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Hunger
Elliot was hungry—so, so hungry.
Why? He’d eaten some pizza not long ago, and he thought that should’ve satisfied him.
But the meat he’d had before... that tasted so much better. It had filled him in a way the pizza never could. As he watched everyone else eat the cheesy slices with smiles on their faces, he stared at the pizza with barely hidden disgust, his stomach gurgling as he struggled not to vomit the vile food.
“Hey, you good?” Chance’s sly voice came from his left, a hand gently resting on Elliot’s trembling shoulder.
Elliot flinched—but didn’t pull away.
“Fine,” he said flatly, turning away from the meal he had prepared for everyone. He shrugged Chance’s hand off, ignoring the confused look the other gave him as he quickly left the cabin they’d all started calling home.
He walked into the woods, his hands itching to tear something apart.
When had he become this violent? He couldn’t remember—and didn’t care to.
The next round would start soon, and he couldn’t wait to eat something fresh after so long.
He felt guilty that he followed the killer and dragged away his own friends’ corpses.
But they tasted so good.
He made sure to heal anyone injured that he came across—it kept suspicion off him. But he knew the smarter survivors were starting to notice.
Corpses don’t just disappear.
His watch dinged.
One minute until the next round.
He'd finally get his food. His mouth nearly frothed at the thought of the fresh, rich taste only a corpse could provide.
The Spectre had been so good to him—so generous. They even let him bring back scraps in his bag for snacks between rounds.
Such a kind gesture.
—-
The next round began on Yorick’s Resting Place. Elliot moved through the fog-covered map with slow, deliberate steps, his stomach twisting in anticipation. He found Guest 1337 and stayed near him at first, pretending to look for the killer—but his mind was elsewhere. Slasher might’ve been the killer this round, he thought vaguely, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the food he’d get soon.
They eventually ran into Builderman, who struck up a conversation with Guest. Elliot tuned them out, his gaze drifting toward the dark corners of the map. Quietly, he slipped away, the mist swallowing him as his hunger gnawed at him like a living thing.
Once, he might’ve thought this was wrong—letting the killer do the work, letting his friends die just so he could feed later—but that thought barely crossed his mind now. Right and wrong didn’t matter anymore.
When Noob went down, Elliot was already moving. He dragged the body into a shadowed corner, heart hammering as blood pooled beneath his friend. His hands trembled when he drew the knife he’d hidden away, the metal slick against his palm. Slowly, he carved into Noob’s arm and freed a chunk of meat, sliding it into the side pocket of his pizza bag. He always saved some for later—snacks between rounds.
Once the pockets were full, he couldn’t wait anymore. He sank his sharp teeth into Noob’s midriff and tore free a strip of flesh. A deep, satisfied sound rumbled from his chest—almost a purr—as he chewed, his eyelids fluttering. The first bite was always the sweetest.
A soft footstep made him freeze.
Elliot turned his head and found Slasher standing just a few feet away, unmoving, his mask catching the dim light. Elliot straightened, blood dripping from his chin, and stared back.
They regarded each other for a long, tense moment. Then Elliot turned back to Noob, tearing off another bite. Behind him, Slasher stepped back. Huh. Elliot hadn’t expected that. Killers usually didn’t flinch at a little blood.
Then Slasher turned and bolted.
Elliot grinned, a rush of excitement flooding him. Why was the killer running? It wasn’t like Elliot was going to eat someone alive—
And yet, before he realized it, he was sprinting after Jason.
His feet pounded against the dirt as he closed the gap, running just a little faster than the masked man. He slammed into Slasher from behind, tackling him to the ground. Slasher didn’t cry out—he couldn’t—but Elliot barely noticed. His focus was on the arm he pinned down beneath his grip.
Without hesitation, Elliot bit down. Cloth tore, and then flesh. Slasher’s body jerked beneath him, silent but tense, as Elliot ripped free a chunk and spat out the fabric. He chewed with a low, pleased sound, blood smearing across his mouth and dripping down his chin.
Then arms grabbed him from behind and hauled him off Slasher. Elliot twisted violently, a guttural growl tearing from his throat as he fought the hold. Blood spilled from his lips as he swallowed the meat, the taste making his head swim.
“What the hell is wrong with him!?” Guest 1337’s voice was sharp in his ear.
Recognition hit, and Elliot went slack. He turned his head toward Guest and purred softly. The grip loosened, and Elliot shifted until he could cling to him, staring up with wide, shining pupils and a bloody smile.
His tail—when had he gotten a tail?—swished lazily behind him as he leaned into Guest’s chest.
Shedletsky made a strangled noise. “Uh... does anyone know what happened to the pizza guy?”
Two Time stepped forward, reverent. “The Spawn must have blessed him. Such an honor...”
Elliot barely listened. His gaze stayed fixed on Guest, who was staring back with a mixture of confusion and worry.
“Is that your blood,” Guest asked carefully, “or someone else’s?”
Elliot hummed and glanced toward Noob’s hidden corpse. The soldier's expression hardened. He began shouting for the others to search, but Elliot pressed closer, clutching at his shirt as exhaustion washed over him.
His purr deepened, eyes slipping closed. For now, he was content. He’d deal with everything else when he woke.