It's a wriggling, squirming, thrashing and disgusting thing.
But so, when it comes down to it, are the worms and maggots that you have been subsisting on. And though nothing here is particularly real, it's real enough that the hunger crawling in your gut for so long outside has a reflection even here.
You've been eating a lot of nasty things to get by. If this is going to give you problems, well, then you'll eat it too.
... It doesn't seem to understand what's happening, not at first. Then the screams begin anew, with genuine horror flavoring the outrage.
This isn't the normal 'unnatural order of things'.
You're supposed to be the meat.
This defies everything.
That and more. The wriggler screams so many things as you eat it, one methodical mouthful ripped free from the main mass at a time. It howls in horror, rage, disgust, and defiance.
To the end, it never breaks down and begs you to stop.
You'll give it that. It's not accepting of this end, but it doesn't seem like it's afraid of dying. Though, it's not particularly a smart move either. If it surrendered, pleaded for you to stop, you'd feel bad about this. Maybe you'd let it live on.
Well, maybe not, too.
Once the last scrap of its mental presence in your new arm is ripped apart and subsumed, crushed with your own power and will, you slip back out of the already fading hellish mental landscape and back to the normal hellish landscape.
.... You feel really... different. More energized. You're still hungry, but it's settled from a constant gnaw at your gut to be ignored as you scavenge enough, just, to keep yourself alive to a duller 'I wonder what's for dinner' ache.
More concerningly, there's physical changes to account for.
The nails of both your hands are... thicker. Heavier. The black sheen to the new one is gone, color faded to match the rest of your body. There's a taste of blood in your mouth, and as you bring your tongue up to incautiously check, it gets cut on the pointed tips of very sharp teeth.
Some shinobi file theirs, to have a more menacing appearance and keep a last ditch desperation weapon ready. You didn't intend to do that. These seem... like it's just how your teeth are now.
Your scalp itches.
Before you have a good grip on how things are now, a big and meaty hand settles down around one of the teeth in the jaw of this massive lizard thing's skull. A foot presses down on another.
And then, rather than breaking an opening loose in the row of teeth that's large enough for the Oni to pass through after you, Dummy heaves a little bit and the top of the skull slowly grinds upwards.
The Oni pauses when he gets a good look at you, and then a thread of confusion, followed by another of slight interest, joins his grin of predatory and carnivorous intent.
"That's something you don't see every century." he says, seeming to recognize that something is different. "But I'm still gonna eatcha."
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