Chapter 2 – The Hunger Returns
The fire wasn't real. Not yet. But he felt it anyway—burning low in the pit of his chest, clawing up his spine like some feral thing crawling from the dark. It wasn't heat. It wasn't even pain. It was hunger. Familiar, patient, cruel.
Tony sat on a crumbling slab of ferrocrete as Mr. D rummaged through a rusted storage pod half-buried in rubble. Around them, the ruins of Zone 5 stretched out like a graveyard of old wars. The air still stank of plasma and ash. Somewhere, deep in the distance, a machine whimpered its last breath.
"You got a name?" Mr. D asked over his shoulder.
Tony didn't answer.
The old man grunted. "Didn't think so. The ones who survive usually don't."
He pulled out a dented canister, sniffed it, and tossed it aside. Useless. The next one hissed when opened. Steam. Preserved rations. Mr. D grinned. "Jackpot."
Tony watched him eat with an unsettling silence. Each bite the old man took echoed in Tony's skull like thunder. His body didn't just crave food. It rejected everything that wasn't raw, wasn't alive. His stomach twisted. His fingers trembled.
He hadn't eaten in this form yet.
And he knew what that meant.
Mr. D offered the last chunk. "You look like hell. Eat."
Tony took it. Held it. The meat was processed, grayish, barely more than fuel. His mouth watered, but not from appetite. It was the scent beneath it. The trace of blood. Old. Weak. Not enough.
He set it down.
Mr. D raised a brow. "Suit yourself."
They sat in silence a while longer. Dust danced through cracks in the sky. The wind changed direction, carrying with it the faint sound of metal shrieking against metal. Not random. Patterned. Movement. Machines? No. Too erratic. Instinct prickled beneath Tony's skin.
Something hunted.
Mr. D stood and slung his staff across his back. "We've got a few hours before it gets worse. You wanna live? You move."
Tony followed. He didn't know why.
They walked through broken corridors where nature had given up and machines had died trying. Statues of old gods lined the hallways—melted into grotesque things by energy fire. Once, someone had painted murals here. Dreams of peace. Of harmony. Now they flaked like scabs, revealing rusted metal beneath.
"You were military?" Tony asked.
Mr. D gave him a side glance. "Long time ago. Before the angels came."
Tony nodded slowly. "You don't believe in them?"
"I believe in what I've seen. They burn cities and call it mercy."
The old man didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. Tony had seen worse.
He remembered his last death. The cold. The silence. The way his essence had scattered through the void, searching for a new vessel. He remembered Gabriel's voice. Sweet. Deceptive.
"One thousand lives, Gluttony. Cleanse your soul one bite at a time."
He had lived twenty-three.
Only nine hundred seventy-seven to go.
And yet, with each life, the hunger worsened. Redemption felt further, not closer. He wasn't sure anymore if Heaven even remembered him. Or if this was all just Gabriel's joke—a cruel loop with no exit.
A scream tore through the ruins ahead. Not human. Not clean. Wet. Ripped from something still learning what pain was. Mr. D froze, motioned low, and crouched behind a wall. Tony did the same.
Down the street, three figures emerged from the fog. Not soldiers. Not angels. Alien flesh stitched with scrap metal. Limbs too long. Heads split open with surgical precision. They moved like meat puppets, dragging something behind them.
Tony felt his teeth ache.
"Don't move," Mr. D whispered. "They track by heat. We stay quiet, they pass."
But the hunger wasn't quiet. It howled inside him. Loud. Starving. The energy from those creatures called to him. He could see it—their lifeforce, twisted and bright, burning in unnatural patterns.
He clenched his fists. His skin pulsed black for a moment.
One of the creatures stopped.
It turned.
It saw him.
Tony stood.
Mr. D hissed, "What the hell are you doing—"
Too late.
Tony moved. Fast. Too fast. Inhuman. His hands glowed with dark energy as he crashed into the nearest creature. It shrieked as his palm dug into its chest. Not to kill. To consume.
Black tendrils erupted from his skin and pierced the thing's core. Energy flowed into him like fire through ice. His eyes blazed orange. His back arched. Bones cracked. Flesh shifted.
He screamed.
Not in pain.
In ecstasy.
The other two rushed him. Mr. D shouted, but it was all static. All blur.
Tony turned, slammed his hand into the ground. Spikes of corrupted energy exploded upward, impaling the second creature. The third leapt at him—claws raised—and he caught it midair, his jaw widening impossibly as he bit into its neck.
The world slowed.
The air tasted like ash and blood.
When it was over, the street was silent again.
Tony stood amidst the corpses, shaking.
The hunger was quiet.
For now.
Mr. D stepped forward slowly. He didn't speak. Just watched.
Tony turned to him, eyes still glowing.
"I warned you," he said. "I'm not human."
Mr. D nodded once. "No. But maybe you're something worse."
Tony didn't deny it.
He crouched beside the last corpse, placing a hand on its skull. He could feel the memories inside. Bits of suffering. A child once. Then a captive. Then a weapon.
"They were alive," he whispered.
"Not anymore," Mr. D replied. "You did them a favor."
Tony wasn't sure.
He stood again, the darkness still swirling beneath his skin. Something had awakened. Something old. Something he thought he'd buried.
But it was here now.
And it was hungry.
They kept walking. The world was cracked and endless. Every step kicked up ash, memories, and guilt. Mr. D didn't press him. He just led. Through tunnels filled with discarded tech and hollow bones. Past murals painted by children who were probably dead. Through silence thick enough to drown in.
Finally, they stopped near an old supply vault, its door half open. Mr. D tapped the edge. "We rest here. Until night passes."
Inside, the vault was cold and dark. But safe. Tony sat, pulling his knees to his chest. The hunger had faded, but the shame hadn't.
"You ever wonder," he said softly, "if the path to redemption… turns you into something worse than what you were?"
Mr. D didn't reply for a long time.
"Every damn day," he finally said.
Tony closed his eyes.
And in the distant heavens, Gabriel smiled.