Chapter 32 - The Feast of Necessity

Rain was now battering down on the young boy.

It had only been around twenty minutes since he killed the ancient ant, he had spent the time moving himself and the corpse over to a more secluded, shaded area, that, at least in theory, would offer him more protection.

The rain had come and gone three times,. The inconsistency was making it hard for Finnian to think.

"What is up with this damn weather? I guess this is just how the weather was in the Stone Age? Well, how would I even know? I just looked into the Ruhk beasts, not the fucking climatic conditions."

Just as that thought concluded in his mind, another culminated. A thought, however, that was not his own.

"Gronk also hate rain."

"What the hell? Who's there?... And how the hell are you able to speak Norwegian?"

"What is Norweeegian?"

"God, I'm speaking to a idiot, just my luck."

"What 'idiot' mean?"

"See, that's my point exact—"

"Wait, I didn't say that out loud, did I?"

"You say what out loud?"

The boy had a confused look on his face. He turned around frantically, looking for where the voice was coming from, but he could find nothing, and he would find nothing, because the voice he was hearing was not coming from there at all.

"Wait!, can you hear me right now?"

"Gronk hear."

"So then I was right all along, hahaha, there is mindreading in this world. I mean, going by how this 'Gronk' character sounds, he probably isn't a hot woman, but who knows what was going on back then."

"Gronk sorry, me no hot woman."

"Hmm, I guess now if I ever want to think, I have to say it out loud instead of thinking it in my head. That sounds like it's gonna be a real drag. Did you hear any of that, Gronk?"

"..."

"Perfect."

"So Gronk, out of interest, what do you see around you?"

"..."

"Hello, Gronk, can you hear me?"

"You say, not interested, so Gronk no answer."

"No, Gronk, I said, 'out of interest,' not that 'I'm not interested.'"

"Jeez, it is literally impossible for him to mishear me, and somehow he is still able to misunderstand what I'm saying. Now I know how people at marriage counselling feel."

"So then, Gronk, what are you able to see?"

"Me see tree, lots of tree, and plant, lots of plant."

"Ok, ok, good to know. How about a rift? Do you see a rift anywhere?"

"What rift look like?"

"Hmm, I actually have no idea what it's supposed to look like. After all, I never actually saw it myself. Well shit, isn't that great." The boy muttered to himself. "Anyway, if what I read is correct me and Gronk swapped places, so now he's in my timeline, and I'm in his, which would mean right now Gronk's in the woods."

"Well then, Gronk, why don't you just sit pretty and wait for me to talk to you again."

This message, however, didn't get to Gronk as his mind was otherwise occupied. Particularly, this time practically his entire brain was devoted to the task of finding himself a tree to piss under.

"Ok, well, looks like I'm alone for a while again. Now then, back to my initial train of thought."

Though Finnian had killed one ant, this world teemed with creatures far bigger and stronger. In his current state, he wouldn't be surprised if even two ants could overwhelm him. But he wasn't dwelling on it, he couldn't afford to, he was barely able to beat an ant. If he wanted to survive in this prehistoric land he would have to gain the strength to defend himself; he wanted the power to kill.

He wanted the power to manipulate Ruhk.

For no other reason than to stave off his all-consuming hunger.

"Damn it, why the hell am I so hungry right now? What the hell is this? I know I forgot to eat before I came out here, but this hunger is just insane."

The boy's intense hunger stemmed from the Ruhk he had just consumed. When he consumed Ruhk, his body mistook it for food, and now it demanded the nourishment it thought it had received. Like a loan, seeming to rack up more and more interest every second his body went without sustenance.

When Finnian realized that this was the case, a thought so revolting it almost made him puke appeared in his mind. In fact, he likely would've puked if there was anything in his stomach apart from the groans of churning nothing.

"I don't care how hungry I am, I am not eating a fucking bug! That is where I draw the line."

"What wrong with bug?"

"Ah great, Gronk is back. Actually, he might be useful here."

"Alright, Gronk, what do you normally eat around here?"

"Bug."

"..."

"Ok, what do you eat around here, other than bug?"

"Why other? Just eat bug, bug good."

"Amazing..."

As time passed, the reality of the situation sank in deeper. He knew he had just killed an ant, but only now did he fully grasp what that meant. If he wanted to eat something other than an insect, he'd have to kill something more substantial, and to kill something bigger and stronger he would need energy.

The boy came to a dreadful conclusion.

He was going to eat the ant.

"Please be one of those situations where it tastes like chicken, please I beg, be one of those situations."

Finnian stared at the ant's corpse for a long moment, his enhanced hands gripping the knife tighter. His stomach churned. Part hunger, part revulsion. The rain fell in sharp, cold bursts around him, drumming against the creature's chitin.

The first cut was the hardest; not physically, but mentally. The blade slid smoothly, sounding like cracking ice between the ant's thorax's segments. Under the chitin, the insects pale flesh seemed nearly transparent against the noon sun. Clear fluid leaked from the cut, mixing with the rain into pale rivulets smelling like hot metal and rotting leaves. The smell hit him in waves, stronger with each gust of wind, burning his nostrils, making his eyes water.

As he worked the knife farther, his hands shook slightly.

The thorax revealed layers of muscle and tissue, it was almost like opening up some bizarre fruit.

Each new cut released another burst of the scent, like breaking open hot stones that had been buried in wet earth. The rain eased, letting the smell build until it was nearly overwhelming, then returned to wash it away once more.

Every cut had to be exact; his small body could not afford to waste energy on sloppy butchery. The meat split into stringy bits, with some sections tougher than others.

If not elegant, his adult arms made the work effective.

Cut.

Separate.

Stack.

