Magical Girl Origins - Feasting Carnage (Patreon)

Origin - One - Feasting Carnage

Alma wished she was home.

Home was safe. Home had food.

She shook her head and was determined not to think about her hunger. Instead, she blinked a few times and swept a branch out of her path, then paused to listen.

The forest was quiet. Not entirely, but enough that it unnerved her. There were occasional caws and the sounds of birds chirping, but it was always a quick burst of noise that faded away.

She was wary of approaching any of them.

Earlier, a large raven had landed on a low branch just a few metres ahead of her. It was longer than her forearm, and its weight made the branches of the ancient aspen it perched upon creak. It had looked at her, first with a bird’s eye, then once it turned its head, with a human one.

She was determined not to be seen, not to draw attention to herself.

This wasn’t Sweden. This wasn’t her quiet little city. Or if it was, it was a twisted, warped version of it, where the touch of humanity was missing entirely.

The sky turned from dawn to dusk, the light and shadows turning around as if the entire world was spinning a million times faster than usual. She stayed rooted where she was, partially hidden by some bushes and a few large trees.

It wasn’t the first time that had happened

This place wasn’t governed by the same rules as Earth.

Alma swallowed, looked around herself to make sure she wasn’t being watched, then she pressed a hand against her stomach. She was so hungry.

How long had she been here? She wasn’t sure. Days, certainly.

It had all started by accident. Alma came back from school, annoyed by the amount of homework they gave out now that she was in year seven. Her family lived above their shop, a little candy and pastry store that she helped at when she could.

Her mormor had asked her to go out and buy a few bags of flour, and Alma couldn’t refuse the older lady.

It was strange, going to school doing normal things like biking across town, especially now that... she put it out of her mind.

There was talk in town of people going missing lately. Men, women, and a few children. The police were on the case, but rumours were spreading fast, and people were a little worried about it. That kind of thing didn’t happen in their little city, not for a long, long time.

Mormor told her to be careful as she left, and she’d agreed easily.

The bike to the grocers wasn’t long. Just a few streets. Her mistake was taking a shortcut, a direct path through the little park in the middle of the city.

There was a ring of mushrooms there. She’d thought it was strange. She still biked through it.

Now her bike was... maybe two days behind her? Abandoned somewhere in the endless forest.

She had to find a way out of here. All she had to help her were a few camping trips when she was much younger, and maybe her trump card. She wasn’t sure of it yet. She didn’t want to use it. Her life was nice, peaceful even.

Well, it was. Now she wasn’t so sure.

“You seem a little lost.”

“Finally,” she muttered.

Turning, Alma reached into the pocket of her jeans and removed her only weapon. She held it in the palm of her hand, index of the points on its end, the handle against her wrist. She was nervous, of course. The hunger wasn’t helping. Everything felt light, as if her mind was floating.

Standing a few metres back was a smiling man. He was no taller than most, and he wore a simple blue hoodie and jeans, but his shoes were missing. She had to correct herself when she looked at his face though. The man wasn’t smiling. His teeth were showing, and his lips were turned up, but that expression wasn’t a smile.

“You’re... Lars?” she tried. “I saw your posters.”

“Oh, those weren’t mine,” he said.

The conversation was barely three sentences old, and already it was bizarre. She knew his face though. It was one of the first to show up around her city on posters and on the local news. Lars somethingson. He was a father of three who’d gone missing out of nowhere.

She remembered the day it happened. It was an important day for her, though not because of this man.

“Now, if you don’t mind, dear, could you give me your name?”

Alma felt the hairs on the back of her neck rising. “I’m afraid I’d rather keep it,” she said. “But if you need something to call me, then... how about hungry?”

“Hungry?” he asked. His head tilted to one side. The angle was too much to be entirely natural. “Oh, you poor thing, you’ve been going in circles for so long that you must be quite famished!”

“Circles?” she asked.

He nodded, then gestured to the side.

Carefully, without letting him slip out of her line of sight, she followed his gesture. It was towards a large bush, one that she’d moved over her bike a while ago. Her bike was still there, undisturbed.

“How long have I been walking in circles?” she asked.

“Long enough to work up an appetite!” he said cheerfully. “But you’re not the only one who’s a little hungry. I think I could use a meal myself.”

Alma shrugged. “I’ll survive,” she said. Her stomach rumbled in discontent, but she ignored it. “Who are you?”

“You won’t give me your name, but you ask for mine?” the man said. “That’s not very polite.”

“I’m a little too hungry for politeness, I think,” Alma returned. “If who isn’t good then... what?”

The man grinned and clapped. “Oh, good, good. As smart as you are hungry, aren’t you?”

She didn’t reply, instead she kept her focus on the man, and on the weapon held in her hand. It was just a fork. A very special fork, but a fork all the same. At the moment, she imagined that it might be her only way out.

“I,” he said. “Am just as hungry as you. Hungrier, even. And my friends and I have discovered a whole realm of tasty morsels.”

“Your friends?” she asked.

He smiled, then gestured to the side.

There was someone there. Something, maybe. It was as tall as Alma, with plain colourless eyes and pale, cold-looking skin. It was also nude, though a quick and rather embarrassed glance down revealed that it was entirely sexless, not dissimilar to the dolls she’d once played with.

“Are you fae?” she asked.

