The ground was firm. Not like stone—more like flesh. It was impossible to tell whether what they were standing on was alive or dead.Morak opened his eyes.His mouth was filled with dust. A dry cough escaped his throat as he tried to breathe.But his chest didn't move.His heart wasn't beating.Yet he was breathing.This... this was impossible.He raised his hand. The cuts on his fingers were still open. His skin looked burned.Beside him, Horak stirred. A faint groan. Morak turned to him, "Are we... alive?"But deep down, he knew. His heart wasn't beating.NO.They weren't alive.
As Horak slowly sat up, his spine cracked loudly. He stood—no trembling in his knees, no blood flowing. Only his eyes welled with tears.There was no sky. Just layers upon layers of blackened mountains, scorched bones, and endless ruins… and screams.They had died.And yet… they lived again.
For a moment, both remained silent.A sound echoed in the distance.Was it the cry of a beast, or someone's final scream? No one could tell.
They had no idea how much time had passed.Hours? Days?Did time even exist here?The sky was always a dull red.The earth smelled like burned flesh.
And their bodies?Morak looked at his hands. The unhealed cuts, the cracked skin—his wounds were being covered with a dark gray layer. Not new flesh, but something else.It wasn't healing. It was evolving.The wounds didn't scab—the scab had become him.
Horak's rage was endless.When he clenched his fists, his bones cracked.They were no longer white, but gray, leaning toward black.His broken shoulder fused back—not as it was, but with a sharp, rib-like protrusion."My body isn't returning to its old form. What once killed me now carries me," Horak thought.The bruises beneath his eyes remained, but something burned within.Willpower.
When the transformation was complete, they felt the faint breeze.Morak knelt, staring at his hands.His reshaped fingers still functioned, even when tensed.Horak stood, leaning on a rock, observing Morak.
"Horak, look—my arms are thicker, stronger. They feel... new."Horak responded with a blank expression, "Of course. When you devour the messenger of a god raw, the body is rewarded."Morak grinned, running his tongue between his teeth with a hissing sound."There's no way flesh from the gods wouldn't be delicious."
Horak stepped away from the rock."You think this is justice? I'm the one who killed him, yet you gained the power."
Morak stood up. His body wasn't fully stable—he swayed slightly."There's no death here anymore, Horak… Which means every blow is just a reminder."Morak smiled. His teeth were sharp now."I like remembering—especially if it tastes good."
Horak narrowed his eyes. His voice turned to ice."I don't taste anything anymore."
Morak raised his head, looking at Horak with a mocking expression."Still mad at me? You killed him. I merely... made use of it."
Horak stepped closer.Their eyes met."Your gluttony is nothing next to my intellect."
Morak smiled."We'll see."
Horak drifted into arrogant thought:I was the one who killed him. When the messenger's blood splashed onto my hands, I felt something break inside me.And Morak?He didn't even look at the body. With his insatiable hunger, he swallowed that sacredness like a hot, glowing morsel.Now his arms are like steel, his eyes shine.My hand, though... still doesn't feel like mine.Ahahahahaaa.But I'm different.I don't grow stronger by devouring. I gain power by consuming.I wait for my prey with patience—tear it apart with pure strength.You know what comes next?Now, I will eat too.But only the one I choose—The highest one—The owner of death.That power… it must be mine.