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Devour Vol 2 Ch 20: The Desire To Feed!
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 16:51:34 +0000 UTCConrad had never seen a crowd like this. Not in the cities back home. Not even during the worst riots after the water crisis. This was different—there was no anger here, no protests or speeches—just raw, animal panic.
Everywhere he turned, green-skinned aliens darted in all directions, clutching armfuls of personal belongings. Some had bags so stuffed they dragged behind them; others ran with nothing but their children in their arms. They shoved, stumbled, and collided without so much as a glance back to see if the person they'd knocked over got back up.
"This is madness," Conrad muttered, watching two men nearly come to blows over the last spot in a shuttle that had already started to lift off the ground.
The air was thick with the sound of shouting, crying, and the mechanical whine of dozens of small crafts firing their engines. People were abandoning entire neighborhoods in a frantic tide, all funneling toward the designated launch zones. Conrad didn't need to guess why—he'd heard enough whispered conversations, enough muttered prayers—to know the reason: Io.
He'd tried, over and over, to get them to slow down, to explain that not every devourer leveled a planet the moment they arrived. His reassurances had been met with nothing but wild eyes and quick retreats.
"Please," he'd said to a shopkeeper who was locking his door in such a hurry that he left the key still in the knob. "You're going to be fine. I promise you—"
But the man didn't even answer. Just bolted.
He tried again with a woman carrying a crate of strange orange fruit on her shoulder. "Hey—hey, listen to me, you don't need to run. It's not what you think—"
She barely slowed her pace. "Are you insane? The devourer has been seen near orbit. This planet is finished."
"She's not here to—" Conrad began, but she cut him off with a sharp look.
"Foolish," she spat. "A devourer shows no mercy." And then she was gone, lost in the rushing crowd.
Conrad stood there, feeling the futility of it all sink in.
He remembered Elara—back when they'd first met, when she'd spoken, almost hesitantly, about guilt. At the time, he hadn't understood it. She was a cosmic-scale being, practically untouchable. What could she possibly have to feel guilty about? But now... now he could picture her in this scene, watching as entire civilizations fell into chaos at the mere whisper of her arrival.
Maybe this was what she meant.
This fear. This panic.
All of it, caused by her existence alone.
And looking at these people now—how their faces contorted with desperation as they scrambled to survive—Conrad realized there was nothing he could do to stop it. Not here. Not today.
Not against a fear this big.
***
(Elara)
Elara drifted through the cold expanse, her colossal frame gliding closer to the trembling sphere below.
Her hunger was no longer a dull ache—it was a clawing, gnawing demand that dug deeper into her thoughts with every second.
At first, she had seen this world as Conrad saw it—a lump of dirt, clouds, and seas dotted with fragile life. But the longer she stared, the less it resembled a "planet" and the more it resembled a ripe, glowing fruit bursting with the kind of energy her body craved. The pull was irresistible.
Her lips curved in anticipation as she tilted her head, leaning forward. The void fell away, the planet swelling in her view until it dominated her senses.
With a slow breath, she parted her lips, pushing through the planet's thin veil of atmosphere.
Below, panic shifted into stunned horror.
Her lips—smooth, impossibly vast, colored like living warmth—stretched across the sky itself.
They eclipsed the sun, casting their shadow over cities and oceans alike.
"Just a little bit," she murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
"Elara!!!"
The word cut through her hunger like a blade.
She froze mid-motion, pulling back. Her brow furrowed as her glowing eyes blinked, focusing on the sound.
"Conrad?" she asked, almost startled—like she'd only just remembered he was here.
From somewhere small and distant, his voice came again, sharper this time.
"What do you think you're doing?!"
She floated back slightly, not from shame, but because his tone was so uncharacteristically fierce.
Her expression smoothed, lips pressing into a line.
"I hunger," she said plainly, her voice low but carrying a strange weight, the kind that felt ancient even if she didn't understand why.
The glow in her eyes deepened into a rich, dangerous yellow. "And I will feed."
Conrad's voice came again, this time steadier, though the urgency hadn't faded.
"There are people here, Elara. Families. Children. This isn't just some... glowing snack for you to pluck out of the sky."
For a heartbeat, her expression didn't change—her glowing yellow eyes locked on him like he was a moth telling the storm not to come.
Then, almost lazily, she spoke.
"Return."
It wasn't a request.
From the surface far below, golden light began to seep upward—first in thin threads, then in surging ribbons. It wasn't fire, it wasn't magic—it was life. The raw, shimmering essence of the planet itself rising toward her like it was answering a call it couldn't refuse.
Her massive hand moved through the void, slow enough to look graceful, fast enough to be inevitable.
In seconds, Conrad felt the shift in air pressure, the dizzying pull, and then—warmth.
Her palm closed around him with care, yet still held the undeniable weight of possession.
She lifted him until he was a small, fragile figure standing in the center of her hand, her face looming beyond like a living sky.
"Don't do this!" he shouted up at her, his voice cracking from a mix of anger and fear. "You don't have to do this."
Her head tilted slightly, as though she was genuinely considering his words. But then her gaze hardened, the glow in her eyes pulsing brighter.
"I must."
