By S. Koji Callaghan

He ran the swarms with his mouth wide open. He liked the dance of buzzing wings on the inside of his cheeks, on his tongue – the bustle of life before his teeth clamped down. The feeling was electric. The more fat, wobbling bodies he caught in his mouth, the greater the charge down his limbs that sent him flying after more. Doc at homecamp said it didn’t work that way, but he didn’t care. The flyers were mana from above feeding him liquid power down his throat.

Like he could drink the Sun in thick, black gulps.