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Oh, he so enjoyed it when the humans did the work for him. Soon enough, there were bodies on the ground. Unfortunately, it came at a cost, and that cost was being shot at. The forces that struck at his skin, even when hardened, was nothing like the useless things most carried on their shoulders. It [i]hurt[/i]; molten ichor fell, starting embers as it dripped from the freshly formed wounds on the Wild's body. He was far from dead, though. And most of all, he was still ravenous.

Ignoring the danger - for what more could he do at this distance - Mercy hardened his hide and went in for the felled body, his maw darting in and out with a speed that one would hardly associate with his heft. The torso snapped and crackled between chitinous fangs, blood and guts dripping every which way as Mercy shook his head in dissatisfaction. One wasn't enough.

Through the dust, he searched for the one whose darkness teemed with promise. The one who had unintentionally fed him. His feet stalked the earth like a predator, but Mercy could hear his heart crackle with hate and goodness in equal measure. The Wild knew that such a man would be capable of just as much hurt as he was of aid.

"You will feed me," he whispered into Val's thoughts, in as much as a roar could be softened into a croon. "In exchange, you will have my strength." It was not an offering, but a demand. "So you can feed me more."

As Mercy called out to Val, so did he rake his claws against the forces that fired at him, sending up more dust in his wake. Such fragile orbs did the humans have, for eyes, full of fluids, and always leaking, whether in joy or in pain.