Chapter 13
Chapter
Thirteen
MAL
He dipped his head as he went through the doorway, not because the door was small but so he could avoid the pile of goo flying at him as he entered.
“Ah! Reinforcements,” Grampy said, relief clear in his voice. He moved to join Mal, the old man’s hunched form surprisingly strong as he dragged Mal away from the doorway. “Merry and Tommy are both having a tough time with dinner today, and you’re the perfect person to help out.”
Mal barely gave Grampy a glance as he was manhandled over to Merry. His attention was thoroughly elsewhere.
“See, kids? Mal here understands the importance of eating properly. You can tell by how big he is.”
Mal would have told the man that he was big because he chose to be big, but he was too busy gaping at the massive hole in the center of the living space.
It was even larger than the one Mal had seen on the hull.
It was easily as wide as Mal was tall, and he could see all the way down, past the bottom level, and into the water below.
Was he the only one seeing this? The other occupants in the room were acting like the hole was a benign design choice rather than a critical breach in the ship's structural integrity.
Then again, much like the hole outside, this hole was also defying the laws of physics. If Mal could accept one reality-bending hole in Clayton’s home, why not a second, larger one?
When he turned to ask Grampy what would happen if one of the kids fell into the hole, a spoonful of something horrible was stuffed unceremoniously into his mouth.
Something inside Mal died as Grampy exclaimed in delight, “Look how happy he is, Merry. He’s been shocked into silence with delight. I told you my mushroom loaf was delicious. Now it’s your turn.” Grampy reloaded the spoon and held it out to Merry.
If he’d been at full strength, Mal would have needed to warn Grampy that the spoon was coated in venom after being in his mouth, but since he was hanging on by a thread, that feature had gone into hibernation mode. He would have to remember to reactivate it if he wanted to use it again.
Not that Mal would have been able to warn Grampy if it had been active. His taste buds were being so violated that it was all Mal could do to stay corporeal.
Not again. Not when he was so close… Mal shivered as he fought to stay together. It never even occurred to him to spit out the food. His system was so confused that he accidentally swallowed the abomination in his mouth.
Grampy and Merry stared at Mal expectantly, one in happy anticipation of hearing how amazing his creation was, the other in morbid curiosity.
How dare someone actually shove tangible food into his mouth? What a disgusting, vile process eating something other than terror was. Why anyone would do so was beyond Mal’s understanding.
On occasion, Mal was known to bite someone during a feeding frenzy and consume blood, but it wasn’t necessary. It was more like extra seasoning added to enhance an already delicious meal.
Eating the mushroom loaf was beyond unacceptable, and he couldn’t even spit it back out. He briefly considered clawing the food out of himself, but decided it would be an overreaction in the face of how low on essence he was.
Healing a gaping stomach wound would end his ability to maintain a physical form, and spending the next few months drifting around, feeding off the ambient fear of sentient creatures until he could gain a physical vessel, was the last thing he wanted to do.
Mal wasn’t a demon, precisely, nor was he a traditional nightmare.
Once a demon gained physical form, they kept it until it was destroyed—and them along with it.
Which was why they tended to fuck off to the demon realm as soon as they were able to make a body.
The demon realm worked differently from the Real.
Life couldn’t be destroyed there, only transformed.
Demons went to the demon realm because it was better than being found and obliterated by the Guard. The longer one stayed in the Real, the more likely they were to get caught and destroyed.
Only in the demon realm could a demon find true safety. Even if they were eaten by a larger demon, they got to join with it and become part of a greater whole. If they stayed in the Real, the only option was an eventual confrontation with the Guard that would lead to their unmaking.
Not Mal, though. Mal was built different. He couldn’t be destroyed. Couldn’t be contained. Couldn’t be controlled.
Mal was the culmination of the greatest fear of all. He was what the things that go bump in the night were afraid of. An unstoppable force able to find, catch, and eat anything he wanted. The apex predator of all predators.
Possibly the most terrifying thing to come into being and escape the Dreamscape, Mal had been created from the deepest fear of a nightmare and was born fully formed as a remorseless killing machine.
One who was currently frozen in the face of a little girl waiting to see if he would survive poisoning by mushroom loaf. One whose neck was being made soggier by the moment by a half-asleep little boy using him as a tissue.
Mal didn’t feel like an apex predator. He felt like a conscripted nanny.
He could eat his way out of the awkward situation. He could gorge himself on the revolting, sickly-sweet essence of children and the potentially delicious old man, and his equally potentially delicious daughter, before moving on to Clayton to have the best meal of his life.
He could probably get away with it too. As long as no one caught him, Mal’s job as defender of the benighted would be secure.
But for some unfathomable reason, he didn’t.
It happened sometimes. For reasons unknown to him, Mal wouldn’t go for the easy kill when he needed to refuel. Wouldn’t use brute force to solve a problem when the alternative was dealing with a massive pain in his ass.
