A/N:

I received a Cryptid from Lepidolite Mica. Let's all give him a round of applause for trusting me with his creation! (I fear I butchered it in this, so I profusely and immensely apologize if that's the case. We'll see how it goes.)

This does have some cursing, so I apologize. I felt it was appropriate – Zak is a teenager (Not directly connected to my story Sacrifice, so Zak's more around 16). There is also cursing in other languages (Tiamatu is Sumerian, like Kur, and means 'Abyss (Ocean)'. Not really a curse, but I liked the sound of it.) There is also some blood and bodies in this. Not heavy in my opinion, but it's T for a reason.

I also apologize if the mentions of 'demons' offend anyone. This is made purely for fictional purposes, and isn't meant in a serious aspect. Forgive me if I have offended you.

First attempt at First-Person Point O' View! I'm not a guy, and I have issues putting myself as someone else. Please tell me how I did! Pointers would be Helpful!

DISCLAIMER: The Secret Saturdays aren't mine, and the 'Gluttony Demons' and their handlers belong solely to Lepidolite Mica, who was kind enough to lend them. THE CRYPTIDS AREN'T MINE!

Insatiable

I peeked out from where I was hiding.

Shit.

I swung back around into my hiding place, heart thudding once again in my ears. My mother would kill me for the muttered curse, but it couldn't be helped. I was so very, in every way, inexplicably, screwed.

I'm not sure when I got here, amongst the tumbled rocks and ruins of some old civilization. I wasn't sure if the rock mass I hid behind was once part of a building, or an actual boulder. That's how weathered this town was. The ruins had to be as ancient as me. Well, Kur. Whatever.

Not that it mattered in this particular instant. That Damn thing – Zak! I could imagine my mother scolding me, face creased in annoyance – was just around the corner, waiting. They were like no cryptid I'd ever seen before.

Grotesque, barely resembling a human (and a severely anorexic one at that), its skin was a mix between pasty dark green and almost black. The body was littered with scars and gouges, some of its wounds fresh enough that dark blood still oozed forth like overflowing molasses. Its frame was tall, its emaciated state building its tall image higher. I took this all in with a glance – Thank ancient Kur they trained me to be a cryptidzoologist – but what terrified me the most was its face.

When we had been attacked, (I hope the others are okay), I had noticed its mouth, a vertical aperture with knife-like teeth, yellow with plaque. It wasn't until it had attacked a local, (I still here his screams, even if they stopped long ago), that I saw it had a second mouth.

The outer vertical one had snapped open with a metallic Clank! To show a second, normal mouth ('Normal' only in the sense that it opened horizontally). Both opened wide, a deep screech resonating from within, terrifyingly like the gates to Hell, empty blackness lined by glowing yellow teeth – and wait, was that an eye? – ready to tear and consume the world.

That's when I ran, too terrified at the moment to even think of connecting. I heard flapping sound haphazardly behind me, (I had failed to notice the wings), and picked up speed, changing direction as often as I could. But eventually I had to stop, resulting in my current predicament.

I checked again to see if the coast was clear, (It still wasn't. Damn it.), noticing that the cryptid wasn't alone. Betwixt its wings, (grotesque, boney appendages sprouting from behind its shoulders), was another sort of creature, its skin deep blue. It was shorter than me, but with knobby joints and boney limbs. It wore a mask (similar to the one covering the other creature's true face). In its hands, (thin, nail-less things, with long, sharp fingers), it had reins of some sort. They trailed towards the winged cryptid's face, connecting somewhere on its jaws, where a mesh of metal kept the hellish mouth snapped shut until further notice. Huh, so that was the metallic clamp I heard earlier.

The handler, (It seemed to control the crytpid), yelled out something in a strange language. Probably shouting for my surrender. Wacko. As if I'd come out.

I wasn't sure if everyone was alive. Or okay. But I couldn't just keep running around and get myself killed. I'd have to try and connect with the cryptid.

I took a deep breath to steady myself, (more out of habit than anything), then reached out with my mind for its presence. I peeked again, seeing its eye through the gap in its now-open jaws, (Jeezes, that's creepy. Why does it even have that? Not like it needs to 'watch its weight', scraggly thing.), and connected. My energy surged, establishing a link between us.

Big mistake.

Hungry. That thing was so hungry. For meat, for blood. (For death.) It was like it had a hunger that could never be filled.

No. Like even if it was full, it would never be enough. It would keep going, and eating, and gorging, even if it killed itself. Even after its body became soaked in blood, every inch solid red, it wouldn't stop. It couldn't stop. One word came to my mind then, in perfect clarity.

Insatiable.

Tiamatu!

Breathing heavily, I tried to ignore my own craving for destruction that had been awoken. Tried to ignore my fear, and anger, and aching want to destroy something, especially this demon before me. I focused on control, manipulation. Whispering in its mind to do my will. Its mind was too warped though, too far gone for me to gain an inch of control. I wasn't strong enough.

