Chapter 4 - The Temptation of the Eternal

The ground trembled with every step Gluttony took, and as he drew closer, the air seemed to condense with the imminent threat of his presence. I couldn't show weakness—not here, not in front of him. In Hell, fear is the gateway to defeat. And I knew he saw me as just another condemned soul, something worthless to be devoured. That mistake would be the key to my survival.

"You really are everything they say, aren't you?" my voice cut through the silence, soft but firm.

Gluttony paused for a moment, a heavy, resonant sigh escaping from his multiple mouths, which chewed incessantly and laughed at the same time. The sound was unsettling, like the murmur of a thousand muffled voices. "And what do they say about me, little human?"

"That you're insatiable," I continued, stepping closer while masking my awe at his monstrosity. "That not even time itself can satiate your hunger."

"That is true," Gluttony roared, his voice rumbling like thunder. "Time serves me, as do all who arrive here."

I took another step forward, the risk of proximity mingling with curiosity. A beast, when observed closely, hesitates—and it is that hesitation that turns the tide.

"So it's true you consume everything?" I asked, my voice now low, as though I were touching on a delicate subject. "That nothing can resist your hunger?"

He grinned, revealing teeth sharp as blades, and his mouths opened wider, exposing an infinite darkness. "You try to flatter me, but your words are futile. I have no need for your adulation."

"They're not futile," I retorted, my tone slightly offended but controlled. "In fact, I have something you can consume. Something no one else would dare offer."

There was a shift in his gaze. A flicker of interest emerged, and around us, the trees seemed to lean closer, as if Hell itself were bowing to listen. Gluttony lowered his enormous head toward me, his black eyes piercing my soul, studying me as though I were prey.

"You dare bargain with me? What kind of fool thinks they possess something I cannot take by force?"

"It's not something you can take," I replied confidently, a defiant tone laced in my words. "It's something that can only be offered. Something that can only be offered once. Something eternal."

The word eternal echoed through the valley like thunder. For a brief moment, Hell itself seemed to hold its breath, awaiting what I would say next.

Gluttony observed me intently, his mouths now still, his confidence wavering. He was massive, powerful, but his nature made him vulnerable. Eternal hunger knows no limits, but it also knows no patience. That which is never sated can never reject the promise of satisfaction.

"You boast of your hunger, but have you ever wondered what you truly seek?" I began, stepping closer, circling him like a hunter. "You consume everything, but what you truly desire isn't food—it's something more. It's purpose."

"Purpose?" Gluttony laughed, but there was something unsteady in his laughter, a crack in what once seemed like conviction.

"You consume because you must. Because it is your nature. But what if there were something more than just food? Something that never runs out? Something that could satisfy your hunger forever while also keeping it alive?"

His mouths began to murmur, disjointed and restless words revealing a growing doubt. I had captured his attention.

"I'm talking about eternal sustenance. A never-ending cycle, where each bite renews itself before it's even consumed. You wouldn't just be a devourer—you'd be a creator of hunger, a god among gods."

The idea was taking shape, slowly but surely, in Gluttony's mind. He didn't just want to consume—he wanted power over hunger itself, the ability to become more than he was.

"You speak as if you possess such a thing," he said, his voice tinged with a subtle but growing temptation.

"I do," I lied with unshakable confidence, without hesitation. "Something only I can release. Something beyond your comprehension. But to receive it, you must prove yourself worthy. Not a blind devourer, but one who can master their own hunger."

Gluttony could not resist the idea. Eternal hunger, no matter how limitless, could never know satisfaction without purpose. He needed to believe there was something more, something he didn't yet have.

"Prove it to me," he growled, all his mouths opening in unison, black saliva dripping.

I raised my hands as if invoking a ritual, as though the air around us were transforming into something tangible. Of course, there was nothing—but in Hell, appearances are everything.

"You must purify yourself," I said solemnly, like a priest preparing a believer for salvation. "You must rid yourself of the excess, make room for the eternal sustenance. Only when you let go of what you've already consumed can you partake in the true feast."

Gluttony hesitated. "Purify? I am Gluttony. I do not lose—I gain."

"Then you will never be worthy," I countered, continuing to circle him, once more like a predator studying its prey with calm precision. "You will never be more than a slave to your own hunger. You may be powerful, yes, but you will always be limited. Less than you could be."

His hesitation turned into doubt, and doubt into weakness. Gluttony began to writhe, as if my words had struck a blind spot within him. His mouths began to close slowly, one by one, as he reflected on what he had just heard.

In Hell, true victory doesn't come from brute strength. It comes from the moment the enemy defeats themselves. And Gluttony, the eternal devourer, was on the brink of falling into the oldest trap of all: the promise of something he could never attain.