It didn’t happen often, so he didn’t think about it much. After today, he had a feeling he’d be investigating the phenomenon further.
However, he was still absofuckinglutely eating Clayton the second he got the chance. That was non-negotiable. It was officially a point of pride. Mal had been horribly inconvenienced today, and someone had to pay.
“Are you okay? Did it make your tummy hurt?” Merry asked as she crept cautiously up to Mal to tug on his hand. Her eyes were massive and trusting. Far too large for human eyes.
At the touch of Merry’s hand, Mal realized he’d been clutching his stomach. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel normal, either. It was… tingly?
Mal wasn’t used to having things inside his stomach, so he didn’t know if it was normal or not. He shrugged and kneeled down until he was eye level with the girl.
“I wouldn’t eat it if I were you,” Mal said honestly.
Children got lied to far too often, so Mal didn’t bother with it. Besides, it wasn’t going to affect him if something happened as a result. It wasn’t like he was going to stick around.
“Mal!” Grampy chided him disappointingly. Mal ignored him and worked to unload Tommy onto his sister. He failed miserably because Merry latched onto his other side and snuggled in. Instead of shedding one parasite, he’d only gained another.
“Can you find us something good to eat, Mal?” Merry asked sweetly.
What. Was. Happening?
Mal stood up, hoping to lose at least one child, but Merry clung tightly, and she came with him.
He looked to Grampy for help, but the old man snorted. “I think you’re doing just fine on your own, my boy.”
Mal was about to start forcibly removing his new fan club, since in his current state, he was likely to start snacking without thinking. He’d been half out of his mind with hunger when he arrived; he should only be getting worse as time went by.
Except… he wasn’t.
The tingling in his stomach intensified, and… was it Mal's imagination, or was it getting easier to hold himself together?
“Grampy, what was in that?” If Mal didn’t know any better, he’d think the godsawful mess Grampy had stuffed into him was actually nourishing for him.
“Mushrooms! One hundred percent, locally sourced mushrooms, harvested and prepared by yours truly. Would you like more?” Grampy snatched up the serving spoon, shoveled some onto a plate, and stuck the brown, shriveled mess in Mal’s face.
Mushrooms?
Mal stared at the food warily. It had tasted worse than it looked, and that was saying something, but he had to check to see if his suspicion was correct. He’d lived long enough to know that anything was possible. Just because he’d never found food he could digest didn’t mean it was impossible.
Mal sat down so he could balance both children on his lap to free his hands enough to eat, but he needn’t have bothered.
As soon as they realized he was about to eat Grampy’s food on purpose, they both abandoned him.
Their expressions of betrayal showed that they considered him to be a defector of the lowest sort.
The first few bites were even worse than Mal remembered, but as he gained steam, the flavor mattered less as his energy returned. It wasn’t a huge amount of essence, but it was enough to take him out of the red zone.
Now Mal could think instead of reacting solely due to his baser instincts. He would be able to formulate a plan to get Clayton away from his people so Mal could eat him, instead of having no plan and snatching him up and running.
The children watched on in horror, and Grampy made pleased noises as Mal scarfed down every bite on his plate, then went in for seconds. He was mid-bite when he heard a familiar, prissy voice exclaim, “ I told you I’m fine, Eira, you don’t need to fuss. I—What on earth are you doing here?”
Mal looked up from his feast to see Clayton glaring at Mal like he was an annoying rodent he’d had to toss out of his house and discovered it had somehow found its way back in.
The redhead was covered in spell patches on the right side of his body. At least, the parts Mal could see outside of Clayton’s silk robe.
“What happened?” Mal was on his feet, plate still in hand.
“You! You’re what happened, you annoying, arrogant… what the bloody hell are you eating?” Clayton backed away, nose scrunching in disgust the closer the plate came to him.
“Food,” Mal responded with a toothy grin before going for another bite. “Want some?”
“Why on earth would I want some? No one wants to be anywhere near it. Even Grampy won’t eat his own cooking. The man is a menace in the kitchen, and anyone with sense is terrified of his creations.”
“You said the quiet part out loud, Clayton,” Merry said with a pout. “You told us we aren’t allowed to do that.”
Mal cocked his head thoughtfully. Terrified, huh? Interesting. Terror, he could work with. Terror made a lot more sense than mushrooms. Maybe Grampy’s food was so horrible that it created its own fear energy?
Well, only one way to find out.
“Grampy, do you have anything else in the kitchen?” Mal asked. Hypotheses required testing, after all.
Grampy’s wrinkled face split into a glorious smile. “My boy, I never thought you’d ask. Follow me!”
Under the unbelieving gaze of everyone else in the room, Mal grabbed the pan of mushroom loaf and sprinted after Grampy.
It looked like Clayton might get to see another day after all.