The Strong Eat, and So Do the Weak

Kang Isu, an ordinary college student, opened his eyes in a completely unfamiliar place.

Huh?

Murmurs and anxious whispers echoed all around him. A massive crowd of people stood clustered together in an endless, stark-white expanse. And floating serenely in midair was a miniature fairy.

Taking in the scene, Isu's eyes flew wide open.

I… I've been summoned to the Tower!

The Tower. A colossal, supernatural structure that had suddenly manifested several years ago. Though it appeared to hover high in the Pacific Ocean Airspace, destroying it or even making physical contact with it had proven utterly impossible.

And since its arrival, three separate catastrophes known as the Great Disappearance had shaken the world. Tens of thousands of people had vanished into thin air without a trace. Connecting the dots between the Tower and the Great Disappearance hadn't been difficult; people readily concluded that the vanished souls had been abducted into the structure.

Isu, who was an avid fan of modern fantasy web novels, had occasionally indulged in daydreams of being chosen himself.

Whoa. Incredible. Is that fairy actually flying? I don't see any wires or anything!

Because of that, he took the situation rather casually.

"You son of a biiiiiiitch—!"

"Haaah… There's always one like this in every batch."

That is, until the man standing right beside him suddenly lunged at the fairy.

"Well, fine. You can serve as an example this time around."

Schwiick.

It was a crisp, clean sound, like a ripe watermelon being split in two. Almost the instant that sound rang out, the charging man's head surrendered to momentum and slid sideways off his neck.

"H-Heeek?!"

Blood. Blood, blood, blood?!

Someone just died…?

A foul, copper reek assaulted Isu's senses—a metallic stench so overpowering it felt as though his nose would rot off. It was so nauseating that he could practically taste the sensation of licking rusted iron coating his tongue. Certain flavors were so inextricably linked to smell that his stomach heaved in violent revulsion, churning bile straight up his throat.

"Aaaaaaah!"

"S-Someone just got killed!"

Reality crashed in. Only then did it finally sink into his skull. This wasn't a game. This wasn't one of the lighthearted modern fantasy novels he loved reading on his commute. You could actually die here.

Just as sheer terror froze Isu to the marrow, he caught sight of another man casually strolling toward the fresh corpse.

Wait, what?

The man rummaged around before producing a stark-white bone needle from somewhere on his person. Then, he began to sew. He was literally stitching the severed head back onto the neck.

Huh? What?

What the hell am I looking at right now…?

Sewing a corpse back together? Why? For what possible reason? What was he aiming to accomplish? And why was he smiling?

I-I'm scared… What is wrong with that guy?

Ah… Ahaha. This has to be a dream…

Right. It had to be a nightmare. Otherwise, there was no way a lunatic like that could exist. Driving a needle into a dead man's neck… yeah, exactly. It felt like a cheap B-tier splatter film, so gratuitously gory that it lacked any sense of authenticity. He had obviously fallen asleep after binge-watching a horror movie.

Clinging desperately to that denial, Isu swallowed hard. The tension born from reality vanished, replaced instead by a creeping chill spawned from an unhinged absurdity that defied all human reason.

A person like that, an event like this—there was no way it could be real.

"Wilson, I'm heading out. Keep an eye on the house while I'm gone. Don't forget to eat your meals."

The man spoke to the corpse with casual familiarity. He gave the dead body a few affectionate pats, stroked its bloody hair, and then brushed off his knees as he hopped to his feet.

And then.

Oh, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

"Gasp…"

Their eyes met. They actually locked eyes. Isu frantically averted his gaze, but he could still ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠feel the heavy weight of that stare boring into him. No, no, nonononono.

Mustering the courage to peek up, Isu found the man staring right back at him.

The man grinned.

His lips curled upward into a wide, beaming smile. Glancing back and forth between the stitched corpse and Isu, the lunatic beamed like an innocent child receiving a holiday present.

Huh? What does that mean? Why is he smiling at me like that?!

"U-Uwah… M-Mom…"

Someone please save me…

"Ahaha! You all understand now, right?! Well then, fight! And survive!"

In that moment, the fairy's voice sounded like sweet salvation. Snap. The fairy snapped her tiny fingers, and blinding white light enveloped Isu. He had no idea where the radiance would whisk him away to, but anywhere was fine.

Please, just save me. Anywhere but here.

The surrounding scenery flipped on its head. The blank white canvas vanished in an instant, replaced by a sprawling landscape as a brisk breeze brushed against his cheek.

Sunlight filtered through lush tree branches. The scent of moist soil hung in the air alongside the chirping of crickets. And over in the distance stood that same lunatic who had evidently been transported alongside him.

"Kheu-heung-heung!"

The madman was shoveling fistfuls of raw dirt straight into his mouth.

Kang Isu turned on his heel and ran for his life.

To enact my revenge against the fairy, I absolutely had to be killed by her hands. There was no conventional way to return to that blank white waiting room, which meant dying and lingering in that chamber was the only method to confront her again.

Under normal circumstances, that is.

With Healing Factor, however, the equation changed completely.

So long as I left my corpse—or rather, Wilson—behind in that room, I could resurrect right beside him whenever I wished. In essence, he served as a personalized respawn beacon.

I made sure to loosely baste Wilson's limbs together with thread.

