Just like Cassian had predicted, it didn't take long.
Three figures descended into the valley under the cover of night, moving with a quiet confidence that made it clear—they weren't just searching. They were hunting.
Each one had a sword strapped diagonally across their back, long and thin—uniform, almost ceremonial. It was easy to tell they were cut from the same cloth. But it was the man in the center, with an average build and a disturbingly calm air about him, who moved like a leader. His presence was heavier, and even without a word, the other two followed his subtle hand gestures without hesitation.
Cassian and Simon stayed deathly still, perched in the darkness beyond the trees, their breathing shallow.
Then the leader stopped just a few paces from the cave entrance.
Cassian's stomach twisted.
In the dim moonlight, he saw the man casually raise a human arm to his mouth—his arm. The one that had been severed earlier. Cleanly cut just above the elbow, still red and raw.
The man took a bite, chewing slowly with an expression of pure satisfaction before muttering through a mouthful, "They were here…"
Then, like a hound catching a scent, he tilted his head back and sniffed deeply, letting the night air fill his lungs.
A twisted smile spread across his face, his red eyes glowing faintly.
"The delicious smell is still fresh," he said softly, almost reverently. "They're not far."
He took another bite, chewed, swallowed, then licked the blood off his fingers.
"Ready your weapons, boys," he called over his shoulder. "The prey is near."
Simon didn't move. Neither did Cassian. But both of their hearts pounded like war drums in their chests.
It was only after the three figures finally disappeared from view that Simon let out a sharp whisper, his voice laced with disbelief.
"What the hell was that? They were eating your arm, Cassian. A human arm…"
His whisper cracked into a hushed panic. "I'm not about to end up as someone's dinner. Screw that—I'd rather die running than get caught and carved up like a roast."
Cassian, however, didn't answer right away. His eyes were distant, thoughts spinning in a different direction. Then, almost too softly to hear, he muttered:
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
Simon, both confused and irritated by Cassian's response, snapped in a hushed voice, "You don't mind what?"
Cassian blinked, snapping out of his thoughts, then gave a crooked smile. "You know... the whole dinner thing."
He stood up, dusting himself off. "I don't mind being on their menu—as long as I'm the kind of meal that gives them the worst case of diarrhea they've ever had."
Simon stared at him, baffled and borderline exasperated. "What the actual hell does that even mean? You want to give them the shits? Why?"
Unable to hold back the sarcasm, he added with a scowl, "Maybe we should start feeding you spoiled fish and chili peppers—really make you a walking biohazard."
Cassian smirked and shook his head. "Close… but not spoiled fish or chili peppers."
He leaned in slightly, grin widening. "I was thinking more like venomous fish and poisonous chilies. You know—something that bites back."
Simon blinked, clearly taken aback. "Wait—does that healing ability of yours also make you immune to poison?"
Cassian shrugged with a grin. "No idea. Never tested it."
Then, with a spark of excitement in his voice, he added, "But I'll be fine. Come on, let's go find some colorful-looking stuff."
Cassian sounded way too enthusiastic for someone who was about to potentially poison himself—like some kind of lunatic cultist. Simon shot him a concerned look, stepping in to stop him from doing anything truly reckless.
"Stop the crap, man. Let's just hide or keep running until we find help. They went that way—we can double back and maybe put some distance between us. If we're lucky, we can hold out until morning."
But Cassian was already ignoring him, crouching near the bushes, poking around for anything that looked poisonous—whether it was insects, weird-colored berries, or sketchy mushrooms.
Simon gawked at him, half in disbelief, half horrified. "You seriously mean it, don't you? You absolute red-headed retard..."
Simon's words didn't even slow Cassian down. He was humming to himself now—low and tuneless—as he carefully plucked a mushroom with a disturbingly slimy purple cap and sniffed it.
"Oof, this one smells like death warmed over," Cassian muttered, impressed. "Perfect."
Simon ran a hand through his hair in pure frustration. "You're not right in the head, man. Like, not even a little bit."
Cassian flashed him a grin over his shoulder. "That's probably why I'm still alive."
"You won't be for long if you eat that."
"Hey, if it kills me, at least I be a dead dinner. But if it doesn't…" he paused dramatically, holding the mushroom up like a prize, "I might just turn myself into the worst meal they've ever had."
Simon groaned. "I cannot believe this is my life now. Running from cannibals with a guy who wants to poison himself on purpose."
"Correction," Cassian said, stuffing the mushroom into a pouch at his side, "with a guy who plans to weaponize digestion."
Cassian shrugged. "Probably. But maybe crazy's exactly what we need to survive tonight."
Simon didn't respond, just rubbed his face like he was trying to wipe away the situation itself. Still, he followed Cassian as he moved further into the woods—because as much as he hated the idea, part of him was starting to wonder if madness was their best shot after all.
"Fuck it…" Simon muttered under his breath, giving in to the madness of the moment. He stomped over to the nearest bush, eyes scanning for anything remotely dangerous-looking. "What do I care—you're the one eating this shit. I'll be long gone the second I feed you to them."
He spotted a dull red and green centipede crawling up a rock and smirked. "Bingo." With a quick swipe, he crushed it and dropped its twitching body onto a large leaf he'd just picked. Bits of the bug clung to the sticky surface as Simon added more mystery ingredients from around them—some berries that looked like they came from a fever dream, a spiky mushroom or two.
"Just make sure they get a solid stomach ache—doesn't have to be fatal," he muttered, bundling the leaf up like a toxic burrito. "As long as they're too busy puking their guts out to chase me, I'll call it a win."