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Mercy followed the trail in the sky with his eyes, tracing the path. It was a sign that he would be full again, soon. The ground rumbled as he followed, but not before he swallowed his fresh kill. A thick sludge of gore spilled from his mouth, as he carelessly swung his head in the direction where more corpses were to be made.

He knew this, for the humans were always fighting over every little thing, and it was beautifully frequent too, for this world had very, very little. There were worse worlds to have been dragged into, Mercy always told himself, particularly on days where he fed well.

Eventually, he made his way to the outskirts of the erstwhile home his kind had found themselves in, and he stared at what he saw, his fiery mouth flickering in the shadows as he licked his lips. The humans were holding those things tightly, tiny fingers itching to deal death at every given moment.

Whatever the outcome, there was bound to be a body left behind. After all, the thorn-headed one and his group were just about as hungry as the Wild Ones were, when it came to bloodshed.

Mercy watched and waited, from a good distance, though his heft meant that he wasn't hiding either. There was no need to hide - even just the sight of him coaxed the tantalizing energies of terror and despair to pour out from many of the humans. And he was hungry, always hungry.