"A… Cannibal?!"
Not some mindless Hunger.
A Lesser Demon of Desire.
Cannibal of Desire—
—Gluttony given flesh.
The red haze of rage cleared from Mad Dog's vision as he staggered back, his instincts screaming what his pride refused to admit—this foe was beyond him.
The Cannibal's unnatural grace, those glistening claws, the way it licked his blood from its teeth with relish—every detail hammered home the terrible difference between their kinds.
Where Hungers were mere beasts, Cannibals were evolution's cruel joke—their bodies perfected for consumption.
Those steel-like claws could strip flesh from bone in seconds, their jagged teeth pulverizing meat to fuel endless stamina.
While a Hunger fed to grow strong, a Cannibal fed to never stop fighting.
"Fall back! Archers to the rear!" Mad Dog barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.
His men weren't Barbarians—
—just desperate raiders with no supernatural gifts.
Against this?
They were nothing but walking meals, their deaths only making the Cannibal stronger.
His mind raced.
Lady Rose could turn this tide—her cursed blessings could match this horror.
But to beg for her help now...
It would brand him weak.
In the Savage Expanse, power was the only currency that mattered.
Lady Rose's favor meant advancement, territory, survival.
To earn it, he needed to prove himself indispensable, not some sniveling commander who couldn't handle a single enhanced foe.
The Cannibal circled, its laughter a wet, chewing sound as it watched Mad Dog's forces regroup.
It knew the game too—every second they delayed was another corpse to devour, another burst of strength.
"Shields front! Archers loose at will!" Mad Dog growled, gripping his axe tighter.
He needed an opening—one perfect strike—before this feast made the Cannibal unstoppable.
And he'd be damned if he'd let some overgrown leech cost him his future.
...
The night screamed with flying death as arrows sliced through the blackness—a hailstorm of wood and iron launched blindly into the chaos.
From the forest's edge, hidden Hunger bowmen added their own lethal rain, their shafts whistling alongside the Raiders' volley.
But the defending Raiders stood firm, shields locking together into an iron wall that sent arrows skittering harmlessly into the dirt.
The Hungers broke like wounded animals—some collapsed with feathered shafts jutting from their backs, others turned on their own kind, tearing into living flesh to steal fleeting strength.
Blood slicked the earth, the metallic stench thick enough to taste.
Then—
—laughter.
The loinclothed horror moved like a nightmare given form.
With one hand, he seized a fleeing Hunger by the arm and—
—CRACK
—ripped it clean off at the shoulder, spraying blood across his bare chest.
The limb twitched in his grasp as an errant arrow punched through the donor's skull, dropping the Hunger mid-scream.
And then he ate.
He devoured the arm with obscene gusto, teeth grinding through muscle and tendon, blood painting his jagged yellow grin.
The Raiders recoiled—
—this was the fate that awaited them.
Death was one thing.
Being consumed alive was another.
Before the next volley could fly, the Cannibal exploded into motion.
With a predator's crouch, he launched himself vertically, claws finding purchase on bark as he scaled the trees in terrifying bursts.
Arrows thudded uselessly into wood where he'd just been.
Then—
—a final, arcing pounce—and he crashed into the Raiders' heart.
Formation shattered like glass.
Claws opened throats faster than screams could form.
His jaws locked onto a Raider's face, shearing off flesh with a wet crunch.
With every bite, his wounds knitted shut, his movements growing faster, stronger—a self-sustaining horror.
Mad Dog's axe swing was met with a backhand that sent him cartwheeling through the air.
He landed hard, ribs screaming, just in time to see his veterans—men who'd stood against a hundred battles—dissolve into panicked animals.
"KILL HIM!" The order tore from his throat.
But the command melted into the cacophony of breaking men and feasting teeth.
The Cannibal wasn't fighting.
He was holding a banquet.
And every Raider was on the menu.
Then—
—light erupted!
A brilliance like the sun's fury split the night apart, bathing the battlefield in blinding radiance.
And there, descending as if carried by the light itself, was a woman draped in a black cloak—though its folds did little to conceal the lethal curves beneath.
Lily...
Once—Blessed of Hal, Goddess of Light. Now something... darker.
"Which filthy mongrels dare disturb my rest?" Her voice, honeyed yet edged with menace, cut through the chaos like a blade.
Her gaze—half-lidded, disinterested—landed on Mad Dog.
