I wake up on the crystal floor, mind-bogglingly large mandalas of runes hovering over me.

I’m... still alive?

Why?

Just... why?

It befuddles me. I truly don’t understand.

Others keep saving me. Over and over and over. And then they DIE.

It’s obscene.

It’s ridiculous.

The blank-faced Torment leans over me, his sockets squirming worriedly.

Fuck this.

I reach out my hand and a tentacle promptly coils around my arm up to my forearm, pulling me up.

I don’t give a flying fuck that this isn’t proper noble etiquette.

I chuckle my thanks to him as I lean on his body for support.

He points to the body of my friend who left me, massive bites already made in her corpse, desecrating wholly. Already I can tell that everything has become so much... more. The concept of The King and this Tormented zone has truly entrenched itself in this reality with the help of her Magic-dense flesh.

The puzzle pieces click together. Anathema eat to heal and they eat to grow.

He is offering to let me, an “Anathema,” eat something I know would be better put towards The King’s consumption.

How... kind.

I am not an Anathema.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

It won’t help me.

Do I... continue the role?

Take a nibble?

Squeeze one more hour out of this?

Or do I quit the role? Let him kill me?

***

Screw this!

Screw this all!

I will fight to preserve my existence!

One more hour to live, laugh, and love.

I need to stop pretending that I am willing to die and end my cursed existence. Asking Betsie, err, Magical Girl Charity I mean, to kill me was merely a flight of fancy that I foolishly let escape my lips.

Besides, there is still a dark, festering hope inside me that her flesh, my FRIEND’S flesh, will help heal me where she couldn’t.

I think it's possible. After all, some people consume... imp flesh, and it heals them of virtually any injury.

I detach myself from The King’s bracing support, and clamber across the floor, hand after hand after foot after foot. My alien gait brings to her body, all ends of my limbs pressing into the sticky red; sharp pieces of bone poking into my palms

I take in her corpse in, cocking my head to the side. Truly the damage done to her, headless and missing most of her torso, does her injustice.

It really is a travesty.

I lean in. My mouth waters, my massive tongue squirming in... distaste? Hunger? Who knows.

My maw slowly opens, hovering over her arm.

My warm breath moves in and out of my mouth, and sweat beads on my forehead.

My chest tightens just a twinge.

My muscular pitch-black tongue extends all the way down out of my mouth onto the smooth unfeeling floor, curling under her bare arm. Mildly chalky at first, before a salty taste, tiny hairs prickling my tongue.

Goosebumps raise up all over my body, a terrible chill overcoming me.

My tongue pulls her arm up onto my rows upon rows of teeth.

I BITE.

A rush of white-hot ecstasy and overwhelming flavor makes me stumble a bit, before my limbs fail to support me.

As tears fall down my cheeks and my breathing speeds up, I gnash my teeth from my resting position into her body.

IT IS SO GOOD.

Passionate white-hot fire overwhelms the mind.

A spider’s yellowing web is made with crude solid strings, hanging.

Blue lines are torn in twain with a cruel snap.

Warm breath rushes in ferocious gales over this cooling landscape.

Purple threads twirl happily around gummy red.

Bone-white drips red in this dance among peach-pink.