Doomsday Gluttony: I Level Up by Eating

Chapter 8

Ryatt’s POV

The silence following Mark’s death was heavy, thick with the smell of pulverized stone and iron-scented blood. I watched from the shadows of the collapsed storefront, my breath shallow. The Awakeners, who only minutes ago had marched into this plaza like conquerors, looked like children realizing the dark was actually full of monsters.

"He's dead," one of the men gasped, his voice cracking. "Easton, his chest... there’s nothing left of his chest."

"Shut up and aim!" Easton shouted, though his voice lacked its usual steel. He wiped a smear of grit from his forehead, his eyes darting between his remaining three members and the gargoyle.

"Aim at what?" a woman screamed, clutching a jagged piece of metal. "It doesn't care about our powers! It just eats them! I’m done. I’m not dying for a fucking hospital run!"

"Rodriguez, get back in line!" Easton barked. "That’s an order!"

"Orders don't matter when we're all meat!" she yelled back. She turned her head, looking at the dark alleyway behind them. "Run! Just run!"

The man with the sensor device didn't even argue. He simply dropped the flickering tech and bolted toward the wreckage of a bus. Rodriguez followed him, her boots pounding against the cracked asphalt. A third man, who had been holding a glowing spear, wavered for a second before throwing his weapon down and sprinting after them.

"Cowards! Get back here!" Easton roared, but they weren't listening. 

I leaned forward, my eyes fixed on the gargoyle. It hadn't moved since the kill, standing like a statue over Mark’s corpse. But as the three survivors turned their backs, its head snapped toward them with a mechanical, grinding jerk. 

It’s not going to let them leave, I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The gargoyle didn't roar. It launched.

It was a blur of gray stone and shadow. Before Rodriguez could even reach the bus, the creature was airborne, its massive wings snapping once to propel it across the plaza. It landed directly in front of the fleeing trio, the impact sending a shockwave that knocked them to their knees.

"Please!" the man with the sensor screamed, scrambling backward on his elbows. "No, please, we’re leaving! We're leaving!"

The gargoyle’s tail, tipped with a jagged obsidian blade, lashed out. It caught the man across the throat in a spray of crimson. He didn't even have time to gurgle before he slumped over.

"Fight back!" Easton screamed from across the plaza, his voice filled with a desperate, frantic energy. "You idiots, you can't outrun it! Fight or you’re next!"

Rodriguez scrambled up, sobbing as she swung her scrap metal wildly. "Get away! Get away from me!"

The gargoyle caught her arm in its massive claw. I heard the bone snap from fifty feet away. It tossed her back toward the center of the plaza, right at Easton’s feet. She hit the ground with a wet thud, still alive but broken. The third man, seeing the carnage, realized the exit was blocked. He turned back, his face pale and eyes wide, his hands trembling as he picked up a discarded pipe.

"We have no choice!" the man yelled, his voice hysterical. "We have to kill it! Easton, we have to kill it now!"

"Then do your job!" Easton yelled, lunging forward to draw the creature’s attention. "Hit the wings! If it can't fly, we have a chance!"

They fell back into a ragged, desperate formation. There was no confidence left, only the raw, ugly instinct of cornered animals. The battle resumed, but the rhythm had changed. It wasn't a tactical engagement anymore; it was a slaughter.

I stayed low, my eyes narrowed. Watch the patterns, I told myself. Wait for the opening.

"Keep it busy!" Easton shouted, his bronze-light fists flickering as he traded blows with the creature’s stony hide. "Miller, flank it! Now!"

Miller, the man with the pipe, tried to circle around, but the gargoyle was too fast. It swung a wing like a massive club, sending Miller flying into a pile of rebar. He didn't get up. 

One by one, they were falling. The woman, Rodriguez, tried to crawl away, but a stray swipe of the gargoyle's tail crushed her skull against the pavement. The plaza was becoming a graveyard of the "elite." The confidence they had brought into the Zone had been systematically dismantled, bone by broken bone.

Easton was the last one standing. His uniform was shredded, his shoulder bleeding profusely where a claw had gouged a deep furrow. He was panting, his chest heaving as he stared at the beast.

"Is that all?" Easton wheezed, his voice ragged. "I’m the Captain... I’m the one who leads... you’re just a statue..."

I looked at the gargoyle. It was slowing down. Its movements were less fluid, and one of its wings hung at an awkward angle, leaking a thick, black ichor. Its stone skin was cracked in a dozen places, glowing red fissures pulsing with diminishing light.

It’s weakening, I realized. The toll is finally showing.

I gripped the stock of my rifle, my finger hovering over the trigger. Is this it? Do I step in now, or let him die first?

Easton seemed to see what I saw. He saw the creature stagger, its head drooping for a fraction of a second. A look of desperate greed flashed across his face—the look of a man who thought he could still win the prize if he just landed the final blow.

"My turn," Easton growled. He gathered the last of his energy, his entire body glowing with a harsh, flickering bronze light. "Die, you piece of SHIT!"

He launched himself forward, a final, decisive strike aimed straight at the creature's cracked chest. He put everything he had into the punch, a literal suicide charge intended to shatter the beast's core.

The gargoyle didn't even try to dodge. It simply braced itself.

Easton’s fist connected with a sound like a cannon blast. The shockwave blew the dust off the ground in a perfect circle. For a heartbeat, I thought he’d done it.

Then, the gargoyle’s hand shot out and caught Easton’s throat.

The bronze light vanished instantly. Easton’s eyes bugged out, his feet dangling off the ground as the creature held him aloft. The gargoyle let out a low, grinding hiss, then slammed Easton back into the pavement with enough force to crater the ground.

Easton let out a choked, wet groan. He tried to push himself up, his arms shaking, his fingers clawing at the dirt, but his body wouldn't obey. He collapsed back down, coughing up blood that looked black in the moonlight.

I stepped out from behind the ruins, my boots crunching softly on the glass. The plaza was eerily quiet, the only sound being the heavy, rasping breath of the wounded monster and Easton’s desperate whimpers.

Almost everyone was dead. The gargoyle was mangled, its strength nearly spent. And Easton... Easton was a broken wreck, barely capable of holding his head up. 

The battle had reached its final stage.

The gargoyle turned its head toward Easton, its glowing red eyes dim but predatory. It began to limp toward him, its heavy claws scraping against the asphalt with a rhythmic skritch-skritch-skritch.

"No..." Easton gasped, his hand reaching out feebly as if he could push the air away. "Wait... I can... I can help you..."

He tried to roll over, to crawl, but his legs were useless. He was trapped in the open, watching his death approach one agonizing step at a time.

The gargoyle stopped inches from him. It loomed over the Captain, a shadow of jagged stone that blotted out the stars. It slowly raised its massive, obsidian-tipped claw, the sharp points glinting with a cold, lethal light.

I stood there, watching, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

The mutated gargoyle prepared to deliver the final blow.