Eyes of the Satyr – The G.O.A.T. Part 5
A sound similar to cloth being ripped apart silenced the good chuckle we were having at my brother's expense.
We all turned to the source.
Inspiration struck!
There are four maxims in life commonly referred to as the four F's. Fighting, fleeing, fornicating, and feeding. Failing to engage in any of them means the end of the perpetual cycle of life. Millions of years of code passed down from parent to child are thus interrupted. If one does not fight, then one is killed. If one does not flee, then one is killed. If one does not fornicate, then the lineage ends. If one does not feed, then one simply starves to death.
It is simple, natural, obvious, mandatory, and expected.
Those who never fight are weak. Those who never flee are fools. Those who never fornicate are sterile of heart. Those who never eat are unnatural.
As society advances and culture enriches the souls, minds, and hearts of the people, these concepts see their status of maxim diminished, but nevertheless retain their nuance. Fighting is a prime example of this. A Performer needs not a blade. Neither does the Craftsman nor the Merchant. The fight, then, becomes abstract – of the mind, soul, or heart. Archers, Clerics, Scouts, Warriors, and Wizards, however, need the blade still. The ability to kill. In turn, those who do not, need those who do.
It is simple, natural, obvious, mandatory, and expected..
The ban on War by Her Excellency Filestra changed society. A single individual's actions and words brought a shift to a second maxim: Fornicating. No longer do we need to produce children in large numbers to enrich the homeland. What once was a one-to-one affair changed to one-to-many.
People continue to birth children, and will forevermore.
It is simple, natural, obvious, mandatory, and expected...
So long as mortals remain mortals, feeding is as imperative as it has always been. The unchanging maxim. Individuals exist who believe Higher Beings will guide us to a Higher Civilization, and by doing so we will ascend and abandon our need to feed, fight, flee, and fornicate. It remains a belief with no basis as no Divine or Eternal has promised such events. Some call it delusions, others call it conviction.
Regardless of what might happen, all mortal life requires a form of sustenance.
It is simple, natural, obvious, mandatory, and expected!
So why, O heart of mine, am I deathly frightened of the scene before me?
In the twilight realm that is Galeia's bowels, deep within the All-mother, a manifestation of such maxims played out.
Natasha, a being born of Galeia's breath, newly formed but ancient in essence, emanated a blinding radiance that could make even the bravest tremble. Yet, her nascent existence pulsed with a tempestuous energy, a wrath barely contained within her Eternal vessel. Head bare, a hurricane of unrivaled ire resided within her eyes, gleaming like the constellations in the Sky Vault, each glint promising retribution to the Abyss.
The Blood Fiend, a creature of unbridled ferocity, writhed in tortured spasms before her. Its monstrous form, a concoction of ill dreams and dark imaginings, seemed feeble in the face of her Eternal might.
I, Bromisnar, was rendered powerless to such a sight. My fingers twitched with the urge to strum the strings of my lute, to weave a melody that might soothe the rage within Natasha's furious heart. Yet, I am but a minstrel in the cosmic theater, a silent witness to a confrontation that is inherent to the very concept of existence.
Natasha's mouth opened, her silver teeth like uncaring punishments from Galeia herself, and bit down with righteous vengeance, cracking the Blood Fiend's skull with a crunch that echoed in the soul.
It recoiled, its monstrous visage contorting in agony. There was no face, but the screech that escaped its foul throat and the convulsions that wrecked its wretched body told enough.
Oh, Natasha, born of purest E'er and Eternal whispers, your wrath is a force that would make even the Cosmic Chamber pause in awe. The Blood Fiend, a terror that haunts the bravest of Chasers, now succumbs to the inexorable might of a Higher Being.
As Natasha's radiant fury consumed the monstrous darkness, we stood in reverent silence, our hearts pounding in tandem with the violent percussion.
The creature was not so easily ingested, however, rapidly reforming its vile body after each eager bite in a rebellious attempt to perform yet another maxim: fight.
The Halve's Legendary armor proved resilient, standing fast before the desperate scramble to survival.
It took hours.
Lady Yolin and Hanna stood frozen all throughout, immediate witnesses of such a basic yet brutal process of life.
I found my purpose eclipsed, my songs silenced by the most natural of events.
She was feeding.
Natasha, with eyes ablaze and jaw unhinged, devoured the malevolence with a hunger born from the depths of Hell.
We were but a speck in the vast expanse. Mere observers in the grand tapestry of existence, watching a nascent Protector devour the bloody shadows that dared to challenge her Eternal birthright.
Why did I wish to flee when faced with it when it is simple, natural, obvious, mandatory, and expected!?
Her form pulsated with an insatiable hunger, her radiance intensifying as she absorbed the lingering flesh. Natasha's eyes, like iridescent galaxies, burned brighter, casting a divine glow that eclipsed the suns themselves.
We watched in both awe and trepidation.
The fear cast by the Blood Fiend soon existed only as a memory, but Natasha's grotesque banquet continued unabated.
Her eyes, pools of divine fervor, reflected the Eternal hunger that transcended mortal understanding. She consumed the leftovers with a voracious appetite, as if savoring the very essence of malevolence. Her feasting seemed to transcend mere sustenance; it was a ritual, a communion with the cosmic forces that birthed her into existence.
Oh, Natasha, born from the All-mother's womb, your appetite for the shadows is boundless, a hunger that echoes across the world!
Until it ended.
Insatiable hunger and burning ire won over transformed flesh. The origin of it retained full authority, it seemed. The one made to sustain such perfection would not be upstaged by a false imitator.
Why was I frightened?
Nature is endlessly beautiful and equally disturbing.
The Protector wiped her lips, a satisfied smile on her face, then stood up. She took a deep breath, then let out a long, echoing, loud, and deep belch.
Inspiration gone!
“Quite the method to defeat a rapidly regenerating monster, right?” Elena commented, not a drop of surprise in her tone. “I hated seeing Perculis do that. To see a calm and gentle man eat monsters...” she stopped her sentence and hissed, looking away.
Lady Lapia hummed. “I see why you chose to stay back,” she muttered in thought.
“So... Is that why they're called apex predators?” Pokh'Orra asked, glancing at Elena.
The ancient Elf nodded. “One of many reasons,” she quietly replied, her tone implying there was more to it.
“You're looking too deeply into it,” Bonte sighed. “Munchies had bad timing, is all.”
Lady Alyssa chortled, then covered her mouth and giggled.
“The forbidden spaghetti,” Pokh'Orra wisely added.
“That's the second monster she's eaten so far,” I muttered, still reeling with child-like rejection despite my age.
It was a natural thing to do: Eat other things.
“She spat the spider bits out,” Pokh'Orra reminded us. “I don't think that counts.”
“It does,” Bonte countered with a snicker. “I bet she tried, but... found it gross or something? There's nothing wrong with it, anyway. We've been eating the Ugers from Mountroad's dungeon for months now. This was straight from the source.”
“Those were beasts,” Lady Lapia argued. “Not monsters.”
My brother shrugged. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, then,” he concluded.
Hanna, Natasha, and Yolin jogged around the chasm towards us while we chatted.
“There's not much difference,” Thelea supplied. “One uses E'er, the other doesn't. Will you all shit yourselves when Natasha eats a person for the first time? Will you fight her? Or will you perish like a pig?”
There was no precise answer to such words.