The abyss pulsed with hunger. It had tasted Leonard, and now it craved more.

The walls of the labyrinth had not settled after his last kill. They shuddered with expectation, like a hungry beast waiting for its next meal. But this time, Leonard wasn’t just the hunter.

He was the chef.

The black ichor soaking his hands was warmer than blood, its texture somewhere between molten wax and raw meat. Every kill had taught him something—how to carve faster, how to salvage edible parts from monsters that should have been poison, how to turn horror into nourishment.

His blade found a creature still twitching, its spine shattered, its skull split wide. Leonard’s hands moved on instinct—cut here, peel there, toss the venom sacs aside, keep the soft tissues around the heart. Meat was meat.

The fire pit flickered with a sickly green hue, flames fed by the oils that leaked from corpses piled around him. The air reeked of burnt chitin and sulfur, but Leonard’s nose had long grown numb to the stench. This was survival cuisine at its finest.

From above, the entity purred. “Mmm, my little butcher. You make death look delicious.”

Leonard didn’t respond. He was too focused, slicing delicate ribbons of muscle, searing them with abyssal fire until they curled like petals. He wasn’t just feeding himself anymore—he was feeding the labyrinth itself. Every plate he finished, he set at the edge of the pit, where the walls extended hungry tendrils to claim it.

This was no longer survival. This was ritual.

Another creature lunged from the shadows, teeth like jagged blades, saliva sizzling against the ground. Leonard didn’t blink. One step forward, blade thrust under its jaw, straight into the skull.

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He caught it as it fell, hands already peeling back its flesh while its heart still beat. The entity moaned softly. “So efficient… so exquisite…”

The fire welcomed the next course.

Leonard wasn’t even sure what he was cooking anymore. Some fusion of beasts, plants, and his own madness. He ground bones into seasoning, seared venom sacs until the toxins caramelized, and folded torn sinew into intricate braids, stacking them like macabre pastries.

There was no recipe. Only instinct.

The abyss drank it all in.

And so did he.

Each bite he took after a fight refined him, the abyssal meals pushing his body further past human limits. His muscles pulsed with unnatural strength, his vision sharpened to see beyond sight, and his body healed almost faster than it could be wounded.

But it came at a cost.

He could feel it—the hunger was no longer his alone.

The abyss had wrapped itself around his stomach, whispering cravings that no sane man could satisfy.

The entity leaned closer, her shadow stretching long across the pit. “What will you cook for me when there’s nothing left to kill?”

Leonard’s hand stilled for the first time. That thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Would the abyss turn inward once the outer horrors were gone? Would it demand himself as the final feast?

He shook the thought away, lifting another completed dish toward her throne. This time, the plate quivered, the food itself somehow alive, breathing in tune with the abyss.

The entity smiled. “Oh Leonard… you’re perfect.”

He wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a curse.

But he knew one thing.

He wasn’t just a survivor anymore. He was the abyss’ personal chef.