Chapitre 9: Who to consume?

The boy crouched beside the dead doe, his breath steadying after the chase. He wiped his bloodied hands on his pants, standing over the animal as he considered his next move. The thought of eating real food, not scraps or refuse, settled in his mind. For the first time since escaping, he had a real kill. A meal.

"Finally, a real meal not that shit that I ate all that time".

He began to prepare the doe, his makeshift stone knife cutting through the hide with rough strokes, having watched others in the household do it enough times. His hunger gnawed at him, but the satisfaction of his catch dulled it slightly as he worked. He gathered some dry wood and started a fire with flint he'd scavenged days ago, ready to roast the meat.

But then it happened again.

His body tensed. Without his command, the familiar black tendrils of the virus started creeping from his skin. At first, he fought to suppress it, gritting his teeth as they writhed along his arms, but the virus was faster this time. It lashed out, wrapping around the carcass of the doe, and before he could react, the tendrils sank into the animal's flesh.

"Not again," he muttered, trying to pull back, but it was too late.

The virus took over, consuming the doe in seconds. Flesh, bones, fur—all of it dissolved into the dark tendrils as they retracted back into him. He stumbled back, feeling the familiar surge of energy pulse through him. But unlike before, when he had consumed Madame Elara, there was nothing noticeable this time. No overwhelming strength. No increase in power. Just… nothing.

He stared at his hands, flexing his fingers, waiting for the rush of sensation that had come the first time the virus had taken over. His heart beat faster, the anticipation of power slowly giving way to confusion.

Nothing had changed.

The boy stood there, the remains of the doe reduced to nothing but empty ground. His stomach still grumbled, but the energy from the virus was barely noticeable. It was as if consuming the doe had been a waste—like the virus didn't care.

"Why…really, after all that effort I put" he muttered, trying to understand. The virus had surged to devour the animal, but it didn't seem to matter. He felt no stronger, no more in control. He had expected something—anything—but the silence of his body unnerved him.

A cold thought crossed his mind.

The memory of Madame Rose flashed before him—the raw, uncontrollable surge of power that had flooded him after he consumed her. He hadn't thought much about it at the time, more focused on the horror of what he had done. But now, it made sense. When he consumed her, he had felt stronger, more alive. The virus had reacted differently to her.

Humans.

The realization hit him hard. The virus—his body—only grew when it consumed humans. The doe had given him almost nothing, just a hollow sensation, as if it was an empty meal. But when it was a human, the change had been immediate and undeniable.

The boy's hands shook as the truth settled in. If he wanted to gain control over the virus, to understand it, he couldn't rely on animals. He would need… humans.

"No...fuck" he whispered, his voice firm, but a flicker of fear worked its way through him. He didn't want to believe it. He didn't want to acknowledge that his power, the thing keeping him alive, demanded more than just survival.

It demanded blood. Human blood.

His jaw clenched, the thought sickening him. But the logic was there, staring him in the face. Animals gave him nothing. If he was going to survive—if he was going to master this virus—he might not have a choice. The idea gnawed at him, refusing to leave.

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The sun was low on the horizon the next day when the boy spotted his next target: a rabbit, small and quick, darting through the underbrush. His stomach growled, a reminder that the hollow ache hadn't faded since yesterday. The memory of the doe being consumed by the virus still lingered in his mind, but he was determined to eat this one properly, without interference.

He tracked the rabbit with quiet, deliberate steps, eyes focused and muscles coiled. The chase wasn't as exhilarating as the one with the doe, but his hunger kept him sharp. When he was close enough, he lunged, quick and precise. The rabbit struggled for a brief moment before going limp in his grip.

He waited, expecting the virus to surge again, to coil around the rabbit and consume it like it had with the doe. But nothing happened. His hands remained clean, free of the writhing tendrils. He exhaled in relief, realizing that the virus had remained dormant this time.

"Smaller mass," he muttered to himself, glancing down at the rabbit's fragile body. "Guess it doesn't care about the little ones."

That was good—he hoped. At least for now, he wouldn't have to worry about the virus taking over when he caught smaller animals. He gathered more wood for a fire and began to skin the rabbit with his knife, working faster now, driven by hunger. It wasn't long before the smell of roasting meat filled the air, not particularly appetizing but enough to make his stomach twist in anticipation.

When the meat was done, he tore into it. It was tough and gamey, the taste far from pleasant, but it was food. It filled him, even if it didn't satisfy him completely.

"Not bad," he muttered through a mouthful, chewing slowly. "But not good either."

He ate like singing and humming the song 'APT' by Rosé and Bruno Mars, it felt good singing it and he began to enjoy it. "Don't you want me like I want you, baby?

Don't you need me like I need you now?

Sleep tomorrow, but tonight, go crazy

All you gotta do is just meet me at the

Apateu, apateu".

"Hehe"

After finishing his meal, he wiped his hands clean and settled back against a tree, staring into the flickering flames of the fire. He was full but unsatisfied, the memory of yesterday's overwhelming surge of power haunting him. The virus had given him strength—raw, violent strength—but he knew it wasn't sustainable. Not if he wanted to remain in control. But it was okay, he even started to get a bit used to it.

The next few days were much the same. He continued hunting, catching rabbits, squirrels, and whatever else crossed his path. The virus didn't stir for the smaller animals, allowing him to eat in peace. But each meal reminded him of the limitations of his current state.

He was surviving, but just barely.

During those days, he tried again and again to control the virus. He could feel it lurking beneath the surface, always waiting for a chance to take over. Each time he caught something larger—a deer or a boar—he practiced. He forced the tendrils to remain in check, holding them back, only letting them surface when he allowed it. He half-achieved his goal. The virus obeyed his command, but when he tried to push the limits—when he tried to tap into the raw power it offered—it resisted.

The more control he exerted, the less strength he had.

He clenched his fists in frustration after another failed attempt, standing over the remains of a deer he had just caught. The virus had stirred, just for a moment, when he had thought about using its strength to help him drag the carcass, but he had stopped it. He had forced it to remain dormant. And when he tried to use it consciously, he felt it—weak, dull, as though it needed more fuel to operate at full power.

He couldn't exert the same raw force without letting it take over completely.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath, staring at his hands. "I can't... control it and be strong."

It was a frustrating realization. Control came at the cost of power, and the power he needed to survive in this world—the kind of power that could rival Titans or defend him from humans—required letting the virus loose. But doing that meant risking everything.

He sat down heavily, wiping the sweat from his brow. His days in the forest were beginning to blur together, an endless cycle of hunting, fighting for control, and coming up short. Each attempt left him more aware of the virus's limitations—and his own.

If he wanted true power, he might not be able to hold back. The virus craved more, larger prey—like humans.

He looked down at the empty ground where the doe had once been, his hunger now mixed with dread. What if he couldn't control the virus without feeding it? What if this was the price of his newfound power?