Machine
I couldn't look away. Part of me wanted desperately to avert my gaze from those rounded eyes as wide as coffee mugs. They held a calm assurance that was far more telling than any show of aggression could be. Yet, I was stuck. My neck remained locked in place and forced to bear witness to the bestial thing that sat as the table's host.
Dark fur adorned a vaguely bat-like frame. Only, unlike a bat, the host's limbs were nothing but coiled muscle. Thick wings of deep grey leather extended down arms that emitted the sort of predatory grace that struck primal dread in the hearts of men. He crossed his arms over the table and the wings folded around his torso like a cloak.
His eyes roamed over us as he dragged a purple tongue across broad, flat teeth that shone with the colour of brass. He tapped a brutal claw against the damp wood of the table. Each tap from the coppery claws rang out like funeral bells. A sickening sneer washed over a face that was more monster than it ever could have been man.
Those jaws… wide like those of a great white. That thing could probably bite right through the side of a tank. I am in no state to fight… The uncertainty — what will happen to me? That question was like throwing gasoline on the first spark of terror that had been so new to me.
I saw three figures at the edge of my periphery. They were seated beside one another — they were human. Past the bat thing, there was nothing. Only darkness past him. The table and the space around it were illuminated by a single lantern that hung from the ceiling.
A flicker of nostalgia hit me. It had been far too long since I had seen the unaltered face of man. This did not dissuade me… I was starving, and my prey was ripe for the taking.
My wings curled back against the chair, slowly pistoning me upwards. My throat spasmed, my fingers clicked — I could nearly taste it already.
I would feast once again and slaughter the beast that dared fill me with dread.
One man stood up. He was clad in muddied robes and haphazardly assembled armor. His upper lip quivered for a moment as he choked back tears. One of the host's long, feline ears turned to face him, yet he paid him little mind.
The man pointed a shaking finger at the host. His voice was packed with a bravado that his body made little effort to replicate. "You monster, the king has assigned your death and sent us as the angels of his will. How dare you still draw breath, you disgusting heretic."
One of his companions, dressed in pristine robes the colour of dry bone, tried to pull him down by the hem of his ragged outfit. There was a look of cold desperation on his aged features.
The host turned to face him. In an instant, I sat back down. Immediate survival overtook securing a meal. Any sign of bravery vanished the moment he looked into those watchface-sized irises.
His hand fell; he whimpered as the host spoke. "I have taken it upon myself to offer you my aid. You return my invitation with anger and loathing. Sit down, and I will forgive this trespass. Know every breath you take is attributed only to the mercy I have shown you."
The man's companion began pulling harder. The others beside them began to panic — I couldn't see them, but I could hear the way their hearts raced, the way they trembled. I could never forget such a blissful noise.
However, to the horror of the seated man, the defiant fool did not yield to fear. He took a sharp inhale between his clenched teeth. Then his voice erupted with fervor that bordered on madness. "As if I would ever accept the mercy of a demon! You are nothing but a man-eating monster, an animal that needs to be put down!"
The man panted as his tirade came to a close. I expected the beast to respond with fury. However, I only heard disappointment in his sigh and frustration in his voice. "I would rather slit my own throat than devour a fellow man."
The seated man finally spoke. His voice was calm — diplomatic, even. "All our reports indicate that you and your kin are responsible for the slaughter and mutilation of our settlers. Many of the corpses were butchered and cooked."
The host mumbled beneath his breath before focusing on the pair. The others seemed to only grow more tense. "Istha's children are to blame. They are a brutal, warmongering lot. They are deficient both in propriety and sophistication."
He gave them a smile that was sickeningly genuine. "We have slain many of them. You should appreciate us as allies. After all, the enemy of my enemy is sure to be my friend."
I heard the sound of sloshing liquid before the stench of alcohol hit me. A fourth voice, past my field of view, spoke up without a shred of hesitation. "Liar."
The host tensed up as anger began to slip past his careful control. However, he managed to school himself before regarding the accusation. "Ease off the booze. I have some pre-war wine to pour when our meal arrives — if you can handle a half-hour of sobriety."
"Both of you just… stop. You aren't helping," the seated man whispered, too quiet for anyone other than me to hear.
The host straightened his back. He cleared his throat before regarding us as a group. "I have prepared a meal for you all — a full-course banquet for the starved and forgotten. I hope that despite our differences, we will all come together and appreciate the gift my patron has bestowed."