Of course I wasn't strong enough.

The demon, (for what else could I call it?), lunged at me, a second pair of jet-black wings bursting from its back, glistening in new, dark blood. Its handler cried out in alarm as it lunged unexpectedly. I turned and ran, faster than ever.

Hot white pain engulfed me, and I felt blood seeping from my back on the left. I caught myself as I stumbled, and kept going. The pain was intense, clawing at me further, screaming at me to STOP. But my fear kept me running. Frenzied screeches of a madbeast followed me. I refused to look back.

My lungs began to burn along with my wound, whole body consumed by an imaginary flame. I wasn't sure if the pounding in my head was an oncoming migraine, or just my blood pumping. All I really knew was that if I didn't find a place to hide soon, I was beyond screwed.

There. Two pieces of stone leaned against one another, creating a small hidey space. Too small for the demon. I dove in, opening my wound further in a burst of pain. Futete!

I crawled as far back in as I could, leaving blood on the stone roof. My breathing rang like thunder. The cryptid scratched frantically at the opening, giving forth blood curdling screeches of frustration as it chipped away stone but couldn't reach its prey. From what I could see, it looked like the mesh had broken, one side of its outer jaw bleeding heavily. Its handler was nowhere in sight, having either fallen off and/or been eaten. Probably what gave me enough time to run.

After a time it paused, and then left speedily, probably sensing new prey. I didn't move for awhile, still breathing heavily. When it had been quite for awhile (an eternity), and my heart stopped beating like a jack hammer, I checked my wound.

I barely lifted my arm, when pain ripped through me, enough to make me wince. Well that wouldn't do. I had to check the injury, figure out the damage. I wasn't sure if I was still bleeding, so I brushed over the wound with my other hand.

"Mitue," I muttered. Corpse. My mother would be throwing a fit at all the multi-lingual cursing I'd done today, but that had hurt, damn it! I looked at my fingers and sighed. They were painted red, but it could have been my soaked shirt, rather than the wound. Not that it mattered. I'd lost a lot of blood already.

I dozed in and out of consciousness, unsure if the screams I heard reverberating in my skull were constructs of my hazy imagination or not. Sometimes I heard mom scolding me softly, or felt dad ruffle my hair. Fisk muttered something, coming from my left. I cracked open my eyes – now burning with overtiredness – and glanced, seeing him beside me with a concerned expression. I blinked, then the image wavered and disappeared. Small comforts my mind weaved to help with the pain. Blackness followed.

Eventually I woke up to silence. My back screamed and a migraine took residence in my head. Slowly I dragged myself to the entrance and glanced outside. Nothing in sight. I pulled myself up, using the stone, and wobbly stood on my feet. I started to walk. I wasn't sure where I was going, but I couldn't stay here.

It was evening, meaning I had been asleep for hours, unless it was the next day's evening. Who knew? I glanced at the sky, now a brilliant shade of red. Lovely, I thought sarcastically.

The ground became more difficult as I walked. It took a few minutes for my weary brain to realize what was causing me to stumble. Holy shit.

I took a minute to register the carnage before me. Mangled limbs – mostly human – and corpses of the handlers and their demons, the majority of them ripped apart like chicken in a supermarket. The ground was splashed red, but it wasn't from the lighting of the sky. Judging by how bright the blood still was, this had happened recently. Dark splotches like tar on the beach as coated the area, though not as much as the human blood (Was it because it was thinner, or had more humans been killed than cryptids?) The dark blood seemed to come from half-mangled handlers and demons alike. As far as I could tell, they seemed to have gone into a frenzy and torn one another apart. The only reason no one was…consumed, was because the demons were focused on killing and spilling blood only.

I thanked my parents that they had trained me to think scientifically; it helped me keep emotional thinking in the back of my head, (like how the blood now sticking to my clothing wasn't my own, how I brushed against lifeless masses that were once breathing ,andthebloodandthecorpsesandohmygod,terrorandfearandwhatthehellI'msoscrewed…)

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, gagging. Even though I craved destruction, that part of me recoiled in horror at such a massacre. That part of me didn't crave the destruction of life. Terror from others? Yes. Death? No.

I opened my eyes and, ignoring the bodies, (what was left of them anyway), tried to get my bearings. After a moment I recognized the way to the airship, and headed that way. My senses were heightened - more so from the adrenalin - the smell of blood, like metal and salt, permeated the air. I could even smell the demons' scent – both species – their scent similar to curdled milk, rotting vegetation, and something sharp (parsley?).

The shift of sand as I walked made me tense. Something told me they weren't all dead. Especially because of what I learned while I (tried) to connect. If they weren't so horrifically evil, I'd maybe feel sympathy for them. Maybe.

I was almost there – the airship was just ahead. I thought I saw some figures, but wasn't sure. A noise made me turn so fast, I nearly fell. But I still wasn't fast enough.

The last thing I heard was mom screaming my name as unconsciousness claimed me. Tiamatu…

THE END