“The seven deadly sins. Greed, gluttony, lust, pride, sloth, envy… and wrath. You know? Wrath might be the best one. It keeps you strong. It puts others down. If used right, it makes you a god. But I can’t ignore the truth—it's just another disgusting emotion.”
°26/4/1916 — 08:00 PM°
Blitz sat still, slouched against a splintered plank wall. The trench around him buzzed with faint mutters, the distant crack of gunfire, and the gnawing cold of despair. His body ached. Not from the mud-soaked wounds or bruises on his back, but from something deeper—something rotting inside him.
I’m in pain. Everything hurts... I killed a man. No, not just a man. I killed Marcus. My friend. I ate him.
He lifted a trembling hand before his eyes. His fingers, bloodied and trembling, shifted like putty—reshaping into the cruel hook he’d used to rip through Himmel. Just the thought made his stomach churn.
“What is this... bullshit?” he muttered. “Fear Eaters? Stomachs?”
With a scream muffled by grit teeth, he sliced his own hand clean off. He watched it fall, the stump oozing black. Then, slowly—like worms reassembling a corpse—it regrew. Fresh fingers. Fresh guilt.
Why am I still me? Why can I still think? Fear Eaters are supposed to be monsters… mindless. But maybe—maybe Himmel died too soon. Maybe that’s why I’m not like the others. Himmel...
A shout snapped him back to reality.
“SOLDIERS! Get up! The trench isn’t gonna dig itself!”
Blitz stumbled to his feet, grabbed a shovel, and limped toward the rest of the unit. His vision blurred—until a voice sliced through the cold.
“Has anyone seen Marcus?” It was a young nurse. Her voice cracked. “Has anyone seen my husband?”
Blitz froze.
Tears fell freely from her cheeks as silence settled over the trench like ash. Blitz turned his back and dug harder, deeper.
I’m disgusting...
The ground reeked—not of death, but of something fouler. It clawed at his nose. His stomach turned. He turned to see a new soldier vomiting violently in the mud.
Black smoke curled around the man’s frame.
Another Fear Eater... he reeks of it.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Blitz narrowed his eyes, watching as the man’s name tag shimmered in the dying light.
Philip.
“I—are you okay?” Blitz asked, stepping closer with caution.
“Go away!” Philip rasped between heaves.
Blitz backed off, apologetic. “I’m sorry…”
Philip wiped his mouth and glanced up. “You’re one of us. But… I can’t tell your specialty. That’s unusual. Just leave me be.”
Blitz’s mind raced. He knows about them—about us. I need information.
“No, really. Let me help,” Blitz said, trying to sound casual.
He reached out to pull Philip toward the infirmary.
“Let go,” Philip hissed. “Now.”
His arm morphed into a rifle. The barrel glinted with malice.
Blitz’s reflexes kicked in—his hand becoming a hook, smashing the weapon before the trigger could fully fire. But the damage was done—he was shot in the gut.
“AGH!”
“I said let go,” Philip growled, slamming Blitz into the mud. “Disgusting.”
Blitz spat blood, rage boiling.
“Don’t you dare... call me disgusting!”
His foot became a blade, slashing at Philip’s stomach.
But Philip didn’t even flinch—he caught the kick, snapping Blitz’s leg like a twig.
Blitz collapsed, helpless.
I really am pathetic…
---
Did you know? The brain and spinal cord have enough nerves to wrap around the world. We run on electricity. It hurts. But it’s what keeps us alive.
---
“Blitz! Blitz!”
His mother’s voice echoed from the apartment balcony.
A young Blitz, all dirt-stained knees and scraped elbows, looked up.
“Yes, Mom?!”
“Get in here right now!”
He raced inside, smiling.
“Tsk, you’re filthy,” she muttered, pulling him into the bath, scrubbing away the battlefield of childhood.
“Thanks, Mom!”
“Blitz…” she said gently.
“Yeah?”
“You’re brave. Strong. Smart. Lovable. Promise me, you’ll never give up. Never let the world make you bitter.”
“I promise, Mom.”
---
°27/4/1916 — 08:30 PM°
Blitz groaned awake, surrounded by white sheets and a familiar scent.
“You finally opened your damn eyes,” said a sharp voice.
Angelica.
“Nice to see you too,” Blitz grumbled, wincing. “Thanks, by the way…”
“Don’t thank me. Thank Philip. He dragged you in. Said the French got you while you were slacking.”
Blitz blinked. Philip? Why lie? Why help me at all?
He forced a bitter smile. “Right. Slacking.”
Angelica rolled her eyes. “Just don’t die, idiot. The Kaiser’s planning another push soon.”
Blitz smirked. “Worried about me?”
“You? Never,” she muttered, blushing.
As she walked away, Blitz whispered to the empty room, “I love her…”
---
In a dark storage room lit only by a flickering lantern, Philip paced.
“That kid is weird,” he muttered.
“Who?” came a rough voice.
“That new Fear Eater.”
“Scared, Philip?” the voice teased.
A pistol formed in Philip’s hand. He shot without hesitation—straight through the speaker’s eye.
“Definitely scared,” the man chuckled as it regenerated. “He’s in your head, huh?”
Another shot silenced him.
“I want him dead by tomorrow,” Philip said coldly. “Understand, Flint?”
The tall man nodded.
---
Pain is a blessing. A lesson. A warning. But sometimes… it’s silent. And that silence is what kills you.
---
°1/5/1916 — 02:55 AM°
Blitz stacked crates in a dimly lit storeroom. Every object he touched lately sparked—small shocks, inexplicable. Even wood bit back.
What’s happening to me?
He turned to leave—when a hand gripped his shoulder. Hot. Burning.
“Who—?” he stammered.
The hand flared—scorching through flesh, vaporizing muscle.
“AGHH! GET OFF!”
His hook-arm lashed out, severing the hand. A soldier emerged from the shadows, licking the blood trailing from his stump as it healed.
“Nice to meet you, Blitz,” Flint said, smiling.
His left arm glowed like molten metal.
“What the hell are you?” Blitz shouted.
Before he could react, Flint’s burning arm pierced him like a spear. Blitz’s body convulsed.
“Bye-bye,” Flint chuckled, walking away.
Blitz collapsed.
I should be healing. Why aren’t I healing?!
Then—ZAP!
Flint screamed as electricity surged through his body.
He turned. Blitz stood, surrounded by crackling arcs. His eyes sparked like lightning.
“Delicious,” Blitz hissed. “Divine!”
His body blurred—reappearing behind Flint.
Another ZAP! Flint convulsed.
His stomach burned. And before his body could regenerate—
Blitz sank his teeth into Flint’s stomach and tore it open, consuming it.
The taste of fire. The taste of victory.
The taste of survival.
