The Demon Despairs 4.

Elijah's hands were slick with blood, the thick, viscous warmth clinging to his skin as he dug deeper into the carcass of the monstrous beast.

His fingers tore through muscle, the flesh was cold, almost slimy, a sickening heat that coiled in his gut.

His jaw clenched as he forced himself to chew, the rancid meat squelching between his teeth.

A sharp, putrid tang filled his mouth, coating his tongue with a taste so foul it made bile rise in his throat.

His stomach twisted in protest, but he swallowed it down, his throat constricting as if rejecting the very idea of consuming something so wretched.

The stench was unbearable. It seeped into his lungs, thick and suffocating, a nauseating blend of rot and decayed iron.

Sarah watched in silence, her arms crossed as she leaned against the side of the crumbling stone wall.