Post Mortem

            Dust was just beginning to settle in the rust-colored blood on the wooden planks of the floor, creating a strange crust on the surface of the drying liquid.  It had been long since anybody had entered this chamber previous to the battle that had just occurred and the lone survivor knew that it would probably be an even longer time since it was entered again.  The bodies would be nothing but bones cocooned in sacks of bloated, torn flesh by then, a decaying gift for the next intruder to find.
Long, white fingers crept in the darkness, searching, searching, always searching.  Instinct told them where to feel, and as always it served him well as the thin digits ghosted across the pallid death-mask of one of the victims.  The bodies were still warm, but rapidly cooling.  He could feel the flow of life-giving blood ebb through the veins and flesh of the slaughtered young man.  He felt clots forming, slowing and cooling the blood still more until it came to a slow halt.
Voldo removed his mask and placed it upon the floor beside Manas and Ayus, his only constant companions.  The outside air felt cool and dry upon his face after the heat of his own breath within the mask.  His eyes were stitched shut with metal thread, the strongest that he had been able to procure.  The thread glinted in the darkness like a forgotten dream, or forgotten memories.  He was pleased with the kill, an emotion made obvious by a peculiar rumbling sound in his throat.  They had not died too quickly – he had been able to hear their delicious screams and pathetic last words.  
A gnawing pain in his abdomen brought him out of his reverie.  Voldo placed a spidery hand upon his impossibly lean, hard stomach and felt his innards grinding, much like improperly oiled gears.
The body requires food,  He thought.  Briefly, he wondered when he had last taken a meal.  Several days, as best as he could recall.  Long had he forsaken the needs, and subsequently, the pleasures of flesh.  But the body required maintenance and care to perform at its peak potential, just as any other weapon did.
Manas and Ayus.  His thoughts returned now to them.  His friends were still bloody from battle.  Voldo turned from the victims and picked up his beloved tools of torture in an almost tender fashion.  His fingers touched their razor-edged blades lightly and felt the sticky unworthiness of the men’s lifeblood contaminating their pure, gleaming beauty.  That would never do.  
Sitting cross-legged, Voldo brought one of Manas’ blades to his mouth and began to carefully lick off the blood that threatened to harden and stain the katar.  He was as careful and thorough, much like a mother cat bathing her kittens, driven to ensure that not one taint of unworthiness remained on his weapon.  Only when he was satisfied with Manas’ cleanliness did he turn to Ayus and repeat the process.
His stomach grumbled again, more insistent this time.  Voldo grunted with annoyance and placed the now-clean weapons beside his mask.  He had no food – it was a pointless thing for him to carry since it only took up unnecessary room and he ate so infrequently.  His sightless and seamed eyes turned without hesitation towards the two freshly-killed corpses.  They would do well to fulfill his nutritional needs.
With his long fingers, he pried the eyes of the first cadaver open and dug them deep into the sockets, scooping out the eyeball.  It was a good source of quick energy, which was what he needed after the battle, and especially since he intended to travel quite a bit farther before stopping to allow the body rest.  After devouring the eyes, he took up Ayus and began to cut open the head to reveal the soft, labyrinthine grey tissue of the brain.  Another prime source of energy, and quite delicious while it was cooling.  He made several incisions, licking Ayus clean after each one before making another.  
Choice organs from both corpses made Voldo a satisfying meal.  He stood now, licking his fingers clean.  He would now be able to travel many leagues without having to eat again, thanks to them.  His mask once again donned and his kartars mounted in their cherished positions, the man known only as Voldo slipped out into the purple-hued dusk – a shadow who left behind death.

Fin.