The trees below him trembled with his passing. He flew low, to avoid detection, sweeping just a few dozen spans above the treetops.

His shadow, so lengthy, it blocked out the light long enough to confuse the beasts below him as he passed over. Would they think night was descending early?

The beat of his wings blew many beasts from their high perches, down to the ground, causing a feeding frenzy for the groundling beasts. Would the tree dwellers think him a errant storm? Would the groundlings think him the harbinger of prey falling from the sky? Would they worship him as a meal giver?

When they looked up, to offer their gratified prayers, they would see nothing but a passing darkness. They were unworthy of seeing his true form. He was a fleeting and absent god. His miracles confined to a single gorging meal.

Should he stop for a quick sacrifice in return for his mighty act benevolence? The altar of his hunger craved a succulent offering. Sadly, his pursuers would not stop while he filled his belly with new worshipers. He would keep moving, his hunger would have wait.

He comforted himself with the thought that beast meat tasted terrible. Not like those that pursued him. Their flesh the most tender. He enjoyed the way their fatty tissue melted in his mouth, and the way their bones added a wonderful crunchy texture to their consumption. He couldn’t eat just one, if he had one, he would eat hundreds until he was satisfied. He would gorge himself until he slept, nearly every time.

More than their taste, he enjoyed their flesh for another reason. He delighted in the feel of their soft bodies beneath him. Their cries of pleasure and pain. Their guttural grunts, their bestial howls, as he took them. He reveled in the feeling of dominating their weak bodies and weaker minds. A different sort of hunger emerged in him as he remembered the endless procession of prey flesh that entered his sanctum, only some leaving alive, usually to bear his children or to bring him more meals.

His memories turned to a bitter ash, as he remembered that his favorite prey had driven him from his sanctum. They had murdered his spawn, and his many mates. They destroyed the mountain he called home, and razed the surrounding villages that provided the bulk of his food. Only ashes and stone remained of what once was his vast holdings.

He let out a growl that echoed across the wooded land below him. The sound frightening many of the groundlings from their meals. The thought of prey daring to fight back against him, chasing him from his roost, killing his progeny, and swarming him with their countless numbers drove him to rage. How he hated them. He hated them almost enough that it ruined the thought of their flavor and flesh. He needed revenge now. It was the only thing that would truly sate him.

He admitted to himself, despite the humiliation, that he could not win against the multitudes of prey that opposed him with just his singular might. He also could not rely on his own kind coming to aide him either. The truly powerful individuals of his kind were solitary. They did not cooperate the way the prey did. Even if they could find common ground to defeat the prey, his kind would not listen to him or heed his call. They thought him mad. They had called him vile things. It wasn’t that they hadn’t all tried the many pleasures flesh offered, especially those as old as he, but he was a pervert for never seeking a mate of his own kind. For not continuing his long line. For preferring lesser prey to an equal. For what they saw as his endless degeneracy. He cared not for their opinions so long as they left him to his indulgence, but now he had been denied his favorite pleasures, by the very prey he had once ruled over.

He would have to find a different path to his vengeance. Something subtle, as direct action would only lead to failure. He was old, old enough to know how to play the games the prey played. He would destroy them from within, and sink their pathetic civilization into an ocean of blood. They would destroy themselves, and from their remnants he would once again build a sanctum. No prey left alive would know freedom from his rule. Prey would live, give birth, and die while waiting in the long line of flesh that would serve his needs. They would be happy to accept such a fate, for they would know no other possibility. It would be a fitting punishment for having the audacity to oppose one such as him. He would be their new god, embodied in the flesh and hungering for flesh.

He had to remind himself that, while it was easy to fall into his dreams of future godhood, he first needed to plant the seed of his retaliation. He flew away from those that chased him. He flew toward the fertile ground he had chosen for the poisonous seed he carried. He flew forward to his retribution.