The ground trembled with each step of Gluttony, and as he approached, the air seemed to condense with the imminent threat of his presence. I could not show weakness, not there, not in front of him. In Hell, fear is the gateway to defeat. And I knew he saw me as just another damned soul, something of no value to be devoured. That mistake would be the key to my survival.
"You really are everything they say, aren't you?" my voice cut through the silence, soft but firm.
Gluttony stopped for a moment, a heavy, audible sigh escaping from his multiple mouths, which chewed incessantly and laughed at the same time. The sound was unsettling, like the murmur of a thousand suffocated voices. "And what do they say about me, little human?"
"That you're insatiable," I continued, stepping a little closer, while disguising my admiration for his monstrosity. "That not even time can satisfy your hunger."
"That is true," Gluttony roared, his voice vibrating like thunder. "Time serves me, just as all who arrive here do."
I took another step closer, the risk of proximity mingling with curiosity. A beast, when observed closely, hesitates, and it is that hesitation that changes the game.
"So it's true that you consume everything?" I asked, my voice now low, as if touching a delicate point. "That nothing can resist your hunger?"
He smiled, showing teeth sharp as blades, and his mouths opened even wider, revealing an endless darkness. "You try to flatter me, but your words are futile. I don't need your flattery."
"They're not futile," I retorted, my tone slightly offended but controlled. "In fact, I have something you can consume. Something no one else would dare offer."
There was a change in his gaze. A flicker of interest appeared, and around us, the trees seemed to lean in, as if Hell itself was bending to listen. Gluttony lowered his enormous head toward me, his black eyes piercing my soul, studying me as though I were prey.
"You dare to bargain with me? What kind of fool do you think you are, that you have something I cannot take by force?"
"It's not something you can take," I replied confidently, a defiant tone in my words. "It's something that can only be offered. Something that is offered only once. Something eternal."
The word "eternal" echoed through the valley like thunder. For a brief moment, even Hell itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for what I would say next.
Gluttony watched me closely, his mouths now still, his confidence wavering. He was large, powerful, but his nature made him vulnerable. Eternal hunger knows no bounds, but it also knows no patience. What is never satisfied can never reject the promise of fulfillment.
"You boast of your hunger, but have you ever asked yourself what you truly seek?" I began, taking another step, circling, like a hunter. "You consume everything, but what you truly want is not food, it is something more. It is purpose."
"Purpose?" Gluttony laughed, but there was something unstable in his laughter, a crack in what once seemed like conviction.
"You consume because you need to. Because it is your nature. But what if there were something that wasn't just food? Something that never ended? Something that could satisfy your hunger forever, but also keep it alive?"
His mouths began to murmur, disconnected and restless words, revealing a growing doubt. I had hooked his attention.
"I'm talking about eternal food. An endless cycle, where every bite renews itself before it is even consumed. You wouldn't just be a mere devourer; you would be a creator of hunger, a god among gods."
The idea was slowly taking shape in Gluttony's mind. He didn't just want to consume; he craved the power over hunger itself, the ability to become more than he was.
"You speak as though you have such a thing," he said, his voice laden with subtle but growing temptation.
"I do," I lied with unshakable confidence, without hesitation. "Something that only I can release. Something beyond your understanding. But to receive it, you must prove you are worthy. Not a blind devourer, but someone who can master their own hunger."
Gluttony could not resist this idea. Eternal hunger, as limitless as it was, would never know satisfaction without purpose. He needed to believe that there was something more, something he did not possess.
"Prove it to me," he growled, his mouths all opening in unison, black saliva dripping.
I raised my hands as though invoking a ritual, as if somehow the air around us were transforming into something. Of course, there was nothing, but in Hell, appearance is everything.
"You must purify yourself," I said in a solemn voice, like a priest preparing a soul for salvation. "You must rid yourself of excess, make room for the eternal food. Only when you rid yourself of what you have consumed can you partake in the true feast."
Gluttony hesitated, his countless mouths trembling in a silence that seemed more suffocating than any scream. "Purify?" He laughed, but it was a laugh full of uncertainty, an echo of his own fragility. "I am Gluttony. I do not lose, I conquer. I win. I always win."
"No, you consume," I retorted, my voice low and incisive, continuing to circle around him like an inevitable shadow. "And consuming is not power, it is weakness. You call that victory? You are a shallow puddle that never overflows, an open wound that never heals. You feed on everything, but never on yourself. Don't you see? You are your own prison. The jailer and the condemned."
Gluttony tried to recover, but there was something in my words that ate away at him, something he couldn't simply swallow like he did with everything else. His mouths, which once devoured endlessly, began to close, one by one, like flowers wilting under the weight of an endless winter.
"You speak of gain, but you've never had anything truly yours," I continued, stopping in front of him. "You consume the world to fill a void that never satisfies. That's what you are: a void. A bottomless hole, an echo that never finds its origin. And do you know why? Because the hunger that defines you is the same that destroys you. Your existence is a cruel joke, a divine irony. You are the purest reflection of God, and because of that, you are the most pathetic. He created you in his image: hungry, insatiable, arrogant."
Gluttony's hesitation became a shadow of doubt, and this doubt, like a crack in a massive structure, began to expand. He writhed, as though my words were blades cutting something deep, something he had never dared to confront.
"You think devouring is power? Then tell me, Gluttony, what is left when you consume everything? What are you when the world is empty? Nothing. Less than nothing. Because hunger cannot feed on itself. You are a dry well that doesn't understand its own futility. You, Gluttony, are not a predator. You are a victim. A victim of your own nature, created by a God as hungry as you."
The words seemed to pierce his flesh, not only his body but the very idea of himself. Gluttony began to fall to his knees, crushed by the weight of a concept he could not bear. The remaining mouths trembled but could not open. There was nothing left to devour, no words, no substance, no meaning. He was an empty body trying to fight against the inevitable.
"You were never invincible," I whispered, looking down on him. "You were just blind. Blind to the fact that true power is not in consuming, but in refusing. And you, Gluttony, have never refused anything. Because to refuse, you must be more than hunger. You must be whole. And you will never be whole. You are, and always will be, less than the nothing you fear."
Doubt now consumed him, as voracious as he had consumed everything around him. He was the eternal devourer, but in that moment, he realized that hunger was not a gift. It was a curse. And not God's curse, but the curse of his own essence. An essence that could never escape itself.