It took Aris some time to track down all the fennecs that had fought him beneath the rock. Some had fled like cowards, choosing to run rather than face the mad king.
Perhaps Aris no longer truly deserved his title as the fallen king. He now resembled more a deranged beast roaming the western lands in search of prey.
The Mad Beast.
That should be his name...
The effects of the fennec flesh he had devoured had intensified greatly during the fight against the small pack. Aris could no longer maintain clear thoughts—his mind was blank, consumed by the haze.
He wandered aimlessly, his back slightly hunched, his posture that of a predator ready to pounce.
Each time he tried to recover his senses, a splitting headache tore through his skull, drowning his thoughts in agony. He would clutch his head, waiting for the pain to subside.
But it never did.
Worse still, the more he consumed, the stronger it became. A vile, unbearable sensation.
And yet Aris could no longer resist. When he attempted to stop eating to lessen the torment, an overwhelming thirst for blood surged through him, driving him to hunt the fennecs once more.
The small creatures no longer displayed any hostility. Instead, they scattered in panic the moment they sensed Aris approaching.
Yet the fallen king could be considered a beast like them. But he was too strong, too lethal, too intelligent, too precise, too dangerous...
To them, it was like striking a wall they could never hope to climb, no matter their numbers. Those who dared to confront him ended up shredded and torn apart beneath the onslaught of the Mad Beast.
It looked like a storm of blades and crushing fists unleashed upon the western lands…
And yet, not all the fennecs had fallen. A small pack trailed behind him still, spared for reasons even Aris could not fully explain. Perhaps he liked them. Perhaps he simply didn't see them as a threat. Whatever the reason, he had allowed them to follow him.
They kept their distance, no closer than fifty meters, their gaunt faces radiating hunger and bloodlust. Their presence was palpable in the damp, grey lands. The more of them there were, the heavier their thirst pressed upon the air, enough to drive away almost any other fennec that dared approach.
It irritated Aris, if only slightly.
He had not slain the small pack because they seemed harmless—but if they ever dared to hinder his feeding, he would slaughter them without hesitation. He needed to eat. And now, without human restraint, without cold reason, he consumed the vile poison that twisted him further into a beast.
The fennecs, however, seemed to wait. Wait for another fool to throw themselves at the fallen king, so that he might toss them the corpse—or so they could revel in the one-sided slaughter. They were less predators than they were worshippers, fanatical spectators to carnage.
But as their numbers grew, they began to understand. Their presence drove away the prey he hunted. So they withdrew, step by step, allowing space for other fennecs to approach. A clever move… and yet a foolish one. For their growing numbers repelled all creatures anyway.
Aris cared little. He had already ventured deeper into the cursed lands. And here, it was no longer fennecs he faced—but foxes. And foxes did not fear the bloody horde trailing behind him.
Aris raised his head once more. His eyes, hollow yet burning, fixed upon his next prey.
A fox...
The beast studied him cautiously, as if sensing the danger radiating from the fallen king. Yet it did not retreat. It stood its ground, meeting his gaze with sharp intent, weighing the risks, searching for an opening.
Sometimes, Aris admired these creatures. Beasts of blood, yet still capable of such poise, such cold calculation. In a land where reason itself was devoured, it was strange to witness their eerie grace.
Perhaps beasts grew wiser as they grew stronger—while humans only grew madder.
But Aris did not wish to ponder. His next meal stood before him, and in these cursed lands, there was one thing he despised above all—
Being denied his food.
He straightened slowly, towering before his foe. The fox stiffened but held its ground.
Aris's cold eyes never wavered as his blades slipped into his hands. Madness burned within them, yet behind it lingered a glimmer of sharp, calculating focus.
He crossed his arms, settling into his stance, desperately trying to restrain the frenzy clawing at his mind. But it was useless—the headache returned, splitting his skull, drowning all reason.
Instead of silence, whispers filled his ears. Voices commanding him to tear his prey apart.
When Aris finally lunged, water spraying in his wake, a twisted smile carved across his face..
And from a hundred meters away, the pack of fennecs erupted into mocking laughter, echoing in unison.
Some time later, the fox lay sprawled on the ground. Its body had been sliced apart, blood pouring so fast that its volume had already been reduced by nearly half. It was a terrifying sight.
Aris had finished it in less than twenty seconds, leaving the beast no chance to survive. Though it had endured the first ten seconds with graceful, measured movements, Aris had quickly reversed the tide of battle.
His speed was simply overwhelming. In the blink of an eye, the poor creature took a knife to the skull—the blade sinking in without resistance, as if cutting through butter.
After that, Aris had mutilated the beast relentlessly, quenching his demonic thirst for blood, stopping only when he realized he was drenched in it.
By then, Aris no longer resembled a human. In fact, he no longer bore any of humanity's colors. If men came in many shades and tribes, he belonged to none of them anymore.
He was almost always covered in blackened blood, and his once white-grey hair had turned in patches to a dark, stained hue.
He looked less like a man and more like an abomination crawling out from the abyss. At that moment, Ana would surely have thought him the second most terrifying thing she had ever seen—second only to the monster of the river.
That was how terrible he had become.
But Aris did not care.
He grabbed the fox by the tail, letting the blood drain before tearing it apart, taking the organs that seemed edible.
Sitting cross-legged on the damp ground, he left no opening. His back radiated such a heavy, negative aura it was as though a shell had formed around him, shielding the true horror within.
The fennecs did not dare approach. They waited at the edge, eyes gleaming, hoping for scraps to be tossed beyond the shell.
And soon, it came...
Without even turning, Aris threw the remains of the fox he had slain.
The fennecs saw the dead beast and went completely hysterical. They shoved one another aside, some even biting their own kin in a desperate scramble to reach the top of the heap that had formed, all to devour the carcass.
In the chaos, one fennec managed to scramble to the top, sinking its teeth into the fox's flesh—only to be torn apart an instant later by those just beneath it…