Abel shivered in pleasure as a handful of buttered shrimp slid down his throat. It had been too long since he had been able to truly indulge himself. Some idiot tourist secousse had paid him enough to purchase sumptuous feasts for a week, all for a few stupid pictures! It was almost unbelievable, but the Glutton did not question his fortune.

He had lived through three lifetimes, starting with inherited wealth and then living well with lucrative investments. The bottom had fallen out in his fourth Facade. A series of economic disasters and poor investments thrust Abel into the ranks of the poor. He did not have the slightest notion of how to provide value or perform at even the most menial tasks. Even a poor man could be gluttonous, but his meals had suffered in both quality and quantity.

And now, this! Perhaps his luck was changing for the better. It had taken a prodigious effort, but the Glutton had resisted the impulse to spend everything on sweets and expensive catering. With time and proper investment, he might have the beginnings of a new fortune. He drooled at the thought of being truly rich again, and diving into a bottomless well of sugary cakes.

Before him were so many of the things he had been missing. Of course, he had also discovered a taste for many cheap snacks and they were included at his table. A bowl of Beluga caviar sat next to a bucket of cheese puffs. Fine sizzling filets shared space with factory produced American candy bars. Dishes of all shapes and sizes, laden with soups, meats and candies surrounded the ecstatic Glutton. He swore to eat it all.

He swiftly abandoned manners and cast aside utensils in favor of seizing great handfuls of sustenance and shoving it into his widening maw. He began to sweat, grunting in exertion. To enhance his enjoyment, he activated one of his favorite Gifts. It would give him the full benefit of the many nuances of flavors.

Even with his Gift, he almost missed it. Something in the hams…no. It was in everything, a wisp of flavor that was easily overlooked.

“Poison?” he gasped in horror. “Poison!”

The poison was a minor concern for the Glutton. Habits such as his slew increasingly large numbers of mortals each year. He was hardened against ingested toxins and could shrug off even the most lethal venom. Nevertheless, cold fear gripped his heart and cooled his rising temperature. Someone was trying to kill him!

The Glutton cast away the temptation to continue feeding. He rose tottering to his feet. “Poison!” he howled in outrage, chins quivering.

“Poison,” said a toneless voice behind him. The voice of his benefactor.

Aspect or not, the stories of the Glutton allowed him no great speed or strength. Something hard and heavy smashed him above his left ear. He slammed facedown into the table, sending dishes flying and spilling tureens.

Several hands seized him. There were no roaring gunshots, but he heard triggers being pulled. Click click click. Something was filling him up.

The Glutton bellowed and gave a mental shout. Purge!

He regurgitated a sickening flow of bile and undigested foodstuffs. It was not enough. Whatever had been used against him remained within. He struggled feebly as more hands pushed him down.

His endurance availed him naught. His great bulk gave him no advantage. He was weak, weakening, caught. His assailants handled him effortlessly.

The Glutton gave in with a final feeble gasp. He was the easiest so far.