I felt movement. I heard the sound of glass scraping against wood before I saw the look of contempt on the standing man's face. "Cheers, fuckface."
An unmarked bottle struck the host right in the nose. The glass shattered as potent alcohol spilled across his lap. He did not flinch at the impact — instead, he simply blinked in utter befuddlement. Then, those calm eyes filled with a rage that no man could ever hope to quell.
"He is sorry, he is drunk too! He doesn't know what he is doing!" The seated man sprung to his feet before holding out both hands in supplication. An all-consuming panic leaked out of his every pore.
The host exhaled with a slow hiss.
It felt like a bomb — sounded like one — yet there was no explosion. The leader's fist stood where the man who had thrown the bottle had been. The seat was reduced to a few sparse wooden splinters.
I couldn't turn to examine the results. However, I sensed the movement of a myriad mouths within the darkness. Unseen creatures feasted on the spoils. The host's hand retracted slowly as he wiped off the few droplets of blood that were left behind from the cataclysmic impact.
The drunken man didn't respond to the sudden violence. Instead, he grumbled at the destruction of his drink. Conversely, the standing man's breath hitched. Then, like a stone falling through water, he sat down. His eyes washed over with a thousand-yard stare that I had seen many times before.
He sounded detached, apathetic even. Yet it was not from a lack of care. "You… you killed him."
The host brushed a clawed hand over his hair before gently placing his considerable mass back down onto his seat. "Not him — it." There was not a shred of remorse in his words, only a contempt that was almost palpable.
"Such an utter lack of propriety is only found in beasts."
The now seated man looked down slowly. "Monster. Monster — that's all you are."
The host released another sigh. Audible frustration began to overtake his calm. "I told you, I don't kill men."
Then he snapped his fingers, drawing as much attention as he could. His frustration faded as a slow grin lifted on his too-wide mouth. "Manners maketh man. Without them, you are no different from vermin."
The man shot me a furtive glance, as if begging me to do something. I wouldn't. Then he looked down at his lap. His fingers curled into fists as he bit back his horror. "I… think I would… like something to drink." He spoke like he was pleading for mercy before a hangman and his noose.
"Of course." The leader nodded. He tapped his finger in a show of subtle annoyance. "After all, we are here to eat."
The drunken man raised his head. He gave a lopsided smile before chortling. As the laughter died down, the smile remained — only it took a mocking edge. "You didn't introduce yourself. That's rude."
I expected rage; however, the host gave only a stifled laugh. He cupped a hand over his mouth in an attempt to contain its volume.
"My apologies, you are correct."
Snap.
The host gave his own left thumb a brutal tug. The bone snapped. The drunkard looked at the broken digit with awestruck eyes. The other man didn't even lift his gaze. The host did not howl, did not cry out. Instead, he simply stood up on a pair of digitigrade legs before placing a paw over his chest and bowing gently.
"Sir William Ra'vish. Knighted by the Hungering One and established philanthropist. Connoisseur of the finer things in life." He held out his hand, inviting us to reply.
The seated man began to tremble. He took a sharp gulp before replying. "Roland… Roland Varney… Captain of the Holy 17th."
One of the host's ears twitched, his brow lifting. "I assumed you were all soldiers. However, I did not realize your station." He softly patted the back of Roland's chair. The amicable gesture invited an involuntary whimper. "A respectable position, though I personally think war is something we should all work to prevent." The leader shot a glance to where the man he'd killed had been sitting.
He reached the drunkard, leaned in, and raised an eyebrow. "I believe it is your turn to—"
The drunkard cut him off. He stood up spontaneously before falling back down, his intoxication leaving any sort of balance out of reach. He shouted, "Jesus of Nazareth!" Then he began to laugh the way only a drunk can.
William ended up cackling alongside him. He slammed his heavy hand against the back of the drunk's chair, causing it to tip slightly. For a moment, it seemed the drunk would fall and smash his face against the table. However, William swiftly reached out to catch the backrest and stop it from falling.
"I forget myself. I have yet to become accustomed to my own size, it seems." He straightened his back and cleared his throat. "Your name?"
The drunk, slightly sobered by the near fall, managed to introduce himself. "It's Shen. No fancy titles for me. Though your mom calls me daddy."
The other man held his breath. If nothing else, this would definitely be enough to spark William's ire. However, the leader only tilted his head curiously. "I suppose you are my grandfather, then." The man sighed, tension easing. "I think we could get along swimmingly. Master Shen, I believe I quite like you."
