The fall was like a stolen kiss from the abyss—a whirlwind of shadows squeezing my heart, erasing the world in a sigh. No pain, nah; just a cold seeping into my bones, like winter stealing the colors from autumn. I landed with a dull thud, breath knocked out, body wrapped in a cocoon of nothing.
Where the hell was I? Not the alley, that's for sure. The air was heavy, thick with a sour humidity, like the breath of a sleeping beast. I blinked, and what I saw choked me: a jungle, but not like in stories. Black stone pillars, twisted and veined with dark quartz, rose like petrified giants, their tops lost in a mist dancing like mourning veils. The ground? Black sand, fine and treacherous, clinging to my palms like a possessive lover, crunching under my fingers with a sinister whisper. Every step sank in, a soft trap sucking away hope.
"Fuck... This ain't a dream." My voice echoed, muffled, swallowed by the shadows. No birds, no sunlight. Just sounds—distant scratches, growls vibrating through the mist like promises of violence. My heart pounded, a war drum in my chest. Thirsty already? Hungry? Nah, it was fear gnawing, a jealous lover squeezing till I choked. Fleeting memories: my buddies' laughs at the birthday, the smell of rain on asphalt. Gone. All gone.
I stood, staggering, legs shaking like reeds in a storm. Gotta move. Survive. But to what? This world was a living tomb, a poem of agony where every shadow hid a fang. And as I crawled between the pillars, dodging stone roots clawing the air, I heard the feast begin.
First, a shrill cry—high-pitched, like a blade on silk. Then a wet crack, followed by a stifled yelp. I huddled behind a monolith, breath short, and dared peek. There, in a clearing of black sand, the macabre ballet of this cursed fauna unfolded. At the bottom: "Sand-Claws," crawling critters no bigger than a cat, with iridescent obsidian shells and mandibles snapping like hungry scissors. They swarmed, fighting over invisible carcasses, devouring each other in cannibal frenzy—the weakest chomped by its sister, a red cycle where black blood stained the ground like spilled ink.
But they weren't alone. A predator dove from the heights: a "Veil-Echo," a giant bat with membranous wings veined in night, its sonic clicks—supernatural echoes—guiding the hunt. It swooped, a whirlwind of fangs and flaps, snatching a Sand-Claw in a scream that iced my blood. Survivors fled, burrowing into the sand, but another hunter lurked: the "Stone-Jaws," massive armored beetles like dogs, with basalt mandibles that crushed everything—bones, shells, hope. One burst from a crevice, swallowed a wounded Veil-Echo in a snap, and the feast rolled on, a symphony of torn flesh where no one was safe.
I gagged. Hunger, though, rose treacherous. How long till I'm the prey? Hours? Days? No sun here; time was a lie. I crawled, dodged a nest of Sand-Claws battling over a spectral worm—a "Shadow-Larva," pale gelatinous meat, ultimate bait in this voracious chain. My stomach growled, a traitor. Gotta... find water? Food? Anything.
Night fell—or what passed for it: thicker dark, pillars glowing with cold phosphor. I tripped over a wounded Sand-Claw, isolated, legs weakly scratching the sand. Its eyes, two black pearls, stared with silent accusation. Mercy? Or challenge? Hunger won. I bashed it with a rock—clumsy, bloody—and, tears stinging, tore its shell. The flesh... gooey, bitter like regret, tasting of ash and iron. I chewed, swallowed bile. "Sorry, little horror. You or me."
And as the black juice slid down my throat, fire ignited inside. Not pain—no, dark ecstasy, like a forbidden kiss. Words etched in my mind, cold and merciless:
[Voracious Unlocked – Level 1]
Absorption: +5% Strength (temporary). Hunger calls power. Devour to survive.
My body shook, a heat wave chasing the chill. Muscles tensed, sharper, like the beast in me woke. But joy was short. A rumble shook the ground—a Stone-Jaw, drawn by blood scent. Mandibles clacked, massive shadow looming in the mist.
Run, Arthur. Or devour.