Ezra's stomach twisted painfully, a hollow ache gnawing at his insides. Hunger clawed at him, sharp and relentless, and every breath felt shallow as his body screamed for sustenance.
His tired eyes scanned the room until they landed on the discarded carcass of the bird-like creature. He hesitated, staring at the lifeless remains, his exhaustion battling against his disgust.
For a brief moment, he considered looking elsewhere—finding anything else to eat—but deep down, he knew there was no other option.
With a heavy sigh, Ezra pushed himself off the cold, blood-streaked floor, every movement slow and deliberate as his aching muscles protested. His boots crunched faintly against the frost as he dragged his tired body toward the carcass.
He was still very much salty about the whole situation as he glared down at the grotesque remains.
'This is your fault, you stupid chicken. If you'd just minded your business, none of this would've happened.'
His eyes scanned the mangled body until he spotted a part that looked relatively untouched by the chaos of battle.
"Hm… this part looks alright," he muttered, crouching down. His fingers gripped one of the creature's massive legs.
"You've got big legs," he added, almost to himself, staring at the thick joint.
With a grunt, Ezra pulled hard. The sinew and cartilage resisted at first, but after one final tug, the leg detached with a sickening crunch, dark ichor oozing from the torn joint.
He winced at the sound but didn't let go, holding the limb up like some kind of grim trophy.
"Well… dinner's served, I guess," he said, his voice flat as exhaustion settled deeper into his bones.
Ezra squinted at the massive limb in his hands, turning it slightly as he inspected it. The creature's leg, though grotesque, had an oddly familiar shape—thick at the top, tapering down to sharp talon-like claws. It was almost like a chicken leg… if chickens were the size of horses and covered in patches of oily black feathers.
"What even are these called?" he muttered to himself, his brow furrowing. "Drumsticks? Thighs? Bird… haunches?"
The word felt wrong on his tongue, but he shrugged it off. His stomach growled loudly in response, reminding him of his priorities.
"Whatever. Food's food."
With a grimace, Ezra sat down cross-legged on the cold floor, the bird limb resting across his lap. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, dented knife he'd scavenged ages ago.
"Alright, let's see if you taste as ugly as you look," he said under his breath, driving the knife into the thick meat of the creature's leg and slicing downward.
The flesh had an odd texture, somewhere between sinewy and rubbery, but it was meat, and that was all that mattered. After carving a chunk free, Ezra hesitated for only a moment before tossing it into his mouth.
He chewed slowly, his face scrunching slightly at the strange taste—a mix of iron, bitterness, and something faintly… smoky.
"Well, it's not terrible," he said after swallowing. "But let's just say this isn't going on any restaurant menu anytime soon."
Still, he continued to eat, each bite chasing away the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. As grotesque as it was, it was fuel, and right now, that was all that mattered.
Ezra's stomach growled again, louder this time, as he gnawed on the last bits of the first leg. His hunger hadn't fully abated, and his eyes wandered back to the creature's other leg.
"Well… no point letting it go to waste," he muttered, dragging himself closer to the carcass.
Gripping the second leg firmly, he gave it a sharp tug. The sinew gave way more easily this time, and the limb separated with a wet snap. Ezra stared at the legless carcass for a moment, tilting his head.
"Should I just… eat the whole thing?" he wondered aloud.
The thought was tempting, but even he had his limits. With a sigh, he settled cross-legged on the cold floor again, knife in hand, and began carving into the thick meat. His motions were slow and methodical, slicing away patches of feathers and pulling free the cleaner sections of flesh.
At one point, a feather jabbed against his hand, and in his tired clumsiness, his knife slipped.
"Ah, damn it!" Ezra hissed, dropping the knife as he cradled his finger. A thin line of crimson bloomed across the pad of his index finger, and a droplet of blood dripped onto the frost-covered floor.
"Why now?" he muttered bitterly, staring at the cut.
Instinctively, he focused on the wound, narrowing his eyes as a soft glow of white fire sparked to life in his palm. The light was faint at first, flickering like a fragile candle, before solidifying into a steady pulse. The cut knitted itself together under the warmth, leaving behind only a faint pink line.
But something else happened.
As his fingers brushed against the chunk of meat he was holding, the white fire spread—thin tendrils of energy creeping over the raw flesh. Ezra froze, wide-eyed, as the dark, rubbery meat began to shift.
The sickly purple hue faded away, replaced by a rich, golden-brown color. The flesh grew plump and tender, an inviting aroma rising from it—smoky, warm, and mouth-watering.
Ezra's stomach clenched as the scent washed over him.
"What the…?" he whispered, holding the transformed meat up to his face. His disbelief was quickly replaced by cautious curiosity as he sniffed it again. It didn't just look cooked—it smelled perfect.
"Well… no point wasting magic barbecue," he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He hesitated only briefly before biting into it.
The meat practically melted in his mouth. It was tender and rich, with a depth of flavor he couldn't have imagined coming from something so monstrous. It was smoky, savory, and just slightly sweet—a far cry from the bitter, metallic taste of the raw chunks he'd eaten earlier.
Ezra let out an involuntary groan of satisfaction.
" what the heck , why does it taste so much better like this , why didn't no one tell me it tastes better than eating it raw "
"Oh, yeah. This is how it's supposed to taste."
Without wasting another second, he dug in. Each bite felt like life being poured back into his tired body, warmth spreading from his stomach out into his limbs. Whatever strange magic had caused the transformation, Ezra wasn't about to question it now.
As he polished off the cooked piece, he looked at the other raw sections of meat still scattered across the carcass.
Slowly, he stretched his hand out, white fire flickering to life once again at his fingertips.
"Alright… let's see if we can make this a proper meal."
The fire spread over another chunk of meat, and just like before, it transformed—dark rubbery flesh turning golden brown, filling the air with that mouth-watering aroma.
Ezra grinned faintly, exhaustion still heavy in his bones but softened by the satisfaction of a warm meal.
"Looks like you're finally being useful," he said to the carcass, carving off another cooked piece.
Ezra leaned back against the cold stone wall, his head tilting upward as he exhaled a long, satisfied breath. He'd eaten most of the creature's carcass, the rich, smoky flavor still lingering on his tongue. His stomach felt full for the first time in what felt like weeks, the gnawing ache of hunger finally silenced.
His limbs felt heavy now, the adrenaline wearing off and the exhaustion creeping in like an unwelcome guest. Every muscle in his body ached, his arms still trembling faintly from earlier.
The flickering white fire at his fingertips faded away, leaving only faint trails of warmth in his palms. His eyelids drooped slightly as he stared at the remains of the carcass—picked clean, bones glistening faintly in the dim light.
"Guess you weren't all bad," Ezra mumbled, his voice thick with fatigue.
His head lolled to the side, eyes fluttering closed as the tension in his shoulders slowly unwound. For the first time in hours, maybe even days, he felt still—calm, even.