"Is this the end of the world?" Cannibal lifted his head from within the tall, yellow grass, his gaze fixed on the distant island across the shimmering energy sea, where the ground trembled under a series of violent quakes.
His face was as it had always been: gray skin; a mouth deformed and split almost to the ears; teeth that had once fallen out but now seemed regrown, crowding his gums like sharp thorns.
His face and clothes were caked in grime from the fieldwork he had to do every day, and he slept on bare soil, since there was not even a simple bed in this place.
He looked impoverished and poorly kept, his condition a direct result of living circumstances that were far from anything resembling human dignity.
There was nowhere to shelter and nothing proper to eat. The only food left to him was the insects that lived in the dirt, and even those he had to wrestle from oversized roosters that roamed the area.