"Yaaayyy…" Shen slobbered before losing interest and falling into a stupor.
Then, the host stepped up to me. "Automaton, I have yet to hear you make a sound. I see you eyeing them with hunger. I don't condone violence at my table."
He was not wrong. If it wasn't for him, I would have already filled my belly. My mind already felt dulled. My joints ground as if filled with glass shards at even the subtlest movement. I needed to feed.
"What should I call you by?" His posture straightened. I could feel him move behind me, then around, circling like a cat. "Are you able to speak? I am the farthest thing from a scholar when it comes to trinkets and clockwork."
My jaw grated open. It was like the sound of metal being sheared away by friction. No, not like—my jaw was being grated like cheese with every word.
"G-3."
The host stopped. He gave my face a long look, his eyes wide with wonderment. "Incredible."
Upon regaining his post at the head of the table, he reached up with both hands and clapped. A gust of wind erupted from the point of contact, brushing back the men's hair. He narrowed his eyes. Then came a groaning sound halfway between creaking wood and an avalanche. Yet it felt alive—no, closer to death than life. Something eternally dead, but never truly dying.
Then I felt movement—a rupture in the dark above us. Four limbs pierced the shadows and descended like bolts of lightning. I caught just a faint glimpse of their pallid grey skin and mangled digits before they swept down and back up. They coiled together above the center of the table like a tangle of rubber bands, then pulled away, out of sight.
The host seemed delighted. He sighed contentedly as if nothing had happened. Roland muttered a prayer beneath his breath, all the while Shen remained lost in intoxication.
A scent—one that brought me back to the vast grey fields and the rumble of faraway cannons. For before me was a simple ceramic plate: a plate of meat.
William clapped his hands again to call for attention. I dared not tear my gaze from my meal.
"I present before you a most delicate cut, seared to medium rare and seasoned elegantly with salt. This cut was marinated with whisky and citrus fruit and presented to you thanks to the kindly and gracious nature of my master."
He raised a glass of deep red liquid. Identical glasses were beside each of us. Only Shen's was empty; wine dribbled down his chin.
"Of course, it wouldn't be complete without a glass of rosé. Let us fill our bellies, for despite our differences, hunger is something that can plague us all."
Shen woke from his daze and clumsily gripped his cutlery. He carved a small segment off his steak and brought it to his upper lip. The leader nodded in satisfaction and lifted his own tools. He delicately dragged his knife across the tender muscle before taking an almost demure bite.
"Absolutely marvellous." He gently batted a rich, purple handkerchief across his lips before pinching a glass of wine between two fingers and holding it up as if to toast. "Go on, you rascals. Eat to your hearts' content."
Shen took a sniff, then gently lowered his tools. His reddened face drained of color. "I had too much to drink… I'm gonna wretch." He fell back into his seat, though it felt more deliberate than before. He had realized what the meal before him was—and the flaw that was disgust forced him to forgo it.
"There is nothing wrong with that, Master Shen." William nodded, eyes closed in understanding. "Though do spare your liver such brutality. We have little need for pink elephants at the dinner table."
Roland looked straight down, almost through the plate with his stare. His hand started to crawl toward the cutlery, but Shen was quicker; he gave a subtle kick to the side of Roland's leg. He looked to his companion with a revulsion that had not been present before. Roland stopped himself, his eyes meeting Shen's. They locked gazes, as if communicating wordlessly, before nodding and sitting straight.
I couldn't care any less. My forearm hissed as pistons extended and motors rumbled to life. My digits spread wide like the claw arm of an arcade machine. Slick fluids began to fill my mouth and dribble down my jaws.
However, something stopped me. It was invisible, subtle, yet impenetrable. I tried to push my arm further, but it only started to seize up and vibrate in response. Then I noticed it—a particular feeling I hadn't felt before.
No, I had felt it before. It was stupid, fit only for apes, yet overwhelming, like smoke filling my lungs. I had felt it after I swallowed down the heart of the Black Beast. It drove me to clothe myself in his rags.
Now that same foreign will was going to lead me to my own end. I pushed harder; my elbow groaned, then weakened. Sparks flew from the joint. The inside of my thorax burned with acidic fire. I needed to feed. I could not feed.
Then, I managed to inch forward. I couldn't permit such frailty to infest me. I was a warrior prime—not meant to feel the heat of battle or the cold between the stars. The puff of gunpowder was the breath in my lungs, and the splitting curve of a scimitar the smile I gave the battlefield.
