The falcon circled the dying city. A single wing beat through the wind as its immense size dwarfed the tall buildings below. Its eyes pierced the horizon, searching, waiting for something, but what exactly, it couldn't say.
It had been hunting for hours now. The falcon didn't need to eat. It hadn't needed to eat in years. But still, it hunted. A compulsion. A whisper in its mind that told it to keep going, to keep searching.
It looked down at the city, its claws tightening. Small figures ran in the streets. They scattered like ants under its watch. They had no idea. They were too busy to notice the enormous creature above them, too busy with their pathetic, fleeting lives. They didn't matter. The falcon knew that much.
With a snap of its wings, it dipped lower, closer to the ground. The air cracked with the force, making buildings tremble. The ground itself seemed to respond, trembling in its wake. But the people were oblivious. They didn't even look up. They never looked up.
There was one man, though. One of the ants. He was walking slowly, dragging his feet through the streets, eyes downcast. The falcon focused on him, its wings silent now. He looked like the kind of person who had given up, a person who was used to the world falling apart around him. He didn't seem afraid. Just resigned.
The falcon's eyes narrowed. It dove.
The man barely had time to react as the huge form slammed into the ground. The impact crushed cars and debris scattered in all directions. The man didn't move, though. He was too tired, too broken to even flinch. It was too late anyway.
The falcon's claws extended, black and sharp, and it dug them into the dirt, into the rubble. Its wings spread, blocking out the sun as it loomed over the man. The world around them fell silent, not a breath, not a sound except for the faintest crackling. The falcon tilted its head down and stared at the man.
The man still didn't move. The falcon waited. And waited.
Then it came. A scream. A desperate shriek from behind the falcon. The man's eyes widened. The falcon twisted its head, its movements slow but deliberate. A group of people had gathered at a distance, their faces pale with fear. They had seen what happened. They had finally noticed. Too late, as always.
One of them screamed again, this time louder, more frantic. The falcon's wings spread wide, almost as if inviting them closer, daring them to approach. The people stopped in their tracks. None of them moved. None of them dared.
The man on the ground began to crawl, dragging himself with shaking arms. The falcon's claws dug deeper into the earth. A shadow moved over the man, and the falcon's head tilted again. Something about him felt wrong. The falcon's eyes narrowed further.
The man reached out a hand. His fingers brushed the falcon's claw.
Then the world screamed.
The earth cracked open. The city trembled as the falcon's claws tore through the man's flesh. It was messy, too messy. Pieces of bone, blood, and skin scattered through the air as the people screamed, running now, but it was too late.
The falcon stood over the carnage, its wings vibrating. And then, for the first time in years, it felt hunger. But not for food. For more. More screams. More blood. More of everything.
It looked at the city below and saw nothing. Just more ants.