89

It wasn’t on impulse; the finger meat slid down my throat as naturally as breathing.

I only snapped back to myself once I was crunching the remaining bones to bits.

(No—wait. This makes no sense. Trying to spit it out yet chewing and swallowing isn’t a simple “mistake.”)

Against my will I crushed the bones in my mouth, and the instant the scraps of meat brushed my tongue, a shock ran through me hard enough to steal my awareness.

What flavor—did something this delicious truly exist in this world?

What had all the things I’d thought “tasty” up to now even been?

Even while intoxicated, the calm part of me judged this an impossible line of thought, but I didn’t know how long that calm would last.

The man before me was the same as I was—a Genetically Enhanced Soldier, a former Imperial citizen, a compatriot.

(To regard that as “choice meat”…)

As my thoughts reeled, the words he’d spoken flashed through my head.

“Hurry… feed me.”

What did that mean?

“You’re… the third.”

So you’ve already eaten two?

“Finally found you.”

Did the search itself drive him mad like this?

(No—that feeling is exactly like back then—)

My brain refused to accept it.

But I admitted it.

A joy that swelled the more I ate.

A euphoria that could steal even my consciousness.

Driven by a senseless “must eat,” I lunged and tore in, riding the impulse.

(I remember now. I’ve already eaten one.)

Only now did I finally understand.

That time in the forest, the enormous octopus-thing I’d attacked, thinking it was an unknown monster—it was likely a Genetically Enhanced Soldier like me. And what I felt biting into its flesh was happening again now.

The compatriot before my eyes looked irresistibly alluring—and he surely saw me the same way.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, battling the urge to pounce this instant.

But no matter how I resisted, he—already swallowed by the impulse—was different.

As if saying “To hell with odds,” he staggered toward me on unsteady feet despite clearly being in an abnormal state.

When his maimed hand touched me and he opened his mouth to grin in delight, it was obvious he was already beyond saving.

“Ya… d—guel…”

Even pity didn’t move me to say “I’ll end this for you.”

His voice, the smell of blood, the meat visible in the wound—all of it unhinged me.

He tottered closer, mouth opening to bite.

With only a sliver of distance left, my reason burst.

“GRAAAAAAAAAH!”

I thrust out both hands, set them on his head and shoulder, and bit into the side of his neck through the leather armor.

A scream reached me.

I spat out the chunk of flesh I’d torn free, ripped the leather, then bit off his upper arm as it flailed in the air.

Chewing that meat, trembling at the flavor, I shoved the feast before me to the ground and devoured him.

His resistance meant nothing. As my vision ran red with blood, I thought I heard a small “Help me.”

That became my last memory of the fight.

I opened my eyes.

I wouldn’t hide behind “I blacked out.”

He was someone I killed—someone I ate.

Before me lay a ravaged corpse with no shape left, and no trace of orcs remained in the stadium.

Lit by the braziers, the remains gleamed so red they made even the clots of dark blood glow, forcing me to grasp how outrageously much meat I had packed into my gut.

I wiped my blood-smeared mouth with my arm, but with my whole body drenched in blood, it made no difference anywhere.

(I have to move from here…)

If it was like before, an irresistible drowsiness would hit me after this.

I needed to reach a safe place before I fell asleep.

But I had no idea where such a place might be, and a spike of panic rose.

I had to retrieve the gear I’d stashed, but now wasn’t the time.

(Right… then I should just destroy the stadium entrances so the orcs can’t get in, shouldn’t I?)

Rather than search for a place that might not exist, it was better to turn this into a safe zone.

Sure, something like me could still get in, but even so, I could at least avoid the worst.

I sprinted up into the stands and destroyed an exit.

“How many more are there?” Impatience needled me, but the demolition went smoothly, and I could move quickly between them.

The braziers on the field didn’t give enough light. It was hard to see, but my night vision made it manageable.

Then it was only a matter of time.

As before, it became a race against sleep, and after smashing the third exit, drowsiness came on at once.

But I still had a little time.

I rushed to destroy the remaining exits.

Whether I made it in time, I wouldn’t know until I woke up.

(I’ve done what I can. Now it’s up to luck…)

In the empty stands, I sat, crushing a seat too small for me, and closed my eyes without resisting the sleep that crashed over me.

Light—whether it was sunrise, I couldn’t tell yet, but I did wake safely.

No—“ended up waking” was the truer feeling.

How long I’d slept wasn’t worth thinking about.

I stood, looked around, found what I wanted, and walked toward it.

At an unremarkable concrete block, I twisted my body and drew back my arm.

“Damn it aaaaaaaaaaall!”

I slammed a full-power blow into the block and pulverized it.

I touched my throat to confirm the voice that had just come out, but I felt not the slightest joy.

Without a word, I threw another punch. The concrete shattered, opening a side hole in the ruined entrance.

Searching for somewhere to vent my anger, I looked for the next target.

The scientist’s laughter from my dream still rang in my ears. My emotional switch flipped again and again, but the rage didn’t stop.

Twice, three times, I smashed the wall. When the emotion-suppression function finally kicked in hard enough to give me a brutal headache, my head cooled enough to stay level.

“…What good is getting my voice back now?”

Sitting on a step in the stands, I covered my face with hands caked in dried blood.

I thought about what came next.

But no matter how I tried to think forward, I couldn’t laugh at the future waiting for me.

With my feelings a mess, I couldn’t think straight, and the remains I glimpsed through my fingers dragged me back to reality.

“It must’ve been hell for you… It must’ve hurt so much…”

Thinking back, that giant octopus I ate might have reached that state at the end of the same torment.

“So it was ‘one more’ left for you… No wonder you kept coming, even with no chance to win…”

And now it was my turn to search for “one more.”

If the scientist was right, at best I had five years to keep any human reason.

But that would take extraordinary luck, and the longer it went, the more I’d suffer like he had.

Realistically, the minimum was two years—so I should treat three years as my time limit.

“Damn… I should’ve eaten Spider-man when I had the… chance?”

Then I remembered.

Where had I made my base?

“Do Spider-man’s failed prototypes count?”

They should still be there.

I stood, went to the hidden backpack, and recovered my gear.

For now, I doused myself with water from the tank and wiped the blood off with a towel.

I poured water over my head again, regained my calm, and let out a long breath.

“Alright. First objective: return to base and eat one of Spider-man’s failed specimens. If that lets me see the third dream, good. If not…”

No—save that for if it happened.

I shouldered my pack, left the stadium, and ran for my base.

I considered saying at least a word to that woman from the Council, but assuming the worst, getting too involved wouldn’t end well.

I’d grown a bit too close to the elves, but with them, maybe—just maybe—I could still hope.

I ran.

Because there was still hope left—

For the record, my partner was still out and about.

I wanted that more than my voice.