His bloodshot eyes grew even more inflamed, the pupils clouding over with a misty gray haze. One wing remained twisted at a grotesque angle, blood dripping steadily from beneath the splintered bone. He looked utterly wretched.
Yet the vulture mutant seemed incapable of feeling pain. Nearly half his head was covered in parasites, and the expression on his partially obscured face was hollow and solemn. His powerful hooked beak snapped open, releasing a stiff, frigid command:
"Eat… him."
It sounded like an order being issued.
Immediately afterward, the same words began to spill from the mouths of the other mutants.
Mechanical. Numb. Cruel. Male voices and female voices alike. It was as though the ticks were using human tongues to proclaim their decree—halting and awkward, as if even the tongues themselves had not yet learned how to move properly.
"Eat… you."
"Eat… the human."
Bones cracked and popped as they flexed limbs that seemed to have been stiff for far too long.
