Akal looked at the strange being before him. Not entirely human, not entirely animal. Or perhaps, it was but a mask, something Akal in his child-like state of mind failed to realize. It was a strange being, and it had a curved blade drawn. This approach frightened Akal, but even worse, caused a split opinion amongst the personalities dwelling within him. Those that craved freedom wanted to see this being destroyed, simply because it threatened to deny them the ability to return to reality in some form. The others, however, were those that craved an end, believing freedom to be nothing more than a vaguely remembered dream. The split response caused Akal to freeze in place, his featureless imitation of a face tilted simultaneously to the ground and towards the newcomer.
One voice rose above the rest. One that, to Akal, was benevolent; it was the voice that had allowed Akal to survive and thrive up until this point. The voice that had told Akal what to do when he could not decide for himself or perhaps, the voice that was truly Akal’s. But this was not the voice of reason, no, it was not even truly a voice. It was an emotion, an instinct. A raw representation of what Akal had become. It was hunger, in all of its primal and instinctual ferocity.
Slowly, Akal stood. He was shorter than this girl, or at least, he felt shorter. He wasn’t actually quite sure, as his vision was hazy, tinted red by the pain he now felt. His stomach let out a loud and long growl, allowing its irritation to be known. At once, the voices in Akal’s mind seemed to be silenced and Akal’s constant shaking and fidgeting stopped. Perhaps this would be obvious to the newcomer, but Akal did not notice himself.
It was then that Akal let out a guttural screech, certainly loud enough to alert Venn that Akal was, in fact, in danger. This was the first time he had seen a meal armed here in Haven, so, Akal assumed that it would immediately harm him. Dropping into a strange and seemingly feral battle pose, Akal moved in a fast manner, seemingly going for an attack. The result was not an attack aimed at his strange opponent, but rather at himself. He tore a chunk of his flesh off, throwing it near the strange thing. It smelled foul and leaked an inky black mockery of blood, landing with an audible squish near the opponent.
Akal simply let out another guttural screech in response to the pain, but immediately followed it with a raise of his arm. The inky black blood flew from his arm, splattering the wall nearest to him with the memory of his savagery. As his hands fell once more, the flesh began to bubble and twirl in a disgustingly fluid manner, slowly growing to be half the size of the wolf-faced thing that had dared to draw its curved blade on Akal.
It was unusual that he would use his Flesh Smithing magic so… sloppily. It was even more unusual that he would use his own flesh to do so. It would take time for the thing to grow, so the wolf-faced fiend would have two choices: Deal with the slowly-growing flesh golem, or deal with the more immediate threat which was Akal. But Akal was panicked by the wolf-faced fiend who threatened him now. Perhaps it was because they did not utter a word, instead choosing to stare at Akal. He hated when the meals stared at him. It caused him to shutter with an unholy desire, one that should far surpass the hunger, but fails to.
He spoke no words, instead letting out feral growls and hisses through the teeth revealed by opening the invisible mouth on his shadowlike and featureless face. They were wild and frenzied, being closer in nature to that of a carnivore rather than that of a man’s. Akal’s eyes never changed, staying featureless white dots on his face, but if one were to look into them, they could *feel* the weight of hunger bearing down upon them. There was something else in those featureless white dots, perhaps a hint of fear.
Ignoring the obviously wounded arm, Akal dropped again into his feral and wild stance, though this time it was a twisted and flawed imitation of the stance the wolf-faced fiend had. It was quickly adopted, as Akal prepared to mimic the wolf-faced fiend’s fighting style. Ink-black blood continued to poor out, as if it was a waterfall, but Akal seemed to mind it not. This was a very risky thing to do, but Akal was for all intents and purposes, a cornered beast. So, he was doing what any cornered beast does; lashing out.
Perhaps the worst part of all of this was the fact that there was no context for Akal to follow. That frightened him even further, but he doubted that the wolf-faced fiend had any more idea than he did about the nature of events. But he cared not what she thought. Instead, he focused on his hunger, letting it command him as it had so many times before. Akal did not worry about the consequences of immediately taking an offensive attack, for she did come at him with her blade drawn after nightfall, in a dark alley secluded from the town’s eyes. Not to mention, he was here to collect flesh, bones, and souls for Ishak, and what was this person to Akal but another offering to his savior? They were only that to Akal; an offering.
