As the hours—or what passed for hours in this strange place—ticked by, Ryan wandered aimlessly through the Shadow Abyss, trying to come to terms with his new reality. He was scared, confused, and completely out of his depth. But one thought kept nagging at him: he was hungry.
It was a strange thing to be concerned about, considering everything else that was going on, but Ryan had always turned to food for comfort. Cooking had been his way of coping with stress, and right now, he was as stressed as he'd ever been. The problem was, there didn't seem to be anything edible in this place. The creatures he encountered ate strange, unappealing things—dried meat, odd-looking roots, and what could only be described as slop. Ryan had seen medieval feasts in movies that looked more appetizing.
"Guess I can forget about pizza," he muttered to himself, his stomach growling.
As he wandered deeper into the Abyss, Ryan started to notice the creatures giving him odd looks. He couldn't tell if it was because they sensed something off about him or if this was just how Helcurt usually acted. Either way, he did his best to avoid direct confrontation, keeping his head down and staying out of sight as much as possible.
Eventually, Ryan found a secluded spot—a small, shadowy alcove tucked away from the main paths. It wasn't much, but it was quiet, and for the first time since waking up in this nightmare, Ryan felt a tiny bit of relief. He settled down on the cold, hard ground, his mind racing with thoughts of food.
"What I wouldn't give for a slice of pizza right now," he sighed, leaning back against the rough wall. He closed his eyes, trying to imagine the smell of baking dough, the taste of melted cheese, the satisfaction of biting into a perfectly crisp crust. His mouth watered just thinking about it.
But as his thoughts drifted, something else began to creep into his mind. It was as if a foreign memory, one not his own, was trying to push its way forward. Ryan frowned, concentrating on the feeling. Images flashed before his eyes—visions of battles, of shadows moving with lethal precision, of blood being spilled with cold efficiency. These weren't his memories; they were Helcurt's.
Ryan shivered, trying to shake off the unsettling images. He didn't want to be a killer, a monster that stalked the night. He was just a kid who liked to cook. But it seemed that this body he now inhabited had its own will, its own instincts, and they were at odds with everything Ryan knew.
He sat there for a while, staring into the darkness, trying to come up with a plan. There had to be a way out of this. Maybe if he could just survive long enough, he'd find a way back home. But survival meant fitting in, and fitting in meant understanding this world—a world he knew nothing about.
As he thought, his stomach growled again, louder this time. Ryan sighed. "Alright, stomach, I get it. Food first, escape plans later."
He pushed himself up and began to search through the few things he'd managed to gather. There wasn't much—a couple of withered roots, some dried meat, and a strange, crumbly substance that looked like it might have once been bread. It was hardly gourmet, but it was all he had.
Ryan had no idea how to use Helcurt's abilities, but as he fumbled around, he discovered that his new claws were surprisingly dexterous. He managed to slice the roots into thin strips, tearing the dried meat into smaller pieces. It wasn't much, but he had an idea.
He found a flat rock and used it as a makeshift cutting board. Then, with a deep breath, he tried something that he never thought would work—he tried to harness the heat that Helcurt's body seemed to generate. At first, nothing happened, but as he focused, he felt a slight warmth spreading through his claws.
"Come on… come on…" he muttered, concentrating harder. Slowly, the warmth intensified, until it was strong enough to start cooking the meat and roots. The smell wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was better than nothing.
As he worked, he let his mind wander back to the cooking shows he used to watch. He remembered one episode where a chef had made something out of practically nothing—an impromptu stew using only leftovers. It had looked amazing, and the thought of it gave Ryan hope. Maybe he could do the same here.
He continued to experiment, mixing the crumbled bread with water to make a rough dough, then spreading it out on another flat rock. He topped it with the cooked meat and roots, using a bit more of the heat to bake it until it was just firm enough to hold together.
When he was done, he stepped back to admire his work. It wasn't pizza, not by a long shot, but it was something. He hesitated for a moment, then took a cautious bite. The taste was… well, it wasn't great, but it was edible. And in this place, that was good enough.
Ryan ate in silence, his mind already racing with ideas for how to improve his next attempt. If he could find better ingredients, maybe he could make something that actually tasted good. And if he could do that, maybe he could impress these creatures—maybe even earn their trust.
"Food might be my ticket out of here," he mused, finishing the last bite of his makeshift meal. He wiped his claws on the ground, then stood up, feeling a bit more determined than before.
He still didn't know how he was going to survive in this place, but at least now he had a plan—an unconventional one, but a plan nonetheless. If he could keep cooking, maybe he could find a way to turn this nightmare into something a little more bearable.
And who knows? Maybe, just maybe, he could cook his way back home.