Right now, the primary vessel anchoring Healing Factor was me. Wilson wouldn't regenerate on his own. Because I had stitched his limbs together haphazardly, I could disassemble his parts whenever necessary. Wilson was a corpse, after all; he didn't need blood circulating through his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠veins.

Heh. Now that's what I call using a skill properly.

Even if I were to die out here in the wild, I could regulate Wilson's remaining bodily mass to dictate exactly where I revived. Whenever the time came to return to the white room, all I had to do was stitch every last piece of Wilson together and slit my own throat.

Damn it, Wilson. I really do love you, buddy!

Bro to bro, I'd even let you hit it once.

Ah, wait. Wilson doesn't have a dick, does he? Man, my memory really slips sometimes.

Crunch. Munch. Tear.

Hold on. That was an awfully familiar sound.

Right. I was in the middle of fighting an orc, wasn't I?

Looking down, I saw an orc vigorously skewering me with a blade. Stab, plunge, squelch, stab-stab-stab-stab…

"Heh."

Chomp.

Ah. What a gluttonous fiend. The orc was tearing hearty mouthfuls of meat right off my ribs. The orc swallowed, and I was swallowed. I could vividly feel the savage pressure of blunt, filthy molars grinding against my bone.

"Tasty, huh?"

Blood poured in rivers. Chunks of my flesh were shredded and devoured until my torso was a ragged mess. Even when my hyper-regeneration knitted the meat back together, the orc promptly bit it right back off, sending it sliding down into its belly.

Well, dying like this wouldn't be the end of the world. Since I had detached Wilson's excess limbs back in the room, dying out here wouldn't forcibly drag me back to the white chamber.

Not yet, anyway.

Though if he completely devours me down to the last scrap, my soul will definitely have to respawn back in the white room.

I had only just stepped outside into the fresh air for the first time in ages; I had no intention of being booted back inside so soon. While I deeply sympathized with the plight of a starving orc…

I'm way hungrier than you are, you motherfucker.

"Drop dead."

Crunch! Sound piled atop sound.

Except that noise didn't come from the orc.

Gnaw. Tear. Chomp.

My teeth sank deep into the orc's throat. The pungent, coppery tang of hot blood flooded my palate. Come to think of it, this was my very first time biting someone else's neck. It wasn't as if I could ever reach around to chew on my own.

And the sensation of tasting neck meat for the first time was surprisingly clear.

Damn, that's fresh.

Was it because orcs resembled swine? The meat tasted remarkably decent. The warm blood acted like a rich broth that whetted the appetite, lending the meat a succulent, juicy sweetness. Mmm~

Wait, now that I really think about it, I'm getting pissed off.

Wait… does that mean I tasted like absolute garbage all this time…?!

Goddammit.

Why the hell were pigs born so delicious? Was that the animal kingdom's version of being born with a silver spoon? Fuck. I wanted chewy marbling and sweet, juicy fat too! Why was my meat the only one that tasted dry, stringy, and bland as cardboard?

Selfish bastards. What, do you think it's fine for the restaurant to go under? True happiness in life is being born delicious so you can grant humanity the divine joy of gourmet cuisine!

I'm going to chew you down to the very last marrow.

We tore into one another, beast devouring beast.

The law of nature dictates that the strong swallow, and the weak are swallowed.

No. That was wrong.

The survival of the fittest was a bald-faced lie. The strong eat, and so do the weak. If you have the teeth to rip flesh, you gorge yourself like a ravenous ghoul. If you don't, you starve.

Does an elephant eat a lion just because it is mightier? Of course not. Yet a cowardly hyena will gladly strip an elephant's carcass to the bone.

Strength and weakness were entirely irrelevant.

You eat.

You eat.

You eat.

You feast!

"Ah."

Ah. Aah.

It died. Yeah, it was finally dead.

The orc's massive frame went completely limp. Having been chewed to ribbons, its battered corpse looked thoroughly wretched. My flesh still lingered inside the orc's jaws, just as chunks of the orc's meat ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠filled mine.

Dear orc. You were genuinely delicious.

……

I pried the weapon from the orc's stiff fingers. It was a crude, dull blade forged from poor-quality iron. Just scraping against it felt like an instant ticket to tetanus. And the damn thing had stabbed me dozens of times already. Did I ever receive a tetanus shot back on Earth? I honestly couldn't remember.

Aiming the notched edge at my own collarbone, I drew the blade across my skin. Rather than a clean slice, it made a sickening rip-riiiiip sound, tearing through flesh like wet cardboard. I carved off a sizable sheet of leather and hacked away generous strips of my own meat, piling them neatly over the dead orc.

Then, pulling a bone needle from my pocket, I set to work.

Where the orc's meat had been hollowed out, I grafted my own flesh. Where the orc's hide had been torn away, I stitched on patches of my own skin.

This orc had ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠been a splendid warrior.

When stabbing me repeatedly failed to kill me, it didn't hesitate to bare its fangs and attempt to devour me alive. It tried to kill me so that it could eat. It tried to kill me so that it could survive.

In that case, paying proper tribute to that spirit was my solemn duty. To consume it thoroughly and convert it into my own blood and flesh—that was the ultimate sign of respect. Sadly, thanks to Healing Factor, I was incapable of transforming this orc into my own biological nourishment.

My flesh and blood were never sustained by prey.

"Corpse Marionette."

Yet, you shall become my sustenance all the same.

"Rise. Orcson."