Slate
Member
Obsidian’s eyes sharpened as he listened to Todd’s response, the only sign that it had affected him at all. The chase, the hunt, he was familiar with it. He had to feed far more often than Todd did, but just like Todd, the monster in Obsidian found the chase addictive. So addictive, in fact, that sometimes he hunted every single night, unable to ignore the part of his brain that craved stalking, ambushing, chasing. And then when the end finally came, and he could take everything from his prey, well. He relished in that moment when he saw life finally leave the eyes of his prey. Obsidian wasn’t ashamed of that moment of euphoria he felt when he took the final spark of life, of feeling the last burst of energy fill him. But then, it was over, and he was left energized and wanting to hunt again, left wanting to use that energy to take more.
Once, when Obsidian was younger, he had fallen to the hunt for a night. He had let himself go, shed the civilized side of himself, and stalked and chased and fed the entire night. And when the dawn came, he had almost burnt himself out, the amount of pure energy in his burning through his heart. He had killed ten people that night, and he remembered none of it. He only knew that his heart was beating so hard and twisted that it made his chest burn and ache. It left him shaking so badly that he could barely walk, barely move. He had gone home to Sulphur and Malachite and Lapis and they had caught him as he had fallen through the doorway, his body burning up and shaking and his mind clouded.
They’d had to move after that, after ten people had died, after his fingerprints were found and connected to his then alias. At some point, he had taken off his gloves so he could better feel the energy as he pulled it into himself, so he could lay his hands directly on his prey. A stupid choice made by the part of his brain that craved the last spark, that craved the chase, that wanted their deaths to be more personal. In a single night, he had ruined all of their lives in Virginia, and the four of them had fled to Pennsylvania, where they went about creating new aliases and scrubbing their records online.
That had been his lesson, both about losing control and about overeating.
Of course, sometimes Obsidian was also not the best at remembering to eat. That led to him being unable to hunt for himself, and he had come to rely heavily on the pack for those days when he pushed himself to exhaustion and tiredness. When he couldn’t fend for himself, and they either gave themselves to him or they found him someone who the monster could consume whole, those days he felt nothing but the purest gratitude and love. It was his own failings that made such measures and offerings necessary.
He said none of this. He simply gave Todd a small nod, took a drink of his whiskey, and continued to listen. Even if their versions of the hunt weren’t identical, Obsidian understood the addiction. He understood the dangers it posed, understood why Todd wouldn’t give into the temptation of the hunt. Because, as Todd had said, it was everything, heaven, full control, and pure ecstasy.
Around the table, Todd’s statements had given the others pause. Lapis was frowning, disappointed by the answer. Hemie and Rhody were whispering to each other again, soft things about how they couldn’t imagine living with such a thing. And Sulphur, well.
Sulphur leaned forward on his elbows, hands folded under his chin, and he asked, “What does this amass you? No, that’s not the right question. Yes, the right question is what do you actually do? Eating people must offer you benefits. I can’t imagine your life being so miserable and also getting nothing from it.”