Sacred Rakshasa seemed rather addicted to the taste of roast chicken. The gnawed, torn skeletons littered the ground. One chicken was not enough to satisfy her; she tore another from the rack and stood where she was, clutching it as she gnawed away.
Fragments of bone scattered to the ground. Her greasy silver claws emptied, then reached out to yank down another chicken, which she continued to hold and gnaw.
A favored delicacy seemed capable of making her forget the purpose of her journey. Delicacy seemed capable of making one forget hatred.
In the shadows, hidden gazes in the corners were secretly overjoyed at the sight, waiting, waiting for Sacred Rakshasa to fall.
They had not expected Sacred Rakshasa to love roast chicken so much. One after another, and still it was not enough—she was actually continuing to eat.
There had been six roast chickens hanging in total. After she finished gnawing through the fifth and reached for the sixth, just as her fingertips touched the last roast chicken, her outstretched claw froze. Her five sharp talons twitched unnaturally, as though convulsing.
She took a step back, then another. Her extended claw dropped, and both hands clutched her abdomen at once.
Her breathing grew hurried, her panting increasingly violent. Flowing light coursed through the strange silver patterns on her face. Her fangs bared, and her features twisted grotesquely.
"Yah..." Sacred Rakshasa suddenly threw back her head and roared. The howl was shrill and mournful. A pair of silver wings snapped open behind her, and with one beat of those great wings, she abruptly soared into the air.
Yet once airborne, her wings seemed to lose their strength, seemingly unable to flap properly. They trembled violently.
As she hovered, her body gradually began to shake as well. Her wide eyes stared