Beside him grew a stack of pale meat, each piece precisely cut for his newborn mouth.

"Man this shit is exhausting." The boy said to himself as he placed another piece of the ant flesh beside him.

By the time he sank the first piece into his mouth, the rain had stopped once more. Up close, the scent was different; less metallic, more like sun-baked clay. Though the meat had been in the rain for several minutes now, his nose still wrinkled as waves of heat rolled off it.

The texture was amazing in its terribleness; it was like trying to eat a rubber band that fought back. It had no taste, at least none the boy could name; only a lingering warmth on his tongue.

He had to work every piece for what seemed like ages. Press, mashed, then press once more. His gums already felt raw, but he couldn't stop. The first swallow was the worst; the meat was still too firm, and his throat muscles strained against it.

More cutting. More chewing. More swallowing.

As he worked, the rain came and went; each shower lasted only a few minutes but they all still managed to totally soaked the boy. The cycle matched his eating: chew during the dry spells, relax his jaw when the rain grew too heavy to see clearly, and then repeat.

His jaw began to ache fiercely after the tenth piece. By the twentieth, he was taking longer breaks between bites. The meat refused to get any softer, no matter how long he worked it with his gums.

Some pieces were worse than others. Trying to eat the flesh from near the leg was like trying to chew rope. The thorax's softer bits were hardly more manageable; they melted into a paste that still took ages to swallow.

His throat seemed to have developed its own pulse of agony and his gums felt like he had been chewing on sand.

But he couldn't stop. Not yet.

Between the rain showers, more pieces vanished into his mouth. Every one of them was a fight, a war between baby constraints and adult will. His jaw begged for pity, but his strengthened arms kept cutting, kept feeding.

By the time he completed what he could manage, the sun had passed across a good fraction of the sky. Just as he was finishing his meal, the last rain shower swept away the last traces of that unusual, heated scent. His face felt as though he had been repeatedly punched. But his stomach... his stomach was finally, mercifully full.

He left the remaining third of the carcass where it lay. The scavengers of this era could fight over it. He had taken what he needed. No more, no less.

Now his aged arms felt more powerful; the protein already nourished his muscles. His body hummed with fresh vitality while his mouth protested its recent mistreatment. Every movement of his jaw sent new agony across his face.

"Worth it," he decided, rising unsteadily to his feet.

For what was ahead, he would need every bit of strength he could muster. Still slick with ant fluid, his fingers found the handle of his knife.

And just as he was about to raise it to his sheath, a noise so irritating it could infuriate a monk made itself known in his psyche.

"Me also eat fruit." Gronk muttered disinterestedly.

"What? WHAT! Why didn't you say that the first time that I asked you!"

"Fruit just like bug, but more danger, and move less?"

"Getting the fruit is more dangerous than killing the bugs?"

"How the hell is that even possible?"

"Ok, what is so dangerous about the fruit?"

"Fruit high, can't eat."

As Finnian combed through the brief memory that he had of this place, he realized that he had actually never seen any fruit anywhere. Though there were trees, it seemed as if they all bore no fruit.

"Ok then, Gronk? Where is the best tasting fruit?"

"Above."

"Above? What the hell was that supposed to me—"

As Finnian looked up, he was able to understand the reason behind the vagueness of Gronk's words. It didn't matter where you were standing, as long as you were above ground, you would be able to see it just by looking up.

It dominated the sky.

the god tree.

It wasn't like trees from the era that simply reached toward the heavens. This one seemed to own them. Its trunk was wider than most castles, each ridge in its bark protected by floating segments of stone armour that could have housed entire villages.

Its stone armour had stone armour.

Layer upon geometric layer of mineral protection floated around its form, creating a fortress that stretched beyond sight. The outermost shell was a play of interlocked stone segments, that shifted and realigned with every breeze.

Gaps in the armour revealed glimpses of inner layers; shells within shells within shells, growing progressively smaller but no less intricate as they approached the actual bark.

"Well that explains why Gronk thinks the fruit is dangerous."

The lowest branches started perhaps a thousand feet up, their own armour creating suspended roadways that could have spanned cities.

"Okay," Finnian thought, his enhanced arms already aching at the mere idea of the climb. "Maybe the ant wasn't such a bad meal after all."

"Like Gronk said, 'eat bug.'"

The ground around the trunk was littered with fragments of stone armour, that had broken off over the centuries. They created a maze of their own, a graveyard of shells shapes that had once protected the ancient giant.

If he was going to climb this thing, he'd need a plan. Otherwise, he'd just be adding his own bones to that graveyard of stone.

His stomach churned and twisted, the ant meat sitting like lead in his gut, as if his body was rejecting the insect flesh entirely. The more he tried to ignore it, the worse it became, until sweat beaded on his forehead from the effort of staying upright.

The longer he looked up, the more his infant neck strained.

Then he saw them.

Through gaps in the ancient armour, spots of yellow caught the light. They hung there like captured suns, each one easily as large as his infant body, no, far, far larger. The longer he stared, the more he noticed; dozens, perhaps hundreds of fruits scattered throughout the armour layers.

His mouth flooded with saliva, infant drool mingling with the fresh raindrops trickling down his chin. The pain in his stomach turned from churning to clawing, as if something inside him recognized those fruits as real food; sustenance that wouldn't leave him feeling like he'd eaten rubber and regret.

Their colour seemed to intensify the longer he watched, becoming impossibly vibrant against the grey stone armour. Each flash of yellow through the layers felt like a challenge, a dare, a promise.

They were right there.

Just out of reach.

The feeling was almost nauseating. In fact, it was enough to make his head spin.

Or maybe it was the ant he had just eaten.

After a few intense minutes of projectile vomiting, the answer became obvious.