The fox watched as the lizard slowly crouched down. Its once-pristine white scales were now marred by deep, bleeding wounds, dark blood streaking across its body. One paw rose, wiping at the steady stream of blood leaking from its eyes before it lowered its head and licked the crimson from its maw.
The fox's gaze sharpened.
"You look far worse than before," it said calmly.
It took a step closer, its eyes tracing the lizard's battered form with clinical precision.
"You don't have any new external wounds—only the ones from earlier." Its ears flicked slightly. "But the bleeding from your eyes hasn't stopped."
The fox paused, then narrowed its eyes.
"Is that the result of a technique the cultivator used on you during the fight?"
Its gaze shifted, briefly unfocused, as its spiritual sense brushed against the lizard's internal state.
"…You also have a minor internal injury."
The lizard didn't react to the fox's words at all.
It wiped the blood from its eyes again, then flicked its paw, shaking the thick crimson from its claws. Its vision was nothing but fog—blurred shapes and shadows swimming together. The blood wouldn't stop. No matter how many times it wiped its eyes, it kept flowing, warm and endless.
Its wounds were the same.
Still bleeding.
Not closing.
Too much blood.
If this keeps going… can't afford it.
Its thoughts were sluggish, weighed down by pain and instinct.
The fox watched in silence, turquoise eyes fixed on the lizard. Its thoughts churned.
That technique must have done serious damage.
The eyes won't stop bleeding. The wounds aren't healing like before. The recovery isn't coming the way it should have. The injuries that would normally knit themselves shut continue to seep, as if its body no longer remembers how to repair itself.
Its gaze sharpened.
It's bleeding out.
Why hasn't its regeneration kicked in?
If this continues…
The thought went unfinished.
Suddenly, the lizard rose from its crouch. Blood still streamed from its eyes and seeped from its wounds, but its posture straightened. Its expression was blank—empty, unfocused.
It lifted its head and drew in a slow breath, nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air.
Once.
Twice.
Then it began to walk.
Slowly.
Toward Elder One's corpse.
The fox's gaze followed, ears twitching.
The lizard reached the body and didn't hesitate. Its jaws opened wide, teeth sinking into flesh.
Flesh tore. Bone cracked.
The sound was wet and brutal as it began to eat.
The fox stared.
Its turquoise eyes narrowed, disbelief flickering across its face as it muttered under its breath,
"…You've got to be kidding me."
Its tails flicked once, irritation clear in the motion.
"Is that really the only thing you know how to do?"
The fox stared at the scene in front of it, disbelief hardening into irritation.
Bleeding out—and the first thing it thinks of is eating?
The lizard didn't even acknowledge the fox's presence. Blood dripped from its eyes onto Elder One's corpse as it tore into flesh, jaws working methodically, greedily. It didn't slow. It didn't hesitate. It didn't listen.
The fox's jaw clenched.
Damn moron.
Its turquoise eyes narrowed as it watched blood continue to pour from the lizard's wounds, soaking into the shattered ground.
At this rate…
"If you don't stop the bleeding," the fox said coldly, voice edged with warning, "you're going to bleed to death before you even finish what you're eating."
The lizard kept eating.
Unbothered.
As if survival, to it, meant only one thing—and it would pursue it until its body gave out completely.
Its gaze flicked once more to the endless blood staining the ground.
The fox's irritation deepened, sharpening into something closer to urgency.
It can't let this continue.
If it bleeds out, everything ends here.
If it would just listen—just for a moment…
A pill would be enough. One. Even a low-grade healing pill could stop the bleeding, stabilize its core, give its body time to recover. That's all it needed.
But it wasn't listening.
The fox's gaze snapped back to the lizard, teeth clenched as it watched it continue to eat, blood still spilling freely from its eyes and wounds.
Why?
How can a creature value eating more than its own life?
The fox's claws dug slightly into the ground as frustration bled into its thoughts.
Instinct.
Pure, unfiltered instinct.
To it, feeding was survival. Nothing else mattered—not pain, not injury, not reason. Only consumption. Only the certainty that taking in strength now mattered more than the consequences that followed.
Its eyes narrowed.
At this rate, instinct will kill it before its injuries do.
The fox drew a slow breath, forcing its thoughts into order.
If it won't stop on its own…
Then I'll have to make it listen.
The fox remained still, turquoise eyes locked on the lizard as it tore into the corpse, blood continuing to spill unchecked from its eyes and wounds. Its thoughts moved quickly now, sharp and deliberate.
If I try to restrain it… it won't be that hard.
Its body is barely holding itself upright. Every movement is sluggish, unsteady. Even now, it sways slightly as it feeds, weight shifting unevenly from one leg to the other.
Its reserves may still be high—nearly twice mine, even in this state—but that doesn't change the reality in front of me.
It's injured.
Badly.
And it can barely see.
The way its head tilts. The way it misses its first bite before readjusting. The unfocused stare, the blood flooding its eyes without pause. It isn't tracking by sight anymore—not properly. It's moving on instinct alone, guided by scent and habit rather than awareness.
That makes it dangerous…
But also vulnerable.
If I act now, while it's distracted, while its mind is buried in feeding, I can pin it down. Immobilize it before it has time to react.
I don't need to overpower it completely. I don't need to win.
I just need to hold it still.
Just long enough.
One healing pill. That's all.
The fox's jaw tightened as it watched another thick stream of blood drip from the lizard's eyes, splattering onto the corpse beneath it.
This isn't strength.
This is suicide.
If I let this continue—if I stand by and do nothing—it will bleed out right here, surrounded by food it never even finished consuming. All that power, all that potential, wasted because it doesn't know when to stop.
I can't let that happen.
Not when the solution is this simple.
It doesn't understand. It can't. Its mind is too deep in instinct, too drowned in pain and hunger to see past the next bite. Reason won't reach it like this. Words won't matter.
But that doesn't mean I do nothing.
The fox's tails stilled, its posture subtly shifting as it prepared itself.
If it resists, I'll explain—whether it wants to hear it or not.
That this is for my no— I mean its own good.
That I won't let it kill itself like this.
That surviving doesn't just mean eating yourself to death.
The fox drew a steady breath, grounding itself.