The thrill of a hunt is exhilarating.

Sweet succinct silence. The sound of blood streaming into the dirt and dead leaves that clutter the forest floor, a ragged last exhale of life and the joy that pools into his chest. It’s a myriad of emotions that bloom in Altare’s chest as he examines the freshly deceased in front of him. Naught a word leaves him, not a peep. His breath is ragged and heavy, his pupils are blown large as they study the deceased’s concave head and battered limbs, the fresh bruising on already pale skin. Altare kneels at his fresh kill, his hands make work of tearing off their blood-soaked shirt and exposing the soft belly that is his main course for the day. This was the fixation of his fascinations, the thing that keeps his mind occupied at night, and it was here. He finally had it within his grasp and not a single being could interrupt his indulgence, no one would even bother to come this far out in the forest.

His hands run flat over the soft stomachーtrembling from his excitement as he feels up the young supple flesh. Altare’s face burns hot as those fumbling hands reach for the hunting knife that’s strapped to his thigh, before uncertainty makes him start to undressーfirst his shirts and jacket, then his shoes and socks. He folds his clothes neatly and sets them away from the body before returning to it, heartbeat playing loudly in his chest as he tugs the knife handle from it’s leather sheath.

Just like gutting a catfish, he tells himself.

Altare makes a Y-incision from the collar bones and down to the hips, his blade is sharp yet it takes further cutting to properly peel back the stomach’s curtains; fat and membrane making it less than easy. He makes a cut near a muscle and it bleeds instantaneously and before he can think, his body lurches forward to taste it. The acrid smell of blood and meat, the taste of iron that he plays with on his tongue, it's electrifying. Altare slurps at it, his tongue swipes at the small blood vessel he’s punctured and for what it is, he feels divineーintoxicated. His brain feels fuzzy and his eyes nearly roll back before he has to pull away for a breath of fresh air. Gasps of air and it takes everything in him not to return to the pooling blood, to not get sidetracked in an already ideal moment. After all, he’s been dreaming of this.

Altare swipes his knife downwards, cutting the abdominal wall and the subtle shine of wet and hot intestines that peek through the wound makes his hands shake even worse. He makes the cut longer before targeting the tendons that keep it taut. As he slices through the last bit of tendon, the slabs of skin just fall apart like a fucked up version of a blooming flower. A horrid display of deep red spooling intestine, plated like fine dining. With how intense he stares at the large intestine, he doesn’t realize how he’s tossed his knife over his shoulder and his hands are tugging his pants and boxers down.

It’s here.
It’s finally here and it’s his.

Altare vocalizes for the first time after two hours and it’s a moan that leaves his lips as he tugs at his hardening cock. “Ooh fuck..” The smell is intense and the dried blood upon his hands is mind-numbingly erotic, he sticks his free hand into the mess and feeling the heat in his fresh kill makes him impulsive. Altare straddles his victim’s lap before leaning over it, swollen member angling at the thickest of the intestine pile and he thrusts. A loud groan leaves the adventurer, thighs shaking as the sensation of warm and wet organs slide over his cock, surrounding it. He savours the feeling before pulling his hips back and thrusting it in again. Altare repeats this process with animalistic vigour, his hips snapping into the intestines with a sickening squelch as he chases after his indulgence, grunts leaving him.

His face is flushed and his cock is covered in blood and literal guts, precum mixing into the congealed blood and slimy exterior. Altare doesn’t bother to mask his grunts and groans as he fucks the pile of meat, fist in the deep of it and playing with the ropes as his cock is reaching it’s limit. “Mh, fuckfuckfuck,” he gasps between his breaths, hips fastening as the end is nigh, his bliss so close. “Fuck!” Altare screams as the final thrust does him in, cock going through the other side of the intestinal mess and his cockhead poking out and shooting thick white ropes onto the deceased’s ribcage.

Altare keels over the body, chest heaving and cock softening, breath fanning the dead’s cheek. “Fuck..” He groans, eyes half-lidded.

“You did so fucking well, Magni.” He whispers, kissing the alchemist’s cheek.

“So good for me.”