Beast Devourer: I Grow Stronger by Eating Monsters

The first thing Raven felt was cold.

Not the clean chill of an air-conditioned room or winter air seeping through a jacket.

This was damp. Wet earth. Stone. Something had soaked through the back of his clothes and was slowly seeping into his skin.

Then came the pain.

All at once.

Right shoulder. Ribs. Abdomen. Head. Legs. A deep throbbing behind his eyes.

Raven opened his mouth and inhaled. Air rushed in too quickly.

He coughed.

The movement drove through his side like a knife. He rolled onto one shoulder by reflex and ended up propped on an elbow.

Another stab of pain.

"Shit."

His voice worked.

That was good news.

Raven remained still for several seconds, breathing slowly while his brain began organizing information.

He was alive.

That came first.

Everything else came after.

He opened his eyes.

No ceiling. No emergency lights. No concrete.

There were branches above him. Massive black branches intertwined against a dark blue sky.

Raven blinked.

Once.

Twice.

The sky was still there.

So were the branches.

And beyond them...

two moons.

He stared.

One was large, pale, and faintly blue. The other was smaller and reddish, partially hidden behind a mass of clouds.

Raven continued staring at them for several seconds.

Then he closed his eyes.

Opened them again.

Two moons.

"Right."

He wasn’t exactly sure what response he’d expected from reality.

Apparently, this was the one he was getting.

He pressed one hand against the ground.

Soft earth. Leaves. Roots. The heavy smell of wet vegetation.

No trace of smoke. No concrete. No metal. No laboratory.

He slowly turned his head.

Forest.

Enormous trees.

Some of the trunks were easily ten feet across. Ferns nearly as tall as a person covered entire stretches between the roots. Dark blue-leafed plants grew around rocks covered in faintly glowing moss.

Tiny green particles floated through the air.

Raven followed one with his eyes. The particle descended, settled on a leaf, and disappeared.

"Sure."

The last thing he remembered before waking up here was a sphere capable of devouring matter, a facility exploding, and a series of messages floating in front of his eyes.

Compared to that, two moons and fluorescent plants were almost reasonable.

He tried to sit up.

His right shoulder protested.

Gunshot wound.

He remembered the impact.

Slowly, he moved his fingers.

Responsive.

Wrist.

Responsive.

Elbow.

Good.

He raised the arm only a few inches.

Pain.

A lot of it.

But he hadn’t lost mobility completely.

He brought his left hand to his shoulder. The fabric was torn. He found dried blood.

Then skin.

Raven frowned.

The bullet had gone through. He remembered the impact perfectly. The heat. The loss of strength.

But the wound...

was closed.

Not healed.

Closed.

Like an injury several days old.

He explored it with his fingers.

Swelling. Pain. No active bleeding.

"It wasn’t like this."

He continued checking himself.

The side that had taken the hit against his plate was covered in bruises. Nothing broken, apparently. The cut on his arm had been reduced to little more than a line. His abdomen hurt, but he found no blood.

Raven pressed two fingers against his neck.

Pulse.

Strong.

Far too strong for a man who remembered bleeding out.

Something had happened during that transition.

He didn’t know what.

Not yet.

First, he needed to know whether he was in immediate danger.

Raven sat up.

The world spun.

He waited.

The sensation passed.

He looked around again.

No Cole. No bodies. No pieces of the laboratory.

Except...

About twenty feet away, something was wedged between a cluster of roots.

Metal.

Raven got to his feet.

His legs held.

That was strange too.

He walked toward it carefully. Every step crushed damp leaves that smelled faintly of mint and rotting earth.

He crouched.

It was a fragment of metal. Maybe part of the laboratory’s outer casing. Roughly sixteen inches long.

One end had broken unevenly, leaving behind a jagged, sharp edge.

It wasn’t a knife.

But it could become one.

Raven picked it up.

Heavier than expected.

Steel or some similar alloy.

He tested the edge with his thumb.

Sharp.

Enough.

He held it point-down.

Better than nothing.

Then he checked his own equipment.

Vest.

Still there.

The front plate had a pronounced deformation. Raven ran a hand over it.

The round from the corridor.

The impact had come close to breaking something.

Pouches.

Two empty.

One magazine...

with no rifle.

Perfect.

Pistol.

Gone.

Knives.

One remained in the sheath at his lower back.

Raven drew it.

A tactical blade about six inches long.

Much better.

Another pouch contained a tourniquet. Bandage. Small medical pack. Lighter. Flashlight.

The flashlight worked.

Good.

Radio.

Nothing.

Raven pressed the transmit button.

"Cole."

Static.

"Black Hound."

Nothing.

He switched frequencies.

Only noise.

He put the radio away.

He hadn’t expected much.

Then he found something else.

A partially filled hydration bladder.

He took two swallows.

No more.

He didn’t know how long he’d be here.

Although logic suggested that if he really had changed worlds, running out of water was probably the least of his problems.

Raven looked up at the moons again.

Two.

Not an illusion caused by reflections.

Two clearly separate celestial bodies.

He breathed in through his nose.

He didn’t like impossible conclusions.

But ignoring them because he didn’t like them was an excellent way to die.

So, provisionally, he accepted the facts:

He wasn’t on Earth.

He didn’t know where he was.

He didn’t know how he’d gotten there.

Something had partially healed him.

And before losing consciousness, he had seen one word.

Predation.

Raven lowered his gaze toward his hand.

Nothing.

"System?"

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