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Seb Winters
Sebastien Winters

In the world of Grandmother Jios

Visit Grandmother Jios

Ongoing 416 Words

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The ashes of the campfire’s coals fill the air as the sepulchral creature sniffs the air, moaning out low cries of hunger. Flesh hangs like rags from the bones of the creature. Its face is more skull than skin, and bone is exposed entirely on its lower jaw. One blunt horn hangs loosely at the side of its head, while the other is missing entirely.

Long arms of bone end in terrifying claws, unrelated to the remnants of the magnificent buffalo the creature once was. Its rear legs remain unchanged after its perversion, the thick fur plastered with both blood and snow making the creature seem even thinner. The hooves, while useful for creating thundering herds over the tundra and plains of its natural home, are of little use in the thick boreal forest, and the creature shuffles through the dense snow, sinking deep to its belly with each struggling step.

It walks along, its frozen limbs cracking with every flex. Its ungainly forelimbs struggle, unsure of how to function – do they pull the creature along, or do they try to act like front legs? One struggles to support the great weight of the defilement, while the other grabs the trunks of the evergreens surrounding it, pulling itself along. The scent of sap has filled the air from the deep scores the creature creates on the ancient trunks of the elder forest, a loose trail of destruction laid out behind it.

“Fleeeeeesh…” it moans into the chilly air. The unforgiving wind blows back at it, knocking its loose horn against its collarbone.

Clang, clang, clang. The sound is unnaturally metallic against the remnants of its jaw, reflecting the creature itself.

A rustling sound ahead of it garners its attention, its head snapping to at a speed one would not normally attribute to a starving monstrosity.

The rustling comes again, and the creature pinpoints it with its empty eye sockets.

A third rustle.

Crack!

The defiled creature’s forelimb slams down on the guilty bush, flattening it instantly, and a sound like the popping of a thick balloon follows. Red stains the snow as the creature snarls, pulling itself to the remnants of the bush with a frenzy unpredicated by its starving corpse.

The remnants of the face bury themselves in the bush as the teeth not meant for flesh tear into the crushed body of the huntress that once slept there.

A single scream escapes from the woman before her spirit is consumed by the nagyuta.

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