Note: This chapter contains a graphic scene that might be upsetting to readers. Kindly read it with discretion. Thank you.
Using my tail to brace myself, I tore free from the metal pinning me. Every movement felt wrong. I staggered toward him, half-expecting him to rise again. I struck his chest with my claw.
Nothing.
That skin was still impenetrable.
Then the voice returned—calm, certain.
Rip his mouth open.
I froze.
"No," I whispered. My hands shook. "I won't."
The hunger surged in response, sharp and cruel. My stomach twisted painfully. My vision blurred. The smell of blood filled my senses, overwhelming, intoxicating.
You're dying, the voice said. You know what to do.
I looked down at my body—impaled, bleeding. His massive corpse, still warm. My throat tightened.
"I don't want to be this," I said. "I don't want to disrespect the dead just to survive."
Then starve, the voice replied. And die human.
I closed my eyes. Hated myself as I obeyed.
My hands hovered over his jaw. I hesitated, tears blurring my vision. Every part of me screamed to stop—to turn away—to accept death rather than cross that line.
But the hunger burned hotter. Louder. My heart stuttered in my chest.
"I'm sorry," I whispered—to him, to myself.
I hesitated one last time before committing to it—before letting my hands do what my mind still refused to accept.
My fingers dug into the edges of his jaw, muscles trembling as I forced his mouth wider. The resistance was unreal, like prying open reinforced steel wrapped in flesh. I leaned in, teeth clenched, and tore again. Cartilage snapped. Bone cracked. Blood poured down my arms, hot and slick, soaking into my sleeves and dripping onto the gravel below.
The smell hit me all at once. I gagged, bile burning my throat.
Now, the voice urged. Not shouting. Certain.
I stared into the ruin of his mouth. Down his throat, everything pulsed—muscle contracting reflexively, even in death. The sound was wet and wrong. My stomach churned. Every instinct I had screamed to pull back, to stop before I crossed a line I could never uncross.
"I'm still human," I whispered, as if saying it out loud might make it true.
Then the hunger surged again—violent, merciless. My vision dimmed at the edges. My heart stuttered.
I shoved my arm inside his throat.
The heat was unbearable. Flesh closed around my forearm, spasming as if trying to reject me. I gagged again, retching as my claws slid deeper, scraping past ridged muscle and cartilage. I felt movement—residual reflexes—clamping, tightening. Panic flared. For a second I thought I'd get stuck there, swallowed whole by a corpse.
I pushed through it.
My shoulder burned as I forced my arm deeper, past the gag reflex of something that should have been dead. Blood coated my skin, thick and sticky, running down to my elbow. My fingers brushed something firm—then missed. I adjusted, fighting nausea, fighting fear, fighting myself.
Then I felt it.
A dense, powerful mass, still warm. Still warm, stubbornly refusing to accept the end.
My hand closed around his heart.
"I'm sorry," I said again—hoarse, desperate.
I ripped it free.
Blood gushed out in a violent rush, splattering my hood, my mask, the ground. I stumbled back, gasping, heart clenched in my fist like a living thing betrayed. The weight of it—physical and moral—nearly drove me to my knees.
Then the voice returned, softer now. Eat.
I brought the heart closer, and my body reacted before my mind could stop it. My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped it.
The first bite was agony.
My teeth sank in and fibers tore with a wet, tearing sound that echoed in my skull. The taste detonated across my tongue—metallic, burning, overwhelmingly alive. I gagged hard, nearly retching it back out. My vision blurred as my mind rejected it outright, screaming for me to spit it out, to stop, to run.
I nearly did.
Then my body answered.
Warmth exploded through my chest, rushing outward like wildfire. The pain in my shoulder dulled. The cold that had been crawling through my veins recoiled and vanished. My heartbeat steadied, stronger—heavier. My limbs stopped shaking.
I froze, heart still between my teeth.
This is wrong, my mind insisted. You're crossing something you can't uncross.
But my body leaned in, desperate, greedy. My jaw worked on its own, chewing despite the tears streaming down my face. Each swallow felt like swallowing molten iron, yet with every one, the agony faded. Strength flooded in, thick and intoxicating. The hunger that had been gnawing at me for hours loosened its grip, finally—mercifully—quiet.
I sobbed as I forced myself to keep going.
The texture was horrific—dense, rubbery, resisting every bite. Blood ran down my chin and neck. I could feel it sliding down my throat, feel the heat spreading through my core, stitching me back together from the inside. My stomach churned, threatening to empty itself, but it never did. It accepted it.
The moment the heart was gone, heat exploded through me. My missing leg rebuilt itself violently—bone knitting, muscle wrapping, skin sealing as if time itself were being rewritten. Strength surged back, overwhelming, intoxicating.
When it ended, I stood whole again.
The fur faded. The tail vanished.
Only the blood remained.
My body felt relieved, but my mind wasn't.
I sat in the ruins of the construction site, breathing hard, knowing with sick certainty that whatever line I'd been standing on—I had stepped far past it.
And some part of me had enjoyed it.
I checked my watch—cracked, barely ticking.
3:00 a.m.
I didn't leave right away. Wiped my hands against the dirt, then my clothes, then gave up. The stains weren't going anywhere.
Get home, I told myself. Before someone comes.
After pulling the lower half of my mask back into place with shaking fingers, I jumped over the fence. On the other side, the alley felt narrower than before, like it was watching me.
I took the long way back, avoiding the brighter streets. Every shadow made my shoulders tense. Every sudden sound—footsteps, a door slamming, a barking dog—sent a jolt through me. I kept my head down, my hands buried in my tattered sleeves, counting my breaths, counting my steps.
By the time I reached my neighborhood, the sky had begun to pale. That thin, ugly blue before sunrise. The streets were empty again, washed clean by silence. I vaulted the wall into our yard, landed softly this time. Brutus lifted his head from where he lay near the door.
He sniffed.
I froze.
For a second, I thought he'd bark with excitement. Instead, his tail thumped weakly against the ground. He padded over, nudged my leg, then sneezed and backed away, confused.
"Yeah," I whispered. "Me too."
I slipped back into my room through the window and closed it as quietly as I could. The darkness wrapped around me, familiar and fragile. I leaned against the wall and finally let myself slide down to the floor.
My hands were still trembling.
I peeled off the mask, changed to my usual clothes, and stared at my reflection in the dark glass of the window. Purple eyes turned back to their normal color...dark brown. I stared at my image in the mirror as it stared back at me, then I looked away.
When I finally lay down on the bed, exhaustion hit all at once. My body felt heavy, satisfied, whole. But my mind wouldn't stop replaying the sound of tearing flesh.
I closed my eyes anyway.
Sleep came fast.