William stood at the brink—no, not just nervous, but at the very edge of what a human body and mind could endure. Inside him, the Beast clawed, thrashing against the rusted bars of his consciousness, and outside—stood the wendigo.
"Tear me out! Drag me into the open, boy! I'll shred that whore into ribbons of meat!" The Beast thundered, its voice reverberating like iron chains struck against bone. It gnawed at William's thoughts, battering the walls of his mind with a rabid hunger, like a caged predator that had scented blood.
And then—the laughter. Low. Wet. Crooked, as if the sound itself was grinding marrow into dust.
"When I finish your entrails, little toy, I'll split your corpse for pleasure… Ah, kitten, isn't that what you were born for? To feed, to entertain? Pure use, pure meat."