Yet now, this horrendous disgust was enough to hold me down like a wailing harpoon. I would not allow it. I could not allow it.
I strained every fiber of my body. Pain, something I hadn't felt, lanced through my flesh like lightning. But I shut it out. I needed to feed. I would die if I could not.
How long had passed—maybe a few seconds since Shen kicked Roland? I needed to show them all that I was not held back by the same limitations. I couldn't let them see this.
Move now, I command thee. Move. Move. Move.
Do not die. Do not go gentle into that good night. Do not hesitate, nor yield.
Nothing worked. Nothing would allow me to push forward. The pressure began to drain from my limbs, visible to all as steam vented from my shifting plates of armor. I was going to die. It was guaranteed now.
They were all looking at me—they could all see the cascade of failures within my body. The sensation, the attention—it felt far worse than the pain from before. It was crushing. Yet it wouldn't matter for long. I would be dead within the hour.
William raised an eyebrow. "Are you feeling alright?"
Was he pitying me? This… it was maddening. Yet I couldn't drive myself to care. I felt cold. Numb. Nothing else felt real other than myself.
I did not want to die.
It clicked—like the pieces of a puzzle snapping together. Like the clapping of a pair of hands. The disgust from before only bit down harder. But my body was free.
I wanted to live.
In the space of a heartbeat, three events fell like dominoes. William stood up, reaching out for me with unwelcome worry. Roland stood up, roaring like a mad dog—eyes determined, teeth clenched, skin flushed. Shen attempted to stand but only managed to fall partway to the ground, wrapping his arms around William's fur-covered thigh.
Lastly, I pulled my elbow back, moments away from throwing a javelin. Pressure built like steam in a kettle within my frame.
What followed took only a split second—no longer than it takes to exhale a puff of smoke. Roland pinched the sides of his plate before twisting with as much force as his body could gather. The ceramic shattered like the glass bottle from before. It broke against the host's nose and sent steak and sauce splattering like the gore that was bound to follow.
William howled in surprise. Driven by reflex, he lifted a clawed hand, ready to paste the poor man. However, Shen wretched. Bile smeared the host's thighs. Horror of the highest order filled William's eyes. His ears flattened against his head as he stumbled backward, breaking the drunk's sloshed grip.
Then I moved. My hand shot forward like a legionary's spear. My fist clenched on contact with the plate and smashed through the table. The wood splintered and filled the air with sawdust. My fist had managed to scoop up the meat. William's ears lifted—the revulsion forgotten for a moment.
Disgust kept screaming within my head, begging, pleading, threatening. But I could not stop. I couldn't die. So I forced it past my jaws, pushed it down the paralyzed servos with my digits. Nothing I had tasted could compare. Nothing I had sunk my teeth into was ever prepared with such love and kneaded with such desperation. Those humans were missing out—missing out on something so very succulent.
My body thrummed with new life. I still held my hands before my face. I dug my fingers deeper, moving every last scrap of flesh into my steel frame. Sensation danced down my limbs. The pain from before faded. I was not sated, but I was no longer hungry. I could feel my muscles beginning to respond, my joints smooth once again.
The feeling of disgust sobered and faded. I think this sensation was supposed to be regret, yet the euphoria flooding my systems made it feel like a distant dream. I should grab one of those two men and try to get away—that would be optimal…
"You know… I don't want to hurt anyone." William's eyes were calm. His shock, his horror—they were buried. Yet something chilling radiated from him. Each word he spoke was deep and baritone. The earlier humanity and warmth were snuffed out like a candle.
"Do you want to know why I slaughter your kind?" He sighed, placing his face in his palm.
Then, he tilted his neck, fangs exposed in a low snarl. "I want to make good conversation, help you with your hunger, and share something I've prepared with love. But it always ends this way." He looked away for a moment. His utter disappointment seemed to almost school back the hatred in Roland's eyes.
"It's because you're all so fucking rude."
He vanished. The wind smashed against me. Then I heard the ground crack beside me. I felt his fur brush against my side. His hand, loose and lax, trailed behind him before clenching into a fist. Where was it going?
Oh—it has only been a decimal of a second. So time must feel slower… So why is his fist growing larger? Why is it coming straight at me?
I am against the wall. Other creatures, like William yet lesser, scampered away. My wings seem to be crushed… Where did my jaw go?
I felt… nothing.
I…
Darkness swallowed me up.