Mike saw the golden spear leveled near him and swatted it aside as he staggered to his feet. His vision blurred at the edges, every heartbeat thudding like a hammer against his skull. Turning from Sorina, he stumbled out of the half-collapsed garage, the sudden sunlight stabbing his eyes. He hissed through his teeth, raising a trembling hand against the glare.
The settlement was silent as he passed. Dozens of eyes followed him, men, women, even children all frozen where they stood. Their gazes trailed across the shifting ripple of scales beneath his skin, as though something inside him wanted to claw its way out. The clothes they had draped on him were now little more than blood-soaked rags clinging to his battered frame.
The wound in his shoulder where Woden's spear had struck still throbbed, raw and burning. His leg dragged stiffly behind him, the bones aching from the giant's earlier strike. "I need to fucking heal," Mike muttered, the words rasping like sand in his throat. The whispers surged immediately at the sound of his own voice, gnawing at the edges of his mind.
Give in. Feed. Heal.
He clenched his jaw so hard it made his teeth ache, forcing his body to keep moving. Step by step, he made his way to the outskirts of the settlement, pushing through the smoke that marked where the giants had fled. His ears caught the faint shuffle of pursuit behind him, Sorina, and a handful of others trailing at a careful distance. He didn't look back. He couldn't. If he acknowledged them, if he gave the whispers even a sliver of space, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself.
For twenty minutes he pressed forward into the haze. Each breath burned his lungs, each step dragged more weight from his failing body. Then the sound came, heavy movement in the trees ahead, slow and uneven. Something big.
The giant that had fled.
Mike's eyes narrowed, the hunger inside him sparking to life. His vision tunneled, every rational thought drowned beneath the pounding of his pulse. Using his good leg, he hurled himself forward with unnatural speed, his right arm tearing into its reptilian form. Scales rippled across his flesh as black claws burst from his hand, curving like hooked blades.
He struck the giant's gut with a roar, burying his arm deep into the soft flesh. The creature howled, staggering back, but Mike had already lunged higher, his head transforming, jaw snapping into a scaled maw. He clamped down with crushing force, ripping out mouthfuls of flesh and hot blood.
The whispers went silent.
No headache. No pain.
Just the rush. The euphoria. The bliss of healing flooding into his veins with every bite.
The giant flailed, massive fists swinging wildly, cracking trees and earth in its desperate attempt to knock him off. But Mike clung tighter, crawling across its body like a living shadow, tearing and devouring, his jaws slick with blood. His wounds knitted themselves shut with every mouthful. The gash in his shoulder sealed. His leg steadied. His ribs no longer burned.
Sorina and the others watched from the smoke's edge, their faces pale. What they saw was not human. Not dragon. Something in between. A creature with a scaled arm, a reptilian head, and glowing crimson eyes that burned with unholy hunger. It crawled across the giant like a parasite, tearing, chewing, swallowing. The giant's screams grew weaker until it collapsed into the mud.
Mike didn't stop. He tore through it until there was nothing left but bones and ragged pools of blood. His chest heaved, his mouth dripping scarlet as his features slowly shifted back to human. His red eyes lingered on Sorina and her companions, sending a chill through them that rooted them to the ground.
For a moment, it looked as though he might come for them. His jaw tightened. Blood dripped down his chin. Then he turned away, wordless, and walked deeper into the smoke.
The whispers returned immediately, fiercer than before.
Devour the humans. Eat them all. Leave no one.
Mike growled and clutched his head, forcing his feet to keep moving. He pushed deeper into the haze until the shadows opened into a clearing.
The giant camp.
Nearly a dozen of them were gathered around a roaring fire, their guttural voices carrying through the smoke as they forged makeshift weapons. Slabs of steel and twisted beams were shaped into crude blades and jagged spears. Sparks flew into the air, glowing like fireflies before vanishing into the night.
At the center stood a massive giant, far larger than the rest. His beard was matted with soot, and his arms were covered in runic tattoos that glowed faintly with heat. He hammered at a molten beam of metal with a great blacksmith's hammer, each blow ringing like thunder through the forest. The smell of molten steel stung Mike's nose as he crouched low, watching.
Around the perimeter, other giants paced along sharpened tree trunks fashioned into colossal stakes, forming a barrier of jagged wood around the camp. Their movements were disciplined, calculated. These were not raiders. They were preparing for war.
And Mike stood there on the edge of the smoke, his body trembling, the hunger in him rising again like a tide that refused to recede.
Mike crouched as he arrived at the edge of the clearing, his claws twitching, his breath ragged. The whispers had grown into a frenzy now, an overlapping chorus in his skull.
They are prey. Tear them. Burn them. Devour them.
The giant at the forge raised his hammer again, runes pulsing across his arms as sparks leapt into the smoky air. The sight made Mike's hunger sharpen into a blade. His chest burned with heat, scales prickling under his skin. His muscles coiled tight, trembling with the need to lunge.
For one fleeting instant, a sliver of clarity pierced through him. He saw Sorina's face, the way she had looked at him when he tore apart the wounded giant. Not with awe, not with trust but with fear.
His hands shook. He squeezed them shut, claws digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood.
"No… not again," he whispered to himself, voice hoarse.
The whispers laughed.
Again. Always again. You are the hunger. You are the end.
Something inside him snapped.
Mike threw back his head and roared a sound so deep and guttural it made the trees quake and the fire whip high into the air. Giants turned instantly, weapons lifted, voices shouting warnings.
But it was already too late.
Mike erupted from the smoke, half-dragon, half-man, a nightmare with burning eyes and claws like curved blades. His first strike tore through the skull of the nearest giant, blood spraying across the firelit camp. The second blow ripped the spine from another before it could even scream.
The camp fell into chaos. Giants bellowed and charged, brandishing molten steel and jagged clubs. The runed blacksmith roared louder than the rest, raising his hammer to strike.
And Mike drunk on rage, hunger, and whispers dove straight into them.