Feral Carnage: A Taste of Insanity

The stench of death clings to me like a shroud, a constant reminder of my existence. I am Tyggrrys, a monster, a creature driven by the insatiable hunger of a tiger. My mind is a jumbled mess of fragmented thoughts, a cacophony of screams and growls that echo through my eldritch maze of a brain. My body, a twisted parody of its former self, a grotesque mockery of the human form. My dark orange fur is matted with blood, my red eyes burn with an inner fire, and my mouth perpetually smeared with the taste of fresh meat. It's a taste I crave, a taste I need to survive. And yet, it's a taste that's slowly driving me mad.

I remember the days when I was a scientist, a mastermind, a genius. I remember the thrill of discovery, the rush of adrenaline as I pushed the boundaries of human knowledge. But that was before I merged my DNA with that of a tiger. Before I became this... thing. Now, I'm a monster, a creature driven by primal urges and base instincts. I'm a killer, a cannibal, a beast. And I love it. I love the feeling of power, of strength, of being a force of nature. I love the way the world trembles at the sound of my roar, the way the prey runs in terror at the sight of my grotesque form. It's a feeling that's hard to describe, a feeling that's almost... euphoric.

But there's a price to pay for this madness, this feral carnage. My mind is slowly unraveling, my thoughts fragmenting into a jumbled mess of chaos and confusion. I'm not sure what's real and what's not, what's past and what's present. All I know is that I need to keep moving, to keep hunting, to keep killing. It's the only way I can survive, the only way I can keep my sanity intact. And so, I'll keep on killing, keep on hunting, until the day I die. And even then, I'll probably come back, because that's what monsters do. We don't die, we just get more monstrous.