The Weak Become Weaker

Four.

Four strength in me.

Five.

That’s how many days until that quadrupedal life force decays completely.

The Wilds are a brutal troop. You have to sap off each other to survive, which the ravens are quite fond of doing to the toads.

Which is why I’ve learned their tricks.

When you want to steal a weakling’s energy, mana, body, you have to show yourself and it that you’re claiming it.

Draining its power and using it as steroids.

I learned that I had to be strong to survive when I was nearly blinded by my raven captor. I was used as a lumberjack, chopping at small, brittle trees. Day in, day out, all I had to eat was bark and bugs.

One day I realized some information: whenever the raven drained toadlings to keep its aging body going, it reverted back in just a few days. It might have something to keep itself alive, but what if I were to take it from them?

And so I did. I hid the toadlings away, out of reach and scent of the raven. An old log rotting away, one that I attempted hiding in to escape. The raven scrambled around the next few days. Almost heart wrenching to see its muscles wither away.

And on the last day, I wanted the last words it heard would be mine.

“The weak become weaker.”

Its vocal cords were too weak to vibrate as I turned its bones into meal.

It felt so damn good to observe

Taste

Become

Its carrion.

The absent, hallow, shriveled powerless husk simply turned gaseous as it rose to the ceiling.

… sniff, sniff…

Hey, excuse me, warden.

Remember that phrase I said?

Seems like you’re becoming weak.

And the weak become we—

Ah, that was quick.

These bars’ll bend easy to me now.