novelraw Chapter 377: The Need To Eat
Chapter 377: The Need To Eat
Zubair looked down to see that his arm was still bleeding.
For some reason, he wasn’t healing nearly as fast as he had been when the fight first broke out.
While the bleeding had slowed down so that it was no longer life threatening, it was enough to be a problem. The fabric Elias had tied there was dark and heavy, and every time Zubair lifted his hand to throw his fire, the pull in his muscles reminded him that his body had not finished healing.
But no one was willing to cut him a break today. More engines rolled in again. It looked like the General hadn’t given up... even in death.
However, this time, there seemed to be fewer engines. Not the General’s big convoy.
These were faster vehicles, light trucks and bikes, coming in through the smoke with men already on foot. None of them wore badges. None of them showed colors. That didn’t matter. They came from the same direction. That made them enemies.
Sera glanced over her shoulder, face still streaked in blood, half-shifted. "More of them," she said. "He really didn’t want to die alone."
Lachlan, still blue and large, snorted. "Then we send them after him."
Alexei didn’t speak. His skin was still blue and tight over bone. Frost moved with his breath until he looked like a living rendition of a horror story Jack Frost.
A slight smile played over his face as his white fangs flashed in what might be a smile.
It was clear to Zubair that he was ready for whatever was going to be thrown at them.
That was a good thing because Alexei wasn’t nearly as out of power as Zubair was... each ball of fire he threw was getting weaker and weaker.
But still, Zubair lifted his hand to meet the new line.
The fire that came out was thin, barely enough to light a match.
It reached the ground and spread, but it didn’t leap like before. It crawled. It took effort. He felt it in his shoulders, in his chest.
Weakness...
And that annoyed him.
You are slow.
The voice was inside his head. It wasn’t new. It had been there since the change. He ignored it.
Elias was at his side at once. "You’re still losing blood," he said. "Let me—"
"I said I am fine," Zubair snapped.
He wasn’t. He knew it. The men running toward them with rifles could see it too. Weak fire, tired arm. He had burned through too much across the street. If he had to hold a full line again, it would sputter.
You are weaker than the girl now. Weaker than the ice. Weaker than the blue one. In fact, the only one you are stronger than is the one still pretending to be human. And that isn’t saying much.
Zubair kept his eyes on the approaching men. "Shut up," he said under his breath.
Elias looked at him. "What?"
"Not you."
The newcomers spread out instead of rushing in a clump. Smarter than the first wave. Two dropped to a knee and fired in short bursts. The rounds hit the truck beside Zubair. One bullet clipped his side and tore through the cloth. Heat lanced across his ribs.
Sera blurred forward. She hit the first two men, broke their necks, and kept moving. Alexei froze a third. Lachlan leaped and landed on one of the trucks, using it as a platform while he swiped a man off his feet.
Zubair threw fire again.
It came when called, but slower. It burned the front of a man’s coat, forced him to roll, and then died before it could harm him. It did not roll back into the rest. It did not scare anyone.
See? You are tired. You are holding them back. You are the reason they are all going to be killed.
He clenched his jaw. "I said shut up."
Bullets hit close again. One grazed his thigh. He grunted.
Elias pulled him back a step. "You can’t keep standing in the open if you’re not at full burn."
"I should be at full burn," Zubair said. "I should have been hours ago."
You would be, the creature said, if you fed like she does.
Zubair watched Sera.
She was tearing through the new men without slowing. She took a man by the wrist, twisted, and bit into his shoulder. She ripped the muscle away and spat out cloth.
She didn’t stop to think. She didn’t apologize. Blood ran down her chin and she moved on to the next body.
He looked away.
He had killed men before. Soldiers, raiders, people who needed to die. He had never eaten one.
The smell hit him then—fresh, hot, close.
One of the newcomers had made it nearer than the others. He lay on the ground between two burned bikes, chest heaving, throat torn half open by shrapnel. He was still alive. He was trying to crawl away.
Zubair smelled the blood. Not dried, not burned. Alive.
That. That is what you need. Not dried meat. Not animal. Power does not come from scraps or things that were already dead. Power comes from the living.
Another man ran at Zubair, yelling. Zubair hit him with a fist wrapped in weak fire. The man fell, skin burned, but not dead.
Zubair’s arm throbbed where the bullet had gone through earlier. His shoulder ached. His breath wasn’t quite even.
Elias said, "You’re not healing. Your body is trying, but you’re drained. You need to rest."
No, scoffed the creature, and Zubair could feel it rolling its eyes as it stared at Elias in disgust. You need to eat.
The crawling man reached for a fallen rifle. Zubair stepped on his wrist. Bone cracked. The man screamed.
"Please—"
Zubair stared down at him.
The voice in his head pressed harder, loud now, impossible to push aside.
She is not struggling. The ice one is not struggling. The blue one is not struggling. Only you, the one who should burn the longest, are. Because you refuse the fuel. Eat. Or watch them pass you.