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For their sake, anyway.
I’m not giving up this meal, and I’ll kill anything that comes in my way.
Humans are a rarity in the forest, so vulnerable that most of them wouldn’t be found out here in the dense thicket. Those that linger stay on the outskirts and usually are victims of the Dark Market, a place I avoid on instinct. It's only when they escape that they dare to venture out here. Anyone who escapes from the Dark Market, much less frail, weak, tiny humans, is always caught before I can reach them from the other side.
That won’t happen this time.
I take another sniff and turn right towards the source. The smell is getting stronger, clearer, and it’s then when I pick up the acrid notes of fear in the air. The human woman – she has to be a woman, with how the floral notes linger amongst the sweet – is afraid, and I know that just like every other human that runs into this forest, she is no different. She’s running away.
My feet pound against the ground, picking up speed. Despite my tendency to avoid the edges of the forest I head straight there, weaving through every fallen trunk and jagged rock nature sends my way.
“I need this,” I growl to myself. I swallow the saliva that’s built up in my mouth. “I want this.”
A small, inconsequential voice in the back of my mind revolts at the fearful stink in the air. The hunger in my belly and the adrenaline spiking through me ignores the feeling.
I’m getting closer now. The picture I’m forming in my head is getting clearer and clearer.
The woman is running perpendicular to me, away from the direction of the Dark Market. She’s sweet and flowery but sweating profusely, both from overexertion and from fear. I inhale deeply and –
Under the overwhelming scent of human, there’s something else.
I had mistaken the acrid scent belonging to the fear of the woman, and while I wasn’t mistaken, it wasn’t the whole truth. Beneath the intoxicating scent there is a sourness to the air. I was overwhelmed by the prospect of what would become a rare meal for me that I passed over those that were following her. Her captors.
Dark elves.
My muscles tense as I sprint faster. In the distance, my ears can pick up panicked footsteps and yelling. A smile stretches across my face. Today is a good day indeed.
Dark elves don’t carry the sweetness that a human does. They instead have a much muskier taste and a sour smell. It should be disgusting, and it is a little, but there’s a pleasure I get from feasting on their flesh that I don’t get from any wild animal or even human.
I imagine, sometimes, that each dark elf I rip into is the one that is responsible for the scars that stretch across my body.
Whenever I am so lucky as to encounter a dark elf who dares venture out here, it is a treat for the mind, not for the body. I relish in their screams and come away satisfied despite the taste.
Playing with food after the hunt is done and over with is a waste of time and energy. There aren’t enough filling meals in the forest to make toying with dinner a sustainable practice.
I make an exception for dark elves.
Their disgusting fear stink does nothing to ruin the satisfaction of cracking open their chests and feasting upon them. I go slow, from the bottom up, and though most stop screaming once I reach their midsections, their terror makes me happy. I replace each and every one of those faces with the man who is at fault for every long and jagged scar on my body.
There are five of these vermin chasing this human woman, and I am elated at the prospect of such a hearty meal. My stomach growls in anticipation.
“I will feel no hunger tonight,” I pant. “Not for food, not for revenge.”
The thicket clears and in the distance, I see my prey. The woman is running away, desperate. She picks up branches to throw behind her and trips her pursuers, and the dark elves curse and scream at her with varying levels of frustration.
I run parallel to the Dark Market. Thankfully, my prey is already at a decent distance. As I close in, I make sure not to look at the small stalls and tents. I ignore the voices in the distance. I don’t want to be distracted.
I don’t want to remember.
One of the dark elves throws a rock at the woman, making her trip as she attempts to dodge.
Even though it’s faint, his laughter makes me see red.
I growl once, spittle flying out of my mouth, and push my body to its limits. All six pieces of meat turn to me as I let out a deafening roar. I thrive on their attention, even as the air becomes thick with sweat and fear.
“Monster!” one of them screams. “Beast!”
They begin to run away, giving up on chasing the woman, and start to scatter.
