Day 3 Evening

[Clownpiece]

The long grass of the prairie crunched beneath Somerled’s feet, a massive gap in the vast plains trodden down by his endless pacing. Just slightly louder than the sounds of his steps was the near incoherent mutterings of the monster, harsh and low in tone. He’d followed that ethereal voice so he could eat. A device like that, which could shock a person back to life, would be highly desired by so many. Prey, attracted like moths to a flame, and yet he was driven off with so much as a bite.

She was right there. His next meal had been within reach. Unconscious, singing with the scents of injury and blood. So helpless, so easy to kill, so human. Not even that weird, white metal whatever could have stood between him and his lunch. It would have fallen too, slain by the hand of the monster.

He should have charged, rushed down that boy with the gun. What had he been thinking, using a gun against a monster? He’d been shot by those silly little contraptions of metal and powder too many times to count. They weren’t a threat in the least. The only ones he’d ever felt even a tiny bit worried by were those monstrosities created by the Council. Massive gadgets of magic and metal, made specifically to kill the unkillable, loaded with rounds so big they would rend his entire being to dust in an instant. Those were the types of guns he’d run from, not from whatever half-rate mechanism that silver-haired boy wielded. Guns couldn’t kill a monster.

So why did he run? The monster ceased his pacing for a moment, turned his head skyward, and unleashed an enraged, incoherent shout. He could have taken every single shot from that weapon and still been standing. The gods know he’s survived far worse. It took an army and a god to kill him, and that only worked because they nullified his power first. Some asshole with a firearm should have been easy pickings. No matter how many shots he would have sustained, he would still be standing.

His gaze fell down to the new hole in his gut. Blood no longer seeped from the wound. Now, it was mist, rising up and disappearing into the breeze. The dead flesh and spent blood of the monster, no longer with anything to sustain it, dissolved into the very essence of the weather. He poked his finger into the wound. Searching for gaps or abrasions would have been a fruitless endeavor, with no way to feel. Neither his hand nor his gut would give any indication of texture nor symptom of pain. He pulled his finger back out, spotless.

A growl escaped the throat of the monster, his pacing starting back up. Next time, no matter how many he had to face, no matter who was there, he was going to get a meal. Even if he had to eat them alive, tear into them while they flailed about helplessly. He wouldn’t even wait until they were weakened, or unconscious, or anything of the like. They couldn’t push him back, he’d just bite their hands off. They couldn’t escape, not if they were in his grasp.

If he started eating immediately, the moment he was within range, then not even an army would be able to pull him off in time to save them. That was his plan. He would eat. Someone would have to fall prey to him. No one would get in his way.

No one.

He would eat.