͠n̸̲͈͒̋̇́ ̷̰̫̣̺̾ḩ̷̯̥̘͎̈́̄͜i̶͉̻̗̺̚ṣ̶͇͕̃͐̽͝ͅ ̵̢̮̝̪̪̰͒m̸͌̿͜ö̷͕̖͂͘͝ȕ̷̧̫̱̘̲̎̈t̷̨̲͓̹̽̾̀̒̕͜͝h̴̡̥̱͑͊́,̷̝͓̼̝̬̣̗́̌͐́́̊͗̿͛̊̈́͠͝ ̸̢̟̈͂̉h̴̖̪̤̽́͊̇̓̔̅̆̓̿͝ớ̴̦̗̜̺̙̦̻̹͋͛̓̾͛̀́̈ẅ̷̧̭̳̤̘͚̱̠̺́̑ ̶̥̎͐̀̿̔̾̊̿͑̈́͝ͅh̵̨̢̖̰̞̤̲̮̻̩͇̬̾́̽̉̎̽̍̂̈́͑̉̾͝ͅe̴̡̓̆̑̐̀̕̚͘ ̵̨̻͙̥̝̤͕̭͋͆̑̽̉͋͗͘͝c̸̳̯̪̪͓͇̪͙̟̲̐̓ǫ̶̢͖̾̌̀́̐̓͒̾̀͘ų̵̡̡͕͕̺͇̙͎̟̰̑͂͜ͅl̶̝̳͚̪͕̞̮̀̈̐͐̍̇̔̀͊͊́͝͠d̴͓͔̙̪̞̰̟̬͚̱̝͙̬̄̉̀̊͂̒̀̏ ̷̢̡̗̱͔̭͕͓̬͇͓̓͐̑͆̇̾̍̑͑̚͜u̶̧̧̢͓͍̮͚͎̥̙̿̈́̈́͛͛͌̀̈́̔͘͝ņ̷̛̰̩͚͕͎̦̠̟͛̃͐͑̍̑̄̌̂͝d̸̪̲̟̟̅̔͗͌̚͝ȩ̶̨͓̖͖̦͓͙͐̽͗̒͊́͛͋̀r̵̯̣̜̙̠͔̱̋̇́̓͂̍͝ş̴̜̜̮͕̉̂̐̀̎̈̌̐͋̚͝͝t̷̪͛̈́̀͌́̏͐̈̈̚͘͘͝á̴͓͕͉̤̗̳̣͍͉͚̩͔͊̉͊͗̈́͂̎͐̏̆͝͝ñ̴̗̊̎̀͗̎̚͝ͅd̴̡̢̪̬̮̺͔̜̰̊̇̀̆̂̄ ̷͙̙̗̥̞̰̳̥͑̉͘ỉ̷̥̠͈̰̈̑̎̍̌̑̌f̸̤́ ̷̭͙̝͚̅̅̆̀͋̊͐͂͜͠o̶̢͍̭̞̰̳̯͎̦̳̾͒̀́̎̆͛͑̈̕̕͝n̸̝̟̻͒̅̾͊͑̈́̀͌̔̿̀̚l̶̨̧͚̗̰̙̠̻͎͈͐̾̈̋̃̑̑͐͊͊͛̏y̵̬̚ ̷̠̠̣̐̆͆̑͂̿̕͠͝f̷̧̡̰͔͖̳̲̟̤̺̻̀̈́́͑͐̊̍͜ơ̷̧̢͙̮̞̺̙͒̈́̆̓̑͛͒͠͝ͅͅṙ̴͎̮̔̓́ ̷̡̗̭̟̍̂̄̎̽̅̌̈́̊̍ǟ̶͕̹͕̟̰͔̺̮̭̱̘͉̊̽͒̏͜ ̵̼̙̣̊̃͛̍m̶̡̞̞͙̙̝͎̞̺̝̙̰̣̐̔͂͘ő̸̺̘̱̣͌̈́̓̃͋̃̕m̴̢̢͖͇̭̬̬̫̎̇̀̈̈́́̕͝ē̵̬̆͗̂̕n̵̡̦̞̱̗̱̩̜̩̭̏͗̏͐̔̈̕͜t̶̡̢̹̝̙̬̰͍̟̳̖̩̺̓̚ ̷̢̧̧̹̣̀̇̊̂̋͛̆͌͌̈́̅̂́͜ẁ̷̦̹̣̖̼̙̟́̈́͗͑͆̾́̚͝h̴̢̧̧̝̗͕̱̀͒̅̍̏͂̈́͐̀̕̕ͅa̷̯̩̽͒͗̂͑͐͑̆ţ̸̛̙̩̥̣̅̑͐̏͒̈͗̑̾͝ ̵̞̙̼̱̝̫͛̓͜h̶͉̭̭̖̠̮͍̼͈͉͇̻͐́͝ę̷̻̺̪̞̱͕̳̦̪̀̑́͆̃͛͑̚͜ ̸̨̧͈̝̞̱̹͇͙̝̈́̒m̶̼̼̯̮͍͓̩̖̓͂͗͒͑̀͐̾͠͝ȩ̸̢̞̺̝͎͇̖͎̜̟̌͂̓́̐͘ȧ̷̧̛̪̲͓̟̠̫̘̹̏̇̍̇͝n̷̢̛̼̮͖̫̱͕̠̉̆̀̑̏̐͆͐̍̌́͘t̴̞̹̟̠̘̥͇̪͇̻͓͔̂͒́͊͛̎,̶̨̧͖̦̱͎̫̖̰̋̽̔͋̚ ̵̰̯̟̣͇̏̽̈́́̈́ͅh̸̰̗͈̣̜̲̮͖͔͆̾́̓̈́͌̀͒̃̾̍̏ͅo̶͇̳͒͒́̉͐̏̍͝͠͝͝w̶̬̙̟̼̱̻͔̹̬͂̿̍̉̓̓͜͝ ̵̝̜͍̣̥̓͠ͅh̷̼̝̱̜̹̆̇͋̏̑͝ͅe̵̩͈͚̤̥̺͊̈́̈́̆̎ ̶̢̧̛͕̤̩͉͈̻̮̯̤͎͓̈́́̿̽͌̑̎͑̾̀͋͛͘̚͜͜w̸̥̹̜̻͇̲͉͎̉̑̒̽̿͒͋̅å̶̛̪̜̣͕͕̒s̷̪̮̜̮̬̪̭̗̪̲̠͓̔̑̚͠ ̸͓̩̘̙̻̞̙̩̂̃̇̽͝r̵̖̘̰͈̺̭̳̟͎̕͜ͅḯ̶̛̟̟̲͖̞̼̭̺̫̜́̈́͗g̶͙̓̈́̒̔̋̌̀̔͛̒̔̃̂̈́h̴̢̛̘͍̻̻̘͗̑̀̇̓͛̆̒̿̉́͘͘̚ț̸̛̛̹͈̲͍̘̙͓̱̔͊̈͒͂̂̑̍̆̄́͜͝͝,̶̢̡̡̗͓͇͚̮̠̩̗̘͂̊͗ ̴̪̫͕̫͈͉̫̥͌̃͑̀͐̈̽̈́̃̑̌͘h̵̨̧͇̘̝̗͙̥̀̓ͅơ̴̢̳͔̭̫̲̈́̓̋͐w̶̡̙͓̼̹̮̪̞͕͐̆̾͑̄͛̂͌͐̐͌̅͜͠͠͠ͅ ̸̨̧̧̜̠̽̆̑̃̎̆̕h̷̨̛̯̙̲̰̺̘̖̫͔̍̊̿̆͊͑̚ͅë̷͉͖̮̥̩͍̗̰̫̩̩̗̖͎̬́̚ ̶̦̖̲̺̩͙͈̰̻͖͐̌w̸̦̑͛͛a̶̡̨̧̺͈̤̲̖͇̱̭̙͐̇͆̐́̾͋͆̋͠s̵͍͍̲͙̗͍͒̔͋̚͝ ̸͓̥̙̞͍͍͕͈͖̰̺̹̓̀̎͜g̷̼̩͎̜̣̳͖̯̗͙̐͗͛̾͋ǫ̵̤̃͑̎̌̎̿͆̀̂͒͌̒͌͘͠ĩ̵̢̜̖̹̱̟̂̉͒͐ͅn̵̦̯͚̩͇̈̽̇̚g̵̨̤̭͔̠̪̰̏̈́̉͋̓̅̊̌̓̕ ̸̳̱͈͎͉̱̳͇̳͈̫̟͙͕́̄̽̓̍̈́̕̕͜t̸̢̨̫̱̲̮̳̝̤͙̱̼̘̦̋̈̊ͅō̸͙̳͉͈̔ ̸̭̹̂̃̐͘͘ḇ̸̨̯̣͇̺̭̀̈́͌̊̏̕͝ȩ̶̢̧̻̤͎̮̿͆̿̃̅́̆̊̇̄͝͠ ṭ̷̛̬̉̾̈́̈́͐͗̾̍̋̔̄̋̔̊̎̚͘ẖ̵̣͉͓̈́̈̈́͑͊͛͒̐è̷̗̳̦͚͎̈́͂̎͗̿̀̈͋͜r̷̙̫̹͚̰̕ȩ̴͎͇̮͇̒͛͆͗̋͌͂̃͆̌͐̀͒̕,̸̨̧̛̛̘̹̩̞͔̦̜̼͎͇͇̻͔͋̂̉̈́̅̉̅̋̈̓̑͠ ̶̡̧̝̺̖͍̯̝̖̖̻̱̫̥̯̯͋̄͠h̴̳͍̰̰̽̓̀̇̎̃̈́̈̂̋̓͌̀̑̔͂̕ǫ̷̧̙̹̫̘̰̠͔̖͓̞̥͔̱͑ͅw̵̢͐̃̿͋͊͑̚͝ ̸̡͔̲̠̙̮̠̺̭̩̺̲̏͊͆ẖ̴̻̹͔̖̭̻̳̻̝͔̓̂ͅe̵̡͖̮͎̤̻͍̩͛̈̀́͋̇̂́͌̃̈́̃̊̌͐͌̚͝ ̷̨͍͈̪̲̪̺̳̻̲̱̝͚̝͍̭͠w̷̧̛̖̺͔̹̖̼̙͖̤̙̭̖͎̼͉̹̾̏̐̉͜͝á̸̩̈̓̈́̿͋̌ş̸̥̗̥̥̘͚̘̺̭̀̄̊̃ ̸̡̬̝̗͙̤̹͕̖̬͛̋͛̈͆͛̔ģ̶̨̛̰͇̥̞̬͖̰͚̞̭͉̠̹̺̿̏̈́̋̅́͆̓̎̈́͐̚̕͜͠ͅơ̴̯̤̱̟̲͓̣̯̙͈̦̙̘̥̘̼̿̾͊͋̄́͘͘͜ͅi̵̢̜͚̰͈̭̒ͅn̷̡͈̙̟͓̘̰̪̠̯̗̤̯͕̘̲̈́̅̒͐̇͊̕g̶̨̢͇̣̰̖͎̘͔̺̟̼̭̥̻̀̄̊͌͑̒́̍́͊̆̾̓̚ ̴̛͍̗̌̀̓͑t̵̡̞͖̻̓͛͊̋̀͑͛̂̆́̂̄͜ȯ̵̩͉̠̫̜̘̲͕̂̒̈͛̚̚͜͝͝ ̶̢̤̫̹͔̼͓̮̮̥͓͓̹̘̀̃̒̎̿͛͊̈́͐̓͗̈̏̈́͆̀b̶̨̛͖̝̝̗̲̙͔͍̟͚̯̂͗̃͛̈́̇͊́̅̓̚ę̴̣̝͍͚͚̥͔̖̫͍̿̊̒́́̃̋̽̋̀͑͊͜͠ ̶̧̢̢̯̣͉̩̬̯͎͔͐̐̂̑͗̽͘͜͜͜͠͠a̶̡̛̛̛̟̹͕̠͈̒̒̊̾̌̐͆̈́̑͐̓́͗̈́̚p̶̼͙̠̳̲͖͖̻̽́a̶̧͇̲͑͆͛͘r̷̭̪̙͇̍͝t̷̛̘̬͆̊̔̈́͑͒͐̆̎̃͠ ̵̧̪̦̭̹͈͇̟̗̐̎́̊̏̐̈́́͒̈́̆̄͝͝ơ̷̛̫͎̠̟̙̮͇̮̖͐̒͋̿̾͂̉͋́̽̕̚f̶̛̛͔̅́͋̿̔̂̃̈́̓͐ ̸̠̥̊͋h̸̺̮̻̬̰͙̥̝̫̹͎͈̆̒́̄̑̀̊̇̏̂̚į̵̨̨̼̗̩̤̻͇̜̜͓̥̈́̅̎̔͂̓̈̅͐͑̊̑̒̀̇͌͝͠m̸̺̥̻͎̰͔̣̹̦̂̔͑͆́̌͐̆̔̆̈̀͛͛̌͝,̸̧̡̖̪̹̹̙̜͈̠̮̘̖̠̗̑͋̀ ̴͔̹̱͚͙̳̖̾̃͑͒̾͠h̵̢̡̯̳͈̬͉̞̙̥̗̫̳̪͚̹̣͑̉̇̋̊̓͜͝o̴̞̲̫̤̖̮̦̬͍̪̥̹̐͊̃́̓̄̒͒̚͝͠ŵ̴̡̡̨̡̙͚̭̞̜͍̟͙̙̈́͊̓͘͠͠͠ ̴̝͖̠̃̚ḣ̴̡̙̭̩̤͙̺̘̻̻̙̕ͅḙ̴̛̣̦̯̯͓̀͂ ̴̟͖̦̘̤̙͈̤̪̣͕̪̱̻͙͚̈́͝w̴̧̦͈̘̼̤̬͔̟͔̮̬̙͙̐̍̑̾̓̓́̃̎̍̊̏̔͂ò̶̧̯̥̯̜̜͉͕̎̀̋̓̑́̾̈̆̈́́̓̇̚͘͠ͅͅu̵̩̤͇̫͓͕̜̘̟̰̜͉̻̬͑͌̂ļ̸̡̢̢̛͇͍͓̮͈͉̩͙̎̽̾́̃͊̿̀̊͐͂d̷̢̟̹̙̺̜̮̪̱̻̤̯͚̗̯̼̩̋̆ͅn̷̖̬͇͆̑̌͠’̷̡̞͈͓̣͉̬̲͖̰̲̭̫̞̘͇̇̅̔͛͠ͅẗ̴̛̻̼́͗̃̂͐̎̌͒̐ ̷̡̱̞̪͚̫̦̹̘̹̗̟̊͂̊̒̕ͅͅb̵̢̩͖͉̗͇̥̺̩̳͉̠͙̮͇̰͒͆̀̑͝ͅẻ̶̙̩̲͚͔̝̤̗̾̀̈́̇̂̀͊͗̅̐͑̽̽͒͝͝ ̸̬̝͎̀́͝w̸̢̧̭͎͙͙̱͇̖͓̗̬̗̬̖̩̽̋ͅị̸̼̘̝͈̙͙͖̪̗̙͊̌͂́̋̅̒́̎̐̃̈́͋͘̚̚͝͝t̶̺̦̫̣̜̦̦̼̾̈́͒̿͛̍͜h̷̜̩̲͖̥͍̫͙͍̻̯̼̯̪̀͗͝o̷̢͇̟̪̟͚͎͖̯̹͔̞͓̻̩̘̺͛̄̆̍̕̚͝ͅù̶̩͈͖̱̺̠͐̎̆̌͗̿̑͋̂̊͛͑͂̒͝͠t̵̛̯͇̊͊̓̒͊͗̅̈́̐̎̕ ̴̬̻̿͐̈̔̎͌̏́̈́͌̓͂̚͠h̸̨̯̭̣̩̠̍͋̉̅͋͘͝͝i̴̧͙̜̤̗̺̘̗̮̟̘͕̼̘̖͙͑̇̈́̀́̒̀͛͋͌̒̋͆̒̈́͌̚ṃ̷͔̥̠̠͚̙̝̟̖̺̍̂́̉̃̒̑͛̓̍̚͝͠ͅͅ.̶͔̟͙͓̹̗̱͙͒̽̈́͑̈́̾͜͠
H̴̗͓̙̺̾̑͌̋̿̎̿̈́͛͛͊̈́͛̊ę̸̧̜̻͍͉͑́͆̓̓̊͝ḁ̵̡̨̢̧͕̦͙̲̠̲̟̯̲̣̾̇̊͐̉́̃͂̄̆͐́͜͝͝͝ͅt̷̢̟͇̲͍̋̃̏͛̊́͛ͅ ̷̢̦͉̦͇̖͍̣̤̝̭̲̻̔̒̏̀̇̈́̓͗̆͒́̊̒͆͗̀́͝ͅw̵̧̢̧̛̳̺̼̦͈̥̤̯͓̠͖̝̥̲̥̾̽͒̀͗̋̀͌͆̈̒͜ö̶̧̖̗͙͙̩̫̣̼̪͎̳̣͈͉̓̍͜͜u̷͉̬͖̰̠̗̦̬̇̇̇̅͆̃̃̒͗̑̈́̏̃͆̓̐̾̕͝͠l̸̛̳̗͚͚̫͈̯̹̱͉̰̫̳͍̼͓͚͙͚̣̋́̽͜d̴̛̼̤̣̺̞̅̈́̇̏̾̃̿̎̑̂̃̅̄́͛͌́̚͠͝͝ń̷̨̧̤͇̯̱͎͇̞̰̞̉͐’̸̡̨̢̨̹̘͔̻̜͇̙̳͓͔̟̙̫̮̊̍̋̾͠ͅt̶̨̤͈̠͙̣̤̦͔͊̀̊͛̇̉̌̾̒̉̈́̎̾̾̓́̾̍̕̚͝ ̷̧̛̟͕̫̖̰̫̯̈́́̈̃̐͒̽̚ͅͅḇ̸̢̢̙̺̭͚͉̠͙̦̬̪̱̰̻̰̫͍̭̣̰̃̀̍͗̂̊͜ę̵̹͉̖̳̯̦̖̠̗͚̋̐͊͌̄̆̈̓̇̀̔͂̈́͆̈́̇̉̉̚͠c̴̢̗̮̝̘̭̺̱̘̮̝̗̲̫̽͂͗͛̌̊̏̕͘͝͝͠ỏ̴̧̟͍̻̼͍̝̣̣͈̣̹̅̆͒̓͐̿͘̚͝m̵̛͎̩͇̘̭̝̳͙͕̼͓̠̘̤̰̯͔̩̞͉̃̽̎̔̓̊͆͗̅̊͘̕͝e̷̥͓̒̍̾̈́̋̔͂̍͘̕͠͝ͅ ̵̦͚̯̗̩͍̰̟̎̿͗̐́̄͒͂͒̀͑̄̈́͘̕o̷͍̘̖̣̗̝͂͑̀̾̀̈́̍͊͘͘͘͜͠ņ̵̨͉̳͔̦͈̗̟̪̣͙̯̅̆̍̒̋͒̉͆͑͊͘͝ȩ̴̢̨͖̯̳̤̬̪̳̏̽̔͠ ̷̢̡̭͚̖͖̟͙͉̲̽̑͊͑̽͊̒̋̿̿͌̎ͅw̵̧̛̟̬̖̘̼̜̭̯̟̬̯̜̠̻̣̺̳̼͔̭̆͛̓̿̿́̊̌̊̈́̌̍̎̚i̶̢̡͓̖͙̰̩̦̞͕̹̹͎͎͒̈́̈́̇͐̽̎̒̇͌̔̓͐̔̒͐̃̐̒̚͝ͅͅt̵̝̥̎h̸̩̎̔ ̷̢̲̤̺̬̲̼̘̻̖̫̝̝́͜ṱ̷̢̳͔́ͅh̸̡̛͙̺͖̦͉̬͕̯̹͈͚̠̬͚̙̤̻̓̑̑́̊̏̎̈́͆̈̀͗̎́̈́̿̎ȩ̴̹̼͉̣̼̯͙̩̯͒̂͆͜ ̷̤̖̥̞̤̤͉̑̍̂̔̆͂̕̚͝ͅr̵̩̫̥̦͖͇̊ǎ̸̡̡̨͔̼̠̲̺͓̹̗̤͈̏͑̓̌̂̐͝ī̴̧̡̟͖̲̙̝̹̺̱͚̲̮̱̥͖̞͚͖̪̹̃̿̆́̒̅͊̓͊̅̒̔̓͑́̑͐̕͘͠͠͝n̷̨̛̪̙̺̗͕͉̹͖͙̫̯̲̔̾̌̎͑͑̆̉͆̽̅̊̏͑̒͠͝͠,̷̢̹͓̪̼̣̲̬̰̦̑̌̌͠ ̷̢̢̢̛̣̝͉̮̳͓̲̲̤̰̻̗̼̝̠͈͓͓̦̐̂̃̀͛̑̀̾̈́͂̾͆͗̆̅̉͗͜h̴̲̻̟̝͍͈̤̣͈̭̬͆̄̋̌͗̾̑͂͊͗́͋̽̿ȩ̴̨̡̗̰̤̞͕̲̪̜̙̼͓̾͑͗̍̋̿̎̂̿̄̍̀̓͋̀͆̀͛͗̏͜͠͝ͅ’̴̛̛̰̼̝͙̭̩̀̂͑̓͆̚͘͜d̵̰̳̿̌̀̀̈́̂̚̕͠ ̵̨̰͖̹̬̙̜͙̻̦̜͉͊̇̉͜b̶̢̞̘͎̙̤̰̗̘̟͙̣̯͚̣̃̈̽̀̂̈́̑̃̋͐͌̅͂̇̑͐̇̃̐ę̸̢̺̣̻̭̗̮̦̩̖̝̫̞͉̫̈́̈̀̅̓͘̚͠ͅͅc̵̢̩̫̰̮̲̮̹̑̏͛͋̒̉̑̀̂̑̑̏̍̅͐̇̄̽͗̕͜͝o̶͙̍́̉̿͑̍͑͗͝ḿ̸̞̍̅̾̓̏͑̀ȩ̷̙̺̻̭͚̔̏͗ ̷͖͖͙̪̱̠̟̟͓̝̫͕̪͍̖̓̂̌͗̍͆̾̈́̋̓͌͘̚͝͝͝ͅà̵̪̠̓̏͗̿̋͂̍̓͘͝p̵̨̪̙̬͇̈́̿̅̒̑̈͊̈́̎́͋́͒̒̑͊̓̈̚̕̕͜͝ả̵̢̛̛̛͔͓͚͕̫̖̱̟̦̦̭̙̰͑͗̎̄̈̇̀̎̃̅̾̕͘̚͠͝͝ŗ̸̡̼̪͇̪̳͈̙̬̖͐̍̒̀̿̇̕ţ̵̙̼͈͚̹͖̬̙̹̰̲͇̪̩̥̗̤̈͒ ̴̢͉̣̫̱͕͈̰̱̣̫̺̗͓͙̫̫̣̞̺͒͛́̾͑͐͋̓̇̏̂̌̈́̏͠ơ̷̢̨̢̲̖̤̗̲̯̖̱̣̭̞̗̟͈͎̮̤̳͙̿͆̔̃̌͌̂̍̈́͋͆̚̕͝ͅf̴̛̛̱̥͕̬̠̦̭͗̐̌̈́̌͑́͊ ̶͈͑̀̾̋̓͐̐̄͐̓̍̔͌̾̄̐̑̿̚Ş̷̨̛̼͔̱͎̞͖̪̫̬̼̙̙̘̼̝̫͍͇̇̋̾̌͛̾̒͆͆͗̓̓̾̓͒̔̇͜͝e̴͉͙̋̃͗̌ṙ̴͔̗̈́͌͂̊̿͛̀̈́̒͒̋͛͐̉̈̎̕̕̕p̴͚͎͋͆̌̈́͆̃͗́̃̃́̂̔̇̈́͂͒͆͒͂̓͝h̷̢̼͇̬̪͔̘̪̼̫̰̘̼̬̯̱̩̼̩̞̻̝́͊͋̒̾͐̊͒̒͐̍̄͒̐̾̋͐͆͋,̸̨̙̖̤̭̫̥̬͎͓̱͈̿ͅ ̵̧̢̫̠̙̱͍̬̟̭̣̲̫̤̜͕̮̅̐̈́͛̍̊͛̉̃̋͂͆̐̇̋̇͗̈́́̉̋̈́̚f̶͉̜̦͓̝̤̦̙͓̩̮̆͜r̶̨̛̹͉̮̪̭̦̝̳͎̰̼̙͎̯̆̈͆̀̎͜ę̵̛̳̺̖̬̞͙̦͕͙̠̥͚̭̙̝͚͇͍̋̌̈́́̍̽̋͌̈͛́̄̔̌̕͝͝e̸͈͓̯̰͖̮͍͔̙̤͚̒̾͆̿d̴̻̟̩̹̭̈́̓̅̿͝ ̸̡͖̯̪̩͕̦̎͋f̸͎̞̯͕̩̻͕̃͂r̵̨͍̪͇̲̠̀̓̏̊̂̇͂̀̌͒̍́͂̍̌o̶̡̢̤̗̳̟̩̯̬̫͓̰̣̪̖̯̽̕ͅm̶̢̛͓̠͍̘̟͓͛͐̌̃̄̀̀̾̽͗̈͗͛͘̚̚̕̕͝ͅ ̷̨̧̩͕̩̳̬̘̱͗͜t̵͎͕͎͕̞̯͇̻̻̣͌͂̍̆͗̀h̷̡̧̙̞͇̠̗͉̺̩̮̬̞͉̼̟̤̳͔̬̙̞͈̃̅͝é̷̢̧͙̪̼͉̮̮͍̥̜͖͉̟̜̦͕̪̠̠̈̃͒̔͑̄̊̅͑̅̓͘͘͜͜ ̸̡̼̻̣̤̘̗͓̝̰̮͕̮̤̻͉̎̉̇̍̓̐̀͗̿̄̍̆̏̚͠͝ç̷̨̛͎̗̳̳̹͙͓̙̣̤̦͇̻͍̤̆̈́ÿ̵̡̨̢͙̰̳̳̙̖͍͚̣̳̤̯̱͉́̒͑ͅc̴̝̜̫̯͔̱͉̤̳̬̤̜͙̮̭̻̦͇͚̝̬̯̿l̵̡̢̬͈͎̖̩̣̫̙̜̯̏͌͋ͅȩ̷̹̺̣̗̤̻̭̹̲͙̈́͌͌͑̎̀̈̀̍͝ ̸̢̨̨͙͈̜̙͙̟̹̠̬̮͎̹̫̮̯̯̺̜̮̂̾̅̀͗̅̀̔̍̀t̶̢̡̧͉̜͈̰̳̘͍͓̳̱̩͍̣̫͍͊̉̄̂̇̈̿̿̓̇̎͑͛̊̌͘̚̚͘̕͜͝ͅͅḩ̸̛̛̖̙̭̘̤͔̦͓̣̦̗̦͇̖̻̔̎͂̆͒͊͐̑͛̓̓̅͒́͋͌́͆e̶̥͉̱͈̮̯̮̭̪̝̲͔̔̐͗̐̍̏͘͘̚ ̶̪͆̋̅̈́̾͐͊̇̆̅͒̌̚J̸̢͇̬̮̼̗̰̜̠͚͓̭̖̭̥̻̦̰̥̹͔̌̑̇̇̈́̓͑͐͒̔̈́̚͜͝ͅư̶̖͎̣͙̹̬͖̙̈̉͊͐̍͌̊̉͝n̵̺̜̲̖̞͖̣͇̲͆͛͑͋̑͑̌́͊̕͝͝k̴̡̞̦̬͚̩̗̙̹̘̖̘̥̤̖̣̰͚͔̊͑̃͂̒̋̀͆͗͑̓̃́́͜͠ͅͅͅy̷̡̲̗͕͓͔͑̎̽̒̅͑̂̕a̸̭̞̥̩̐̊͑̏͋̌̅͊̌r̴̘̱̞̳̘̞͖͓͆̌d̶̜̈́̆̽̕ ̴͚̙̐̆̌͌͋̅͆̐͝f̸̛̖̣̅̎̐͂̆̈́̅̀̿̌̈́͋͌͊͆͑͌̚ơ̶̢͇̪̩̘̹̗͔̥͓̗͚̺̪̰̝̝͕͆͌̈̂͒͐̋̇̄́͂̓̃̋̉͘͜͝͝r̷̨͓̬̗̗̭̳̳̿͗̀̈́̒͌̕c̶̡̢̛̘̹̹͇̩̮͑͂͗͋͒́̾̅̀͌̉̓̈̀̾̉̑̃͂̔͝ȩ̸̨͓̪̰̰̯̻̮̟̤̞̤̝̪̠̈̀̾͐̍̌̅͒́̄̓͆̋̀̏́͝d̷̹̻̳̖̠͖̑͒͒ ̴̡̥̥͑̽̊̒͒͑̀̑͋́t̵̢̢̧̜̝͔̲̱̱͙͕̘̥̖͔̠̏͝h̴͇̭̪̪͙̥̤͔̟͈͍͖͔͉̤̞͋̍̈́̄͆̔̓̀̚̚ȩ̴̧̹̣͔̬͙̫͙͇͎̫̺͖͎̫̯͙̭͒̓̋̈́̉̄͘̕̕̚͘͠ͅm̵͖͔͍͓̃̾̈ ̶̢̡̥̼͍̖̳̲̗̻̯̦̰̮͎͚̋̅̈́̐̒̊̿͋͐̽̃͋͑̕͘͜͝͠b̴̩̗̦̦͆͆͐̃̽̆̎͊̿́̕̚̕͠͝ö̴̢̡̡̡̧͖̤̭̰̼͓͍̻̠͍̰̠̹̰̩́̈́͊t̸̛̠̪͇̜͙̳̅̀̓̏̑̎̅̇h̸̛̫̫͐̈́̽̋̊̈̆́̑̌̽͗͗̓͘̚ ̸̨̛̘̞͖̖͓̯͍͙͖̒͗̆͆̃̔͛̔̓͛͛̑͒͂͝į̶̨̮͙̫̬̯̮̝͕̗͍̙͕̮̮̐̈́̒͛̌͛̈́̈̍̎͘͜ͅͅņ̶̛̛̦̤̬̱̜̭͙͎̝̻̱̠͕͎̺̻͚̾̉̈́̾̈́͛̍́̓͠ͅṯ̵̨̧̡̨̩̠̩͙̪̰͎̗͓̯̤̯̻̝͎͆̉̊̇̀̏̎͒̆̾̎̅̈́̊̅͘ͅͅͅo̵̢̪̣̭̜͔̺̣͖̗͇̣̹̗͒̐̊̍͒͊̔̀̓̓̔̓͆̊̕-̸̨̧̢̛̯̳̭̪͔́̉̎̓
…He stopped.
Hunger had ceased gnawing at his insides. Despite constantly being trapped within its maw, throat eager to swallow his remaining sanity, he’d been pulled away. There were no teeth. No claws.
Serph pulled back.
Caked in blood, some of it dripping down his chin, spreading further across a steel floor, he took a look at what remained of Heat. His innards were gone.
Only his innards were gone.
Serph continued to stand there, flabbergasted.
He couldn’t eat anymore.
He was full.
He was full.
He didn’t need to eat.
And he couldn’t afford to mull things over longer, nor could he abandon the corpse. With the most amount of energy he had in awhile, he was able to easily scoop Heat out of the chair, heavy body pressed against him, finally having gone cold.
Unfortunately, Serph was full.
Now all he needed to do was find a place to bury his leftovers.