This one had been tainted. It was obvious. The smell, was the first sign. A thick and heavy miasma of decay and virulence, thick on the tongue. Such were of poor quality, and found in the many. Long ago, there were others, a fresher and brighter scent, a scent that now drove him into a frenzy just thinking back to it. The thrill of the chase. The destruction of their light, when they knew it was over. The victory, and the spoils of the hunt. Long ago, all had this taste, All still hoped, and it gave them life, a vibrancy to their texture, malleable and tangible in the flesh. But now... Only the survivors remain. Those who knew that there was no need for hope, and that it made them less able to survive. And their bodies showed it: Lean, stringy, flavorless.
He sat on the overturned cart, hunched over it's meal. The body hung limply in his grasp, still dressed in her torn and bloodied clothing, like a sack doll found in a child's play pen. The head was completely gone; most of the thoracic cavity of the stray bandit had been scooped out by his mandibles, a thick slurry of gooey meat chunks and organs pooling in the unfortunate soul's abdomen. His mandibles and fangs clicked and chomped together, delicately slicing and cutting through the flesh bite by tiny bite, like a praying mantis with an insect. They just gave up now. They didn't care. He was actually helping them, to escape this existence... The thoughts made the meat less and less favorable. He eventually just stopped, and stared. Thinking.
Without warning, he stood up, growling and angered by what he had realized. He flung the body into the wall of the tunnel, and it splattered it's contents against the cold stone, creating a horrible portrait of various body fluids. He growled and snarled at it, shouting in a horrible voice that slated together and pierced the ears: "STOP MOCKING ME!" He roared, and smashed his fist into the wall, the aging concrete caving in with ease. They dared to drag him down to this level? He was their greatest fear. No one dared to just ignore him, to use him as a means to die honorably, in some misguided frenzied grasp at meaning. He would show them that they would fear him again. And why. He grabbed his club, blood stainedfrom the kill before, and crawled up the wall heavily, climbing into a large storm drainage pipe that had fallen to pieces long ago.
All he needed was worthy prey.