It was as dark as always. Heat blasted his tender skin, making him feel crusted at the edges, crispy. How awful. Thick meat slid down his throat revitalizing him and keeping the heat at bay. The crispiness stayed, except for where spilt blood touched his skin and where it was absorbed. The rest of the crispy would stay for awhile. Another meal might hasten along comfort. Nothing but bones left of this one, he no longer felt insubstantial at the edges. A life to continue movement. No one here to fight with him for the moment. Finding someone else might be easy. The stench of pitch, oil and sweetly rotting flesh permeated the place. Plague demon. It would be here, soon. He stood up slowly, waiting. It would smell him, too. Sex and fresh corpses and smoke.

Where was he, now? Why was he, now? It was no longer black. Horror assaulted his senses. A thing stood in front of him waving something at fire. Fire, in a tub. What was this? Where was he? Why was he? Who are you? The last he speaks out loud. The other doesn't answer in any way he knows, just gibbers at him senselessly. Excitement. He can smell excitement under the horror. His little pink mouth opens and he shows his teeth, keening. The thing smiles at him, maggoty skin glowing, reflecting, being absorbed by his eyes. Why? What was this? Why was he seeing?

Summoned. He'd been summoned. He keens louder, almost moaning, now. This thing is made out of flesh. He moves, a flash in the light. LIGHT. The crispiness intensifies, burning his flesh more. The keening turns into a wail. The MAN clucks, spasming, wheezing breath in and out, his mouth split and showing his teeth. Recoil, snarl, show teeth, again. The man doesn't notice. Instead he gibbers, again, now eyes fixed on something that smells like death, plant death. The noises pierce spikes into the demon's head and he whines, clawing at himself. The pressure doesn't release for a long time. The world is upside down when it does. The man stands above him, and his face is cold, so cold and the scent of dead tree is much stronger. He tries to touch his and pushes himself up, instead. On the floor. The pressure has abated and the MAN is on the floor, now. Slowly, carefully, the demon reaches out. The burning is less, just the horrible weight of stench. It's getting weaker, now. He steps through the invisible wall and is fine. The man on the ground is not. Hunger flairs.

No, stop. The stomach is sweet and goes down easily, but. . . . Something nags at him. This is a fantasy, the veiled world that is whispered about. They learned about it. All of them knew. Why? For this moment? He stops devouring, a show of will so painful that he bleeds from his sensitive black eyes. He does something else to the body under him, twists it and wrenches it. It slowly begins to move, again.

Now he is anchored to this world. He does not have to go home. Here the flesh is more pleasant and satisfies hungers he never knew he had. Learned from just the morsels he took from this one who stands up slowly, moaning and gibbering, again. He asks him what that means and begins to learn.