He sought out the low-ranking Shepherd Gods transferred from the rear of the Flesh Realm—those farmed humans driven to the front lines as cannon fodder.
Low-ranking Shepherd Gods were far weaker than Flesh Guards. Their bodies contained none of Kloz's enhanced flesh, only ordinary food and energy that had yet to be fully digested.
Their senses were much weaker as well. They could not detect Vicks's approach at all.
His first prey was a group of three low-ranking Shepherd Gods driven to the front lines to transport supplies.
Their bodies were bloated and sluggish, their minds holding only one command Kloz had implanted in them: deliver food to the front lines, then return to receive more food.
They walked along a narrow path through thickets of flesh thorns, their feet pressing deep dents into the living flesh beneath them and leaving deep footprints.
Vicks's black mist drifted soundlessly out from the thorn thicket. Like a venomous snake shooting from the shadows, it suddenly coiled around the neck of the Shepherd God at the front.
The black mist bored down the Shepherd God's trachea, into its lungs, its heart, and its brain.
Chilling ghostfire scorched the Shepherd God's senses—not its flesh, but its fear.
It magnified that fear until it was too terrified to even scream.
The Shepherd God froze.
Its body trembled violently, its eyes bulging wide as its pupils shrank to pinpoints.
Gurgling sounds came from its throat, as if something had clogged it. Then its living soul shattered—not because Vicks had bitten it apart, but because it had been frightened apart by its own terror.
Vicks's black mist sucked in sharply, drawing the fragments of the shattered living soul into itself.
His black mist churned, and the scarlet evil eyes within it brightened slightly. Vicks did not stop.