A Taste of Fire

Waylon sat in silence, eyes fixed on the faint glow of the embers as they flickered beneath the mantis limb. The curved blade rested carefully just outside the fire's heat, but closer to the flames, a chunk of the creature's flesh—still attached to the severed joint—was sizzling softly. The scent was overwhelming now, rich and sweet, like seared honey with a faint spice beneath it.

Smoke curled lazily upward, dancing in the warm air as the meat crackled, the fat within bubbling audibly. Waylon's mouth filled with saliva unbidden, hunger overriding every rational thought. His stomach groaned again, louder than before, and a sharp pang shot through his side.

He rose slowly, almost hypnotically, unable to take his eyes off the piece of flesh. The firelight bathed his features in a warm glow, revealing just how gaunt he'd become. [It smells so good… It's right there… just take it.]

He crouched down beside the fire, placing the mantis blade carefully on the ground. The scent of cooked meat enveloped him entirely now, coating his senses in an intoxicating haze. [Just one bite. That's all it'll take to stop this hunger.]

His fingers trembled as he reached toward the sizzling joint, gripping the chitinous base. A thick strand of muscle had come loose, charred slightly along the edges where it had rested in the flame. Waylon gently pulled, and the meat gave way with a soft tearing sound, revealing a finger-sized strip of juicy flesh.

He held it before his face, staring at it with desperate hunger. Steam rose gently from the meat, the surface glistening with golden oils. He swallowed hard, his body shaking with need. [It's so small… maybe the same as a sip of water. Just enough to test.]

"I'm not making the same mistake again," he muttered aloud, voice hoarse with restraint. "One bite. Small. Controlled."

Raising the meat slowly to his lips, he hesitated only a second longer before slipping it into his mouth. The flavor hit instantly—rich, sweet, and utterly indescribable. Juices burst across his tongue with the first bite, and his eyes went wide with shock.

It was the most incredible thing he had ever tasted.

The meat was tender and savory, with a complex flavor that felt both familiar and entirely alien. It melted in his mouth like warm butter, coating every corner of his mouth with blissful intensity. He chewed slowly, eyes fluttering closed, savoring every second.

When he finally swallowed, his throat worked reflexively, and a satisfied groan escaped his lips. A warmth spread through his chest, almost comforting at first. He stared longingly at the rest of the cooked joint, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth.

But then the warmth shifted—twisted.

A sudden fire ignited in his core, radiating outward with terrifying speed. Waylon gasped, clutching his stomach as a brutal heat surged through his organs. It was nothing like the water—this was sharper, more violent, like swallowing a live coal wrapped in razor wire.

He stumbled back from the fire, falling onto his side as the pain intensified. "N-no… not again…!" he hissed, voice barely audible through clenched teeth. His body arched, spasming violently as the energy coursed through him like liquid flame.

His skin turned bright red, as though sunburned from the inside out. Veins bulged at his temples and along his arms, pulsing with a furious rhythm. The warmth that had once felt comforting now scorched him from the inside, eating away at his composure.

The energy exploded outward from his stomach, rippling like molten lava beneath his skin. He screamed as it expanded, tendrils of heat reaching his spine, his lungs, his chest. He fell into a fetal position, arms wrapped tightly around himself as if to hold his body together.

His jaw clenched so tightly that he felt a sudden pop and then the metallic taste of blood—he had bitten through the inside of his cheek. Blood ran from between his teeth, but he barely noticed. Every nerve in his body was on fire.

[Make it stop. Please make it stop.]

His thoughts were scattered, incoherent. Images of his family and home flashed chaotically through his mind—comforting memories warped by the pain. His eyes rolled back as his body shook uncontrollably.

He could feel it inching along his vertebrae like molten metal poured through a hollow tube. Each inch upward was a new layer of torment, a new firebrand etched onto his nerves. His teeth clenched so hard his jaw popped with a sickening crack, his muscles locking under the pressure.

