I was torn from the desolate expanse of my cursed existence. Long had I been left to wander the desert.

Alone.

Always alone.

Fully deserving of my solitude.

Where the earth crackled beneath my feet, brittle from centuries of the sun’s rays. My talons, still wet with the remnants of my latest sin, glistened faintly in the pale light. That last indulgence—though I detested every moment—was necessary to endure the insatiable hunger that gnaws at my gut. This was my curse, to hunger for that original sin, yet never be able to sate the void.

Green woods and cool air send tingles down my spine. Trees that I do not recognize surround me, I scratch one of them, my claws leaving furrows in the water rich wood. The leaves were full and wide, very unlike the cacti I had attempted to survive off. But plants would never suffice. Nor would water slake my thirst, for I needed blood.

“How did I get here?” My voice was raspy from disuse, yet it would be needed if people were around.

I would give them a chance to run.

I always gave them a chance.

The hunger grew within my stomach, growling as it chewed on my lungs. I needed to feed soon. It had been too long. There was no sign of the man I’d chased through the purple disc, he’d disappeared, most likely taken elsewhere by the portal. Pain wracked my gut, as if my stomach was devouring itself, stomach acid seeping into my lungs.

“I wish someone would just kill me. Stop me before I hurt someone else.” My words echoed, both wholly sincere, and the founding lie of my curse.

The powers above and below both knew what I had done to survive. After that sin, we all knew there is nothing I wouldn’t do.

Metal clashed against steel, the distant ring focusing my mind. Where there was metal, there were people. A meal. I sniffed the air, taking in scents, sorting through them to find the delicious taste of blood.

The air carried the weight of distant conflict, vibrating with the rhythm of marching warriors and something else—darker, far more sinister. I found my feet moving of their own accord, running towards the combat. This new forest recognized me, knew I was a man of the land, and not a human. Branches parted before me, guiding me towards fresh prey. The terrible craving gnawed relentlessly, an eternal ache that only the consumption of meat could briefly alleviate. But here, in this warped land, the scent of mortality was tainted—corrupted, as if the very essence of life had soured.

I looked forward, watching as wolves, the size of bison, tear into a man. He was thin, gaunt, and his blood made my tongue quiver. Saliva gathered in my mouth, but the wolves weren’t wolves. They were some form of evil spirit, made more of malice and energy than of flesh and bone. The man discovered this as he plunged a kitchen knife into the creature’s eye, yet no blood or viscera left the wound. I watched, enthralled by their meal, but knew better than to steal prey from demons. They needed to eat just as badly as I did. They would leave something behind, some dried blood or scraps of flesh. So I waited.

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Never blinking as the black dogs tore the man apart. The bastards didn’t even leave bones behind. Anything they found was consumed.

I considered tapping into my powers and slaying them, but the scent of them turned my stomach. And somehow I knew their meat would only intensify my curse.

Then I saw them, armored brutes larger than myself, they smashed the bloodless ones with fists heavier than full grown men. But filled with less hot air. Mana lashed out, blades of invisible speed ripped the demons apart. This creature was a mage, a gorgeous, delightful, tender mage. I could feel her compassion, her power. She would be delicious, surely her supple flesh would sate my–

An orb appeared in front of me, on reflex alone I crushed the wil-o-wisp. My fingers tightening around a ball of wind and creating a shockwave that blew apart trees and revealed myself to the lovely girl.

“Hello?” She called.

I shouldn’t be here, she has a family. And for the first time in my damnation, I was the one who ran. Sprinting on hands and feet to escape her watch. Anything to put distance between a worthy soul and the foulness of my existence. I could not stomach the pure, for innocent souls worsened the hunger. I needed a soul as black as mine. Only by removing evil akin to myself would my hunger finally fade.

I fled from the towering wall of glossy black, shimmering as though carved from the night itself. At first, they appeared to be abandoned relics of a forgotten age, but as I wandered the forested lands, the days blurred together and the walls became a constant shadow. I hunted, feeding off anything that walked. If it bled, I consumed it. Thankfully I found no humans. Only their cows and goats. Deliciously simple creatures that slaked my hunger for a brief moment. Yet I found myself outside the obsidian walls once more, called back to them by a power I did not revere but one who accepted my curse. It felt as though the world’s mother was calling me home, and I began to sense a presence within—an ancient power lurking beneath the stone. The structures pulsed, almost like a heartbeat, slower, heavier, and forever present, exuding a dark energy that sent chills down my spine.

Around me, a horde of idiot abominations assailed the obsidian bastion, clawing and licking with mindless fervor.

Those creatures were sick imitations of life, wolves that burned, hulks that withered as they touched the walls, allowing the walls to drain their vitality. All were malformed, grotesque, and hideous beyond comprehension, locked in eternal struggle with the fortifications. But they were not like me. They had never been cursed with the intelligence of humanity. Without that intelligence, I could not have known my abhorrence. For I was wendigo, one who saved themselves by taboo. By killing and devouring another life. I was hunger. The need to consume, the curse, defined me.

The assailants flowed around me, feeding the obsidian walls with their bodies. The defenders came in patrols, slaying the beasts, but never in time. For the beasts bled onto the walls, giving their lifeforce to whatever dwelt within.

I watched, hesitant. I held no allegiance to either faction, nor did their battle concern me. And yet... the curse was a cruel master. My appetite demanded sacrifice.

I could feel it—the insatiable craving rising, hot and acidic within my chest. All around me, the bodies lay broken, some still writhing in their final moments. To devour the fallen, the living, even the barely conscious—each one a fleeting release from the torment. But with every step forward, the weight of my curse pulled tighter, like a chain wrapped around my soul, fettering me to this relentless existence. I loathed my need, yet I satisfied it all the same.

The castles loomed above, their shimmering surfaces slick with the blood and rain of the day’s slaughter. I gazed up at them, wondering if my presence could sway the outcome of this monstrous war. Would the darkness within me be any different from the malevolence that raged below? Would my appetite, this cursed hunger, alter the course of this strange conflict?

But the curse... it always wins. It always demands. And I was too weak to deny it any longer.