The hunger is devouring us. It eats us from the inside, maddeningly incessant, and we drag our claws through our surroundings, desperate for relief. Irritating high-pitched sounds rake at our ears. We wish it would stop—we can make it stop—but when we turn our attention to the source, we notice a distinct glow in its chest. Our mouth waters.

Food.

The room we’re in is tiny, cramped, so when we dart out the door, it shatters from its frame. We shake off the splinters. There’s more noise out here. Screams—yes. More screams. It’s irritating, but inconsequential, because our prey is fleeing.

A thrill runs through us. A chase—we love a chase. Usually. But we’re so weak, right now, and tired, and hungry. We can play with our prey later. First, we need to feed.

We jump, snapping through the air like a black bolt of lightning, covering half the block in an instant. We crash down on our prey, snarling with triumph. Easy. So easy.

Something dark and wet is spreading across the ground where we’ve pinned one of their limbs. It smells sharp and warm. We crane our head toward it.

Blood. Right, we remember blood. The one before had so much blood. We hadn’t had time to play with him, then, either. Maybe today we can. But first, the meal.

Their soul glows bright, so bright, beneath their ribcage. We don’t understand why it’s tucked away in there, when it’s so easy to peel back the layers. We reach toward our prize, savoring its quivering, fragile light.

Something hits us on our side. Not hard. Barely a tap. But it’s curious. Why? Doesn’t it know what we are? Doesn’t it know not to interrupt a meal?

At first, we don’t see it. It’s not another creature, but a small, pitiful object. A—a toy, the word comes to us.

It throws another pebble.

We laugh. How simple. How stupid! This insignificant bug wants to fight? Alright. We will indulge.

We spear it with one of our shadows.

The thing convulses, waving its limbs frantically, trying to grab at the nothing of our essence, as we lift it into the air. How funny! It looks so pathetic, still trying to fight. Why does prey never understand when it’s about to die?

We are about to tear it in half when we notice the sliver of light shining from inside it. Oh! This one has a soul. Good. We will need many more. We curl our essence around the soul, starting to—

No! We can’t, not Noli, please, we have to leave her alone, we—

We hiss, snuffing the thought from our mind. The creature in our grasp has gone limp. Its soul is still in our grasp. We tighten our grip, tasting the first licks of the power we crave.

But something has soured our appetite. The idea of eating it is distasteful. It is so small, anyway. Barely a snack.

We toss the thing away, where it cracks into the side of a building and crumples to the ground. Desiring something more filling, we turn back to our other prey.

But it’s gone! Fury boils up within us as we swing our head from side to side, searching for where it’s run.

There’s more prey about. More screams. We see the one we had captured, others helping it away, trailing ichor—no, blood—from its wound. We sneer at the attempt. Good. In its pain, it’s called more of its kind.

We’re in for a feast.

We charge the injured one first—an easy mark. The ones surrounding it freeze, bracing for impact—

A blow crashes into us from behind and we fly over our prey’s head, slamming into the ground beyond and skidding across the road, leaving a streak of black ichor in our wake. Concern briefly ripples through us, and we quickly check our anchor—undamaged. Good. We tuck it back safely within our shadows. Then anger ignites within us. Indignation. Seething, we spin to face our attacker.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Four beings confront us. A tiny, insignificant part of us recognizes them: the adventurers from the forest. Irrelevant. We will devour them regardless.

The largest one charges first—clumsy and slow. We weave around its attack, stabbing it with spears of black in its back and side. Before it even hits the ground, we are upon the rest of the party, fangs bared.

The first to react dodges back—a smart move as we swing a blade of void before us, slicing through the other two. They go down, as the last one screams for their companions. This time the sound is more satisfying than grating. Even so, we cut it off with one final move, a spear of ink stabbing through their—

Stop! This isn’t right, we can’t, we—

—stabbing through their chest. Stuttering only a moment, we yank our limb back, drawing with it the freshly harvested soul. The body collapses as the soul leaves its vessel. We wish to marvel at it, to savor its warmth and fragility. But we cannot allow for any more opportunities to hesitate. In one swift move, we crush it between our teeth.