[No, no, no—] His thoughts blurred with panic as the sensation reached the midpoint of his back. [If it hits my head—if it gets into my brain—I'll die.]

That certainty struck like a bell ringing inside his skull, clear and final. He didn't know how he knew, but he felt it deep in his bones: if the energy reached his mind, it would consume him. There would be no recovery. No second chance.

Gritting his teeth, Waylon forced himself to act. He drew in a ragged breath and focused with all his might, willing the energy to retreat. He visualized it being pushed down, away from his neck, down to where it started. He pushed and pushed—mentally, spiritually—but the fire didn't listen.

Instead, it climbed higher.

Tears streamed down his face as the burning crept toward the base of his skull. His vision pulsed, red and black, with every beat of his racing heart. [Damn it! Stop—stop!]

Again he pushed, fighting the torrent of heat with everything he had. His body arched violently as the fire settled at the nape of his neck, just under the base of his skull. His face turned a deep, ugly purple as blood vessels in his cheeks and eyes strained to bursting.

His eyes went bloodshot, veins thick and pulsing, as the energy teetered on the edge of overtaking his brain. He screamed through clenched teeth, every fiber of his being resisting the inevitable. "NO!"

Then, with a final, desperate surge of willpower, he managed to halt the advance.

The energy stopped at the base of his skull, like a tide held back by a crumbling dam. His head throbbed violently, blood roaring through his ears as he gasped for breath. [I… stopped it. I stopped it…]

But there was no time for relief. The fire, now contained, began to press downward again, surging back the way it had come. Waylon could feel it sliding lower, moving back through his spine, inch by painful inch. He gritted his teeth anew, forcing it to descend.

It reached his upper back, then mid-spine, then lower—until it stopped.

Waylon's heart spasmed as the energy pooled in his chest. It refused to go any further, no matter how hard he willed it. The heat grew sharper, more concentrated, pressing inward toward his heart like a thousand needles converging on a single point.

He could feel it gather, swirling in place, compacting tighter and tighter into a burning knot just above his sternum. [What is it doing? Why won't it go back down?]

Then came the worst sensation of all.

It was as if a hot coal had been thrust directly into his chest and left to smolder there. His back arched off the ground involuntarily, mouth open in a silent scream as the energy solidified, coalesced, and burned. His hands flew to his chest, pressing down as though he could somehow dig the fire out.

His entire body shuddered violently. Muscles spasmed, teeth clenched hard enough to draw blood, but he refused to black out. The fire remained—anchored deep in his heart, unwavering and unrelenting.

Waylon felt the energy grow hotter, thicker, more dense. With every breath, it compressed further, as though the rest of his body was being drained to feed this inferno in his chest. [It's concentrating here… feeding off me…]

He fought against the pain, tried to push it outward, to disperse it back into his limbs—but it was no use. It wouldn't move. It wouldn't budge. His heart became the center of his world, each beat now accompanied by a wave of heat so intense he thought it might explode.

He couldn't scream anymore. His throat was raw, voice reduced to shallow, ragged gasps. His limbs flailed weakly, his vision dimming, yet still he held on, refusing to give in to unconsciousness. [If I pass out… it'll spread again.]

And so he endured, teeth grinding against one another until blood leaked from his gums. His face contorted in pain, muscles twitching uncontrollably as the fire settled into a steady, searing throb.

He clenched his jaw, pressing his palms against the stone floor for something—anything—to ground him. The stone felt cool beneath him, but it offered no relief, no escape. The fire in his heart burned on.

The rest of his body felt numb now, hollow, emptied. Everything had been funneled into this one place. This one pain. He didn't know how long he lay like that, caught between wakefulness and unconsciousness, suspended in the blaze.

The fire refused to die. It simply smoldered, patiently, like a coal beneath the skin. A reminder. A promise. A threat.

Waylon's lips parted as he sucked in another trembling breath, eyes glassy and wide. The pain didn't fade—it became a constant. A new presence within him.

And still, he endured. Silent, burning, afraid.