Slaughter in the Bone Forest

Howling Silence is pleased. He has gathered for himself a full six prey-beings. 1

Flat-faces all, they stand assembled before him in his favorite place. He had considered taking them to the White Room, the room-for-dancing-and-playing, but he feels more primal tonight. He wishes to hunt.2

Hence he has taken them to the Bone Forest, in the spirit place, where all is Death. Here they can run as far and as fast as they please and still never escape the Forest or their pursuer. 3

Each one is corrupt, as corrupt as a human can be without becoming a monster outright. Each one pulses with the spiritual detritus of ruination and destruction-corrupted; they are pale, revolting mockeries of the True Way of Destroying. 4

With his face all but curled into a permanent snarl, the hungry ghost has decided that there will be no escape for them this time, no reward for their perversions. They will not survive long enough to enjoy the power of the bakemono.5

At first, they stand together, clustered, naked, shivering in the breeze. The winds nip at their bare flanks, tug at their genitals, whisper taunts and threats in their ears. 6

They turn their gazes left and right, seeking some escape route, some form of shelter, but this is the Bone Forest, and there is no way out. Ancient trees rise up on all sides, stretching their thin, pale limbs toward the shrouded sky. Somehow, the moon is visible; it illuminates the cloud cover with an intricate radiance. Here and there narrow beams break through, cutting down through the canopy, casting small details of the spirit-place in a wan silver glow.7

A chill settles into the bones of the assembled men as they take in their