Hunger's Echo on the Empty Tracks
I had no idea how far I'd slithered down in my hunger-driven haze. The scraping of legs from behind had completely stopped long ago, and the slope of the metal crevice had gradually leveled out. It twisted once more, then again, before my body finally came to a halt on its own. It wasn't because the pursuer's momentum had faded.
The texture had changed. Instead of the humid heat from the insect swarm, cool, uniform air now washed over my scales. There was no light. Yet it wasn't pitch black. Shapes emerged from the darkness. Living things glowed with body heat, metal with its cold temperature, and fresh scratches with lingering warmth. In the sewer, fluorescent mist had served as a faint light source, but this was different. Now my eyes peeled back the darkness first. Even in the gloom, hot and cold things tangled in place, outlining forms.
The crevice where I'd hidden extended into a cold, narrow space. The walls were torn in places, exposing jagged edges, and below the floor, long, straight metal structures were embedded at regular intervals. They looked like rails but weren't quite. Too smooth for wheels to roll on, with unfamiliar supports. A vague image flickered from the depths of memory: a long vehicle gliding silently above tracks instead of rumbling over them. I couldn't recall if I'd seen it in person in my first life or just in passing footage. Still, it felt familiar. A subway? Or something like it.
Thoughts cut off there. I was starving. Not the primal gluttony surging like before, the urge to devour everything in sight. Just... empty. Like the fragile threads I'd barely woven inside were unraveling, leaving an unnaturally clean void. If I don't eat, I'll die. That simple sensation burned with unnatural clarity.
My underside cooled first. The circulation I'd just stabilized felt like it was drying up already. The Ouroboros pattern spun slowly, but instead of cycling through my whole body, it idled in one spot. The surface texture, thinly alive moments ago, was already roughening.
It had only been once. I'd severed one leader from the swarm and slipped away. I hadn't overused Dongshu. Just a brief half-beat twist to create an opening. Yet the cost was anything but brief. If I ran into another big one like this, it was over.
That judgment hit first. Then came the sensation of the battlefield crushing down from above. The pressure pinning me to the ground, breath and all. The gaze piercing through illusions. Red eyes. He wouldn't have chased me here right now. But my body already knew what came next. In this hollowed-out state, I'd never escape if we met again. No strength to erase traces, no leisure to read gaps—I'd just be crushed.
I turned my gaze beyond the metal crevice. Scattered small fry from the swarm lingered there. Tiny insect-like contaminants scraping legs together, milling about. Drawn by the scent of spilled fluids. Individually, no threat. But I didn't plunge deeper right away. First, I needed to check what my body could eat and how long it would hold.
What mattered, what was just meat. Chasing strong auras on an empty stomach could lead straight to a bigger one—and end me. I twisted out just enough to peek beyond the crevice. Spots that would have snagged my old body. Not now. Slipping free took almost no effort. Not some new skill—just smaller. And that made a huge difference.
I picked the nearest one. A palm-sized multi-legged contaminant, shell half-cracked, innards murky. As it raised its antennae, my body slid forward first. Jaws snapped shut, a segment severed, black fluid sprayed. Quick. Before, I'd probe for weakness; now, no need. The break point protruded, felt before seen. My body bit straight there. Swallowed the rest.
Waited. Nothing changed. I felt it slide into my gut, but no sense of consumption. Like it grazed the surface and vanished without sinking into the void. One was nothing; ten would be the same. Even hundreds might not matter. Wrong caliber. My body craved more than meat.
I scanned sharper. Darkness still thick, but more registered now. Among small heat blobs, subtle differences. Faint to near-imperceptible: some hollow inside, others with thin condensations under rotten flesh. Not full Yodan, but at least remnants.
The moment I discerned them, a strange sensation rippled down my spine. Something reached before sight. Beyond one metal wall, around a bend, a small entity's flow faintly snagged. Not seen, not heard. Yet I didn't miss it. Without activating Dongshu.
Tongue flicked briefly. Metal tang, rotten fluids, humid poison, and a faint tremor amid it. Sensation didn't end at eyes or tongue. A razor-thin precursor extended beyond the wall. No time for that now. Prioritize ones with condensation.
Severed one deeper in. Looked similar, but inside differed. Swallowing brought a fleeting moisture to parched veins. Ouroboros spun smoothly for that instant. Breath held. Just that much. Faint. So faint it sharpened into focus. Needed quality, not quantity. But weaklings held little. Had to hunt denser.
Problem: denser ones clustered with danger. Strong flows drew bigger contaminants. Deeper down, worse. Direction to avoid. Yet to endure, go there. Eating piecemeal too slow.
That thought dropped. Recalled daoist days. One talisman patched flows; simple array bought breathing room. Mental arts amplified it. Ways to read with eyes, extend outward, roll a thin extra sense like extra limbs. But no hands now, no materials. Talismans demand precision; scraps won't do. Arrays need space, time—luxury in pursuit.
Only mental arts left. Full restoration impossible. Mimic maybe. Body changed. Reads heat/cold in dark, catches flows beyond sight. Scales, tongue, whole eyes as probes. Twist old ways to fit—might reach.
No leisure for more. Void inside again. Raised head. Beyond metal passage, deeper darkness: caught lines. One distant, thick—touch now, die. Swarm clung around it. Another fainter but unbroken, stretching long. To survive bare minimum, grope that way.
And from there, amid contaminant stench, something else rose. Oil. Scorched insulation. Freshly severed metal edges. Traces absent in long-dead passages. Someone passed, or something still runs. Uncertain. But clear: not mere cave. Thought stopped shell; inside, flows persist. Why big ones gather—likely there.
Bad. Big ones claim such spots first. Yet couldn't turn away. Safety not goal. Just margin against red eyes—not die instantly. Power to read escape gaps. One move to erase traces. Needed denser feed. Same conclusion. To live, go.
Lowered body. Ouroboros spun quietly. No earlier frenzy—more ominous. Mouth shut like drying beast, inside silently empty.
Near first. As much as holds. Then fast as possible, denser. Slid deeper along strange rails. Soon, humanoid silhouettes snagged in front darkness.
Thought humans first. Staggering on two legs, arms dangling, groping walls and floor. Survivors down here? Body halted. But closer, wrong. No vitality. Heat present, but forced embers in cooling meat. No breath, pulse, human inner flow. Just upright like people.
Flashed armored horror from surface. Spiral mask's menace. Dismissed. No comparison. That twisted whole; these crude shells mimicking form.
One snag: yokai force denser than expected. Clearer than insects, more condensed than beast fry. Humanoid hold correlated with density.
Severed outermost. Died easier than insects. But swallow: clearer response. Fainter than fry, but sharper. Second. Third. Less damage, more form—denser force. Still, limited. Few more, barely breathe. Fills no hunger. Wastes strength.
Stopped. Not random wander. Seemed scattered, converged same direction. Groped walls, scraped floors, poked structures. Sometimes froze, staring one way long. Searching. Prey, scraps, or other. Lowly things converging—something there.
Starving. Tempted devour all before me. Yet held. Better than fry, but same tier. Few more just clings life. Better see what they seek first.
Lowered further. No close trail. Hopped upper grooves, crumbled ledges—maintained undetect distance. Eyes missed, flows didn't. Even bends, thin trails held. Follow. Gut starved, info pricier now. Whatever end holds, better than eye's few.