Ex-load Leech Instant

Kael sat up. The jungle snapped back into color. Sound returned in a rushing roar. He was drenched in sweat and muck, but he was full . Not happy. Not saved. But present. And present was enough.

The Leech didn't pop. It imploded , collapsing into a black pinprick of nothing, sucked into the void-fragment that lived in his sternum. For a single, glorious second, Kael felt full—not with light or hope, but with a cold, satisfying absence . The kind that didn't need to feed because it had nowhere left to fall. ex-load leech

The world dimmed first—the neon purples and toxic greens of the jungle bled into grayscale. Then the sounds: the constant insect drone faded to a distant hum, then silence. Kael gasped, trying to claw at his own neck, but his arms felt like they were moving through honey. The Leech was siphoning his intensity , the raw electrical fire of his consciousness. Kael sat up

He squeezed.

Tonight, Kael was the target.

Kael stumbled, his rifle clattering into the muck. The Leech was on him. He didn't see it—he felt it. A thing of translucent cartilage and needle-fine filaments, it fused to his cervical spine, its body flattening against his skin like a second layer of frost. It weighed nothing. And then the feeding began. He was drenched in sweat and muck, but he was full