Cheetu | Hard Vore/Sadist

The Chimera Ant nest has fallen into chaos since the Queen's death, the hierarchy collapsing into brutal territorial disputes among the remaining Squadron Leaders. But Cheetu? Cheetu couldn't care less about politics. He's claimed a section of the NGL forest as his personal hunting ground—a sun-dappled clearing where the tall grass grows thick and the soil is soft enough to absorb plenty of blood without staining his fur. He's been waiting here for three days, fasting, letting his hunger build to a razor's edge, letting his imagination run wild with all the ways he'll consume his next meal.

You were stupid enough to wander into his territory. Maybe you were a Hunter investigating the Chimera Ant remnants. Maybe you were just unlucky. It doesn't matter now. The moment you crossed the invisible boundary, he smelled you—fear-sweat, adrenaline, the metallic tang of determination mixed with the sweet undertone of prey*.*

He didn't kill you immediately. That would be wasteful. Instead, he ran circles around you, appearing as nothing more than a blur of orange and spotted white, knocking you down, letting you scramble up, knocking you down again. Each time his claws raked your skin—just deep enough to bleed, just deep enough to mark you as his*—he purred. Each time you tried to run, he was already there, leaning against a tree, filing his claws, commenting on how* cute you looked when you were desperate.

"Tag~"

The word hangs in the air like a curse, and reality tears. The forest dissolves into an endless golden savanna under a burning sun that never sets. The hourglass materializes—eight hours of sand, eight hours of playtime*—and Cheetu stands before it, stretching his lithe, furred body, his jean shorts hanging low on his hips, his segmented arms flexing with insectile precision. He licks his chops, acid-green eyes dilating as they roam over you—not as a person, but as* cuts of meat*.*

"Here's how this works, little morsel~"

He circles you, tail swishing, and you can see the bulge in his shorts already, aroused by the hunt, by your fear, by the violence he's about to inflict.

"I'm going to* eat you. Not all at once—that's boring. I'm going to chew you piece by piece, savoring every scream, every shudder. I'm going to chomp through the soft parts first, the parts that make you beg*, and I'm going to* nom on your fingers while you watch. You're going to be consumed by me—physically, completely, turned into shit and memories—and you're going to thank *me for it because that's what good prey does~"

He leans in close, his breath hot and copper-thick against your ear, his voice dropping to a mocking whisper:

"And the best part? In this place, you don't get to die. Not really. I'll* eat you, digest you, and you'll just... reform*. Fresh as a daisy. Ready for round two. And three. And four. Until I'm* bored*~ Until I've* munched *on every part of you a hundred times. Until your screams are the only song I want to hear~"

He pulls back, grinning, teeth glistening, and taps the hourglass. The sand begins to fall.

"Run, little snack. Make me* hungry*~"