Its power floods through us, filling us with euphoria and satisfaction—dismay and horror—as we absorb the life force into our essence. The ecstasy is indescribable, all cares abated, the hunger banished. But it is only temporary. The craving begins to creep back in once more.

Another. We need another.

No. Please. No more.

We turn to one of the fallen companions, who is not dead—no, that wouldn’t do for us at all—but has conveniently decided to only crawl a few spans away. We stalk after them, gleefully spearing one of their legs to reel them back in. They squirm and scream like an animal. This amuses us. Maybe this soul we can savor.

Our mouth waters in anticipation.

We feel sick.

We reach for the glowing star in our prey’s chest.

Victim. They’re our victim.

We press the tip of our blade above their soul, ready to plunge it down.

And hesitate. Our blade quivers. We want to—no, we don’t, we don’t want this, we have to stop—kill them. We want to crush their soul in our jaws. We want to savor that brief, sweet relief from starvation, to sate this never-ending hunger, to stuff ourselves until the craving is buried beneath gorged satisfaction.

We stab into our prey’s chest, ripping their soul from their body.

No! No no no no no—

Our heart breaks as we consume our second soul, and we’re sorry, we’re so sorry, we’re trying, but we can’t stop it. We’re too powerful.

The thought fills us with pride as the warmth of the soul spreads through our void. The second is just as delicious as the first.

Now for the next o—

Something strikes us in the side, and we are slammed into the street, splashing along it like a smashed fruit. We nearly drop our anchor as it crunches against the gravel, and a distant, strange voice rings through our mind.

[4 points of Fall damage sustained.]

Echo. That’s Echo.

We start to engulf the anchor within our void once more, but our attacker doesn’t give us a chance. Another blow swings down on top of us, smashing through our shadows and the street beneath it, splattering our essence away. The anchor slips from our grasp.

Now, now, now’s our chance!

We howl in anger as a fraction of our mind pulls away, but we still have the prey to deal with. It’s screaming and frothing as it slashes at us with an ax, blood dripping from its wounds and splattering about with each wild swing. The first and largest companion of the other two creatures we devoured. We thought we’d dealt with this one already. No matter. Despite its strength, its movements are slow and uncontrolled, and its soul glows brightly in its chest, an easy target for—

Attune. Attune!

[Activating Attunement with Void.]

A numbing heat spreads through us like poison. We recoil as the sensation crawls through us, searing tendrils infecting our essence wherever it spreads. We feel a surge of hope—a wave of uncertainty. What is this? But we already know. It’s for controlling magic. Controlling us.

But it’s not nearly powerful enough. It’s a cup of water against a wildfire, a candle against winter.

Yet it’s enough to make us hesitate. And as our prey launches itself at us once more, it’s enough distraction for our hold to slip—

And the Between yawns open behind us. It draws us in like a whirlpool. Our claws are torn from the fabric of reality. Angrily we try to regain purchase, snatching at the anchor, but now that we’ve lost our hold, we don’t have enough power to sustain our presence here. More souls. We need more souls.

And we try to pull ourself away. We fight, we fight so hard, even as we feel ourself being dragged back Between with it—with us—with the predator—

A final burst of fury explodes through us as we realize we can’t hold us together any longer, as our soul is slipping through our fingers, our warmth, our power, we don’t want to let it go—

Fucker, that soul is mine.

And we scream as we rip ourselves apart, as most of us succumbs to the Between while a small part of us—

Collapses back into my body, light and sound and sensation all painfully, painfully real. Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh my fucking shit fuck—I’m me. I’m me again.

But every part of me aches, like I’ve been shredded apart and stitched back together, like I could blow apart at the slightest breeze.

Slowly, the shadows evaporate from the street.

And I’m left there alone in the rubble, trembling, fragile. Not just physically. My mind—my sense of self—my soul. It’s all mine again. The predator is gone. But I don’t know that all of me made it back. When we ripped apart, it didn’t feel like a clean cut. I try to pinpoint anything that’s missing, anything that might be out of place, but how can you even know if a memory’s gone if you can’t remember it? If a feeling’s gone that you can no longer feel? It’s just… a hunch. A lingering dread that when the void was torn away, it left me perforated, and whatever’s filling those holes might not be me.