Cumbersome thumping footsteps clamber through the slippery moss infested halls of Bone Castle.
They stop abruptly.
A hand reaches down into the moss, long sharpened black nails dig deep into the green to retrieve dirt, grime and a small candied blue ball.
Its sticky surface is covered in hair, muck and grime.
Reaver takes.
He pops the candy greedily into his mouth.
His jaw closes.
He swirls the candy once.
Twice.
Then stops.
Reaver's brow furrows.
Sour.
His tongue pushes the candy against the inside of his cheek. Beneath the sugar there is something else. The deep twang of a sour hit he wasn’t expecting. Something spoiled by however long it has spent festering amongst the damp and decay of Bone Castle.
Reaver keeps chewing.
Right.
He remembers another sweetness.
Bright colours. Sugar. Candy. A tasty treat to be savoured.
The Candy Man.
Reaver claimed him at Ring King.
There had been no confusion in Reaver's mind. No uncertainty. You either belonged to Bone Castle or you didn't.
Candy Man did.
He does.
Reaver bites down harder.
The shell cracks between his teeth.
Soft inside.
A thick glob of blue spills from the corner of his mouth. He wipes it away with the back of his hand and examines the sticky streak left behind.
Reaver has cracked bones before.
Bones are simple.
Hard outside. Soft inside.
Marrow is yummy.
But Candy Man isn't simple.
There is something beneath all that sugar. Something Reaver caught the scent of at Ring King but didn't get enough of.
Something rotten. Something frightened. Something angry. Something festering in a way that adds unmistakable flavour.
Perhaps something even Reaver hasn't tasted before.
His tongue searches between his teeth for another piece.
Nothing.
A low growl reverberates through the hallway.
More.
He needs more of a taste. It wasn’t enough. A tiny little tickle on the tastebuds can’t sate a hunger this large. Candy Man had flavour. He tasted good. That sour sensation made Reaver’s mouth water and now he wants more.
Soon they will put Reaver inside a ring with Candy Man.
They will call it a match.
They will expect Reaver to understand.
Rules. Ropes. Belts. Winning. Losing.
Small words invented by small men to make violence behave.
Reaver understands something simpler.
If something is hard, Reaver breaks it.
If something runs, Reaver hunts it.
If something belongs to him— Reaver swallows.
—He eats when he is hungry.
His footsteps begin again, disappearing deeper into Bone Castle.
Then they stop.
Reaver turns back.
Something blue is still stuck amongst the moss.
A tiny broken piece of shell that fell out of his mouth. He claimed it. It belonged to him, even if a little tiny piece escaped back into the ether of which it came.
He crouches.
Scrapes it free.
And eats that too.
Waste nothing.
Reaver Takes.