"You. How long must this pathetic squabble drag on? If Mother wakes up, I'll ensure your corpses never feel dawn's touch again."
Then—
—she moved.
A dance.
Not the gentle sway of priestesses, but something primal.
Moonlight clung to her like a lover as she spun, the remnants of Hal's blessing igniting her skin with an eerie glow.
Every step was seduction.
Every motion, a spell.
A shaman's rite.
The Raiders gasped as fire flooded their veins.
Lily's dance stoked their bloodlust, their hunger for violence sharpening into a razor's edge.
Muscles swelled with stolen vigor.
Blades felt lighter.
Fear burned away.
The Cannibal hissed.
For the first time, doubt flickered in his yellowed eyes.
The Raiders' strikes came faster now—too fast.
He twisted, weaving through swings that should have killed him, claws deflecting what he couldn't dodge.
But then—
—THUNK.
An arrow buried itself in his thigh.
Roaring, he crushed a Raider's skull beneath his heel—face collapsing like rotten fruit—and used the momentum to launch himself backward, out of the death circle.
Retreat.
Mad Dog, fueled by Lily's ritual, exploded forward—his muscles burning with borrowed strength.
His prey was still airborne, the loinclothed man twisting helplessly as gravity dragged him down.
No escape.
With a savage grin, Mad Dog hurled a dagger straight for the Cannibal's throat.
The beast swung its claw in a desperate arc, deflecting the blade—
—but the force sent him spinning, his back now exposed.
Mad Dog struck.
His second dagger thrust toward the base of the Cannibal's skull—
—death inches away.
Time seemed to freeze.
The Cannibal's eyes widened, his fate written in steel.
Yet at the last moment—instinct saved him.
The second his feet touched earth, the Cannibal wrenched his head aside, the dagger grazing his ear instead of burying in his brain.
Mad Dog, overextended, stumbled forward—
—but instead of falling,
he latched onto the Cannibal like a starving wolf.
His arms locked around the beast's throat, squeezing with crushing force.
The Cannibal retaliated.
Jagged teeth sank into Mad Dog's forearm, shredding muscle to the bone.
Claws raked his ribs, punching through flesh again and again, painting the ground in crimson.
Mad Dog howled, pain and fury merging into something primal.
Then—
—he bit back.
With a roar that shook the battlefield, Mad Dog dug his teeth into the Cannibal's nape—and tore.
Flesh parted like wet parchment.
Blood fountained, drenching them both.
The Cannibal screeched, a sound more beast than man, as Mad Dog shook his head like a wolf finishing its kill.
But victory was fleeting.
Mad Dog's arm hung by threads of sinew, his side a ruin of punctured meat.
Only his Barbarian Rage kept him standing—barely.
And still, the Hungers came.
Unleashed.
Unafraid.
Their hunger outweighed their fear of death.
"Shield Mad Dog—NOW!"
A Raider lunged forward, dragging the bloodied Mad Dog back from the carnage.
His body was a ruin—arm hanging in tattered strips, ribs glistening through torn flesh.
"Pathetic," Lily murmured, her voice dripping with disdain.
She approached, golden light spilling from her fingertips as she purified his wounds—not healing, but scouring them clean of rot and corruption.
Then, with a flick of her wrist, she tossed a crimson potion at his wound.
The glass vial shattered, its contents seeping into his wounds like spilled blood.
"Be grateful I find you useful," she sneered.
"Or I'd let you choke on your own filth."
Lily turned with a sigh, her black cloak swirling like ink in water.
"Finish this quietly," she murmured, though her voice carried the weight of a executioner's axe.
"Or when Mother wakes... you'll wish the Cannibals had eaten you whole."
A ripple of terror passed through the raiders.
The Hungers were beasts, but Mother's waking was the slow unraveling of sanity itself—the kind of horror that left men clawing at their own eyes.
She strode toward the tent, where she believed Hound was still waiting.
Her smile softened, almost girlish. "Hound?" she called sweetly, pushing aside the flap—
—Only to find emptiness.
Lily's fingers froze on the tent flap.
The oil lamp's dying glow spilled across trampled grass and—
—Footprints.
Not the deep, orderly impressions of a guard standing watch.
These were staggered.
Desperate.
Her gaze traced them past the tent, into the tree line where the shadows grew thicker.
Darker.
Toward the Bone Orchards.
A laugh caught in her throat—sharp as broken glass.
"Oh, little brother..."