“We are,” the first with the face of a man said.

“And did you take that man, the one whose face you’re wearing?” she asked next.

His face twisted in a facsimile of a smile again. “We asked for permission, of course. And showered him with gifts. Why, we could do the same for you.” He reached to the small of his back, then pulled his hand around. He was holding a small piece of candy, wrapped in pink plastic with a familiar logo on its side.

Her stomach twisted itself into knots. “Is that a joke?” she asked.

“Isn’t everything?” he asked with a laugh.

The other thing laughed too. Its voice was plain, so neutral it hurt.

“Why are you attacking my city?” she asked. “Why are you taking people?”

“My, so many questions,” he said. “Usually the people we meet at least have the decency to pay us with a little fear. You’re quite the strange girl.”

“Perhaps the duchess would want to meet her?” the strange one without any noticeable features said.

“Oh, I doubt it,” he replied with a dismissive little wave. “Let’s give her a few more turns around the grove.”

“It will make the body bony,” the other said.

“Ah, but it will make the mind pliable as well! Besides, bones make for great flutes.”

Alma had heard enough.

A couple of weeks ago she’d heard a voice. It happened early in the morning, after she’d woken up. She was still going through her morning ablutions, and was eager for Mormor’s breakfast when the voice hit her.

ARE YOU HUNGRY, SHE WHO FEASTS?

At the time, she thought she’d gone entirely mad.

But Alma was a pragmatic, if simple girl. She knew she wasn’t the smartest, the fastest, the prettiest. She settled on being the girl who was prepared and who took things in stride.

So, of course, she addressed the voice in the privacy of her own bedroom. “Who the fuck are you?”

I AM YOUR SWORN STAFF. THE SATIATING SPEAR, THE TINES OF GLUTTONY. THE FORK OF KILGORE. BUT YOU, THE DEVOURER, YOU MAY CALL ME PRONGS.

Alam had blinked, confused. “You’re a fork?”

ONE WHO DEVOURS AND MAKES HER ADVERSARIES HER OWN, NEEDS THE PROPER TOOL TO CONSUME. I AM THAT TOOL.

“Oh, fuck me, I’m a magical girl, aren’t I?” she asked with growing horror. She’d watched the news. She’s seen some of them. Rending Nightmare in Brazil, wiping out a demon army. Burning Ultranova lighting an entire hidden Nazi site on fire then bragging about it on the news while her hair burned. Happy Sparkles... she shuddered. “Look, I’m just a normal girl. I’m not built for this kind of fuckery.”

YOU ARE FAR FROM NORMAL. YOU WILL FEAST UPON THY ENEMY AND TAKE THEIR STRENGTH AS YOUR OWN. FOR STARVATION IS THE ROOT OF ALL WEAKNESS. THE LACK OF WHAT IS NECESSARY TO SURVIVE. NEVER AGAIN SHALL YOU BE WEAK. DEVOUR. CONSUME. GLUT YOURSELF ON POWER AND CARVE YOUR WAY TO SURVIVAL.

“Fuck me,” she muttered.

Since then, nothing had happened. Until now, at least.

She raised her hand, revealing what she held to the fae. “I’ll make a deal with you,” she said.

He was listening intently. “Oh? And what will this deal be?”

“Not you,” she said. “You’ve eaten a man’s face. That’s really fucked up. You I’m going to kill. But you, you look less messed up.” She turned to the other. “If you tell me everything I want to know, I’ll spare you.”

“Little Miss, it is quite improper to threaten someone you’ve only just met. Even if you are threatening them with mere cutlery.”

“I thought the fae didn’t like iron,” she said.

“That fork is silver,” he replied. “That’s more for werewolves.”

She nodded. Made sense. And it was good to know those were real too. “Well, whatever. Prongs. Devour.”

There was a snap, like someone tugging on both ends of a belt loop. It echoed through the forest, and Alme saw both fae jump at the loud, unnatural sound. Then the man before her looked down, his eyes widening.

Her fork was embedded in his gut. It was also now more of a staff with a fork’s head than a mere piece of cutlery. The entire thing was as long as she was tall, and its tines glinted sharply in the every shifting light of the forest.

The fae looked up, confusion on his stolen face.

Alma brushed a hand down the side of her dress. She quite liked it. It was flowy and soft, comfortable and easy to move in without being revealing. It was a very practical outfit, she found.

I CONSUME.

She nodded to the voice and tightened her grip on Prongs.

The fae started to scream a moment before his everything was pulled into the fork, bones were crushed, flesh melted, and in a thousandth of a second, he was gone.

Alma closed her eyes. She was... satiated, for the moment. When she opened them again, the forest had changed. She could see the fine threads of fae magics running across the air, she could see the way the trees and grass fed into a complex, living network of magic that she only barely understood.

“Well then, about that deal?” she asked the other fae. At a glance, she knew it was trying to hide, something the fae could easily do within its own little glade. But she was part-changeling now too. And if she ate this one too, she’d only grow moreso.

Alma knelt and plucked the piece of candy stolen from her home. She inspected it for a moment, then unrolled the package and plopped it into her mouth.

When she next spoke, it was with a mouthful of taffy. “So? You going to talk? Or will I have to eat your secrets out of you? I think you’ve wasted enough of my time, don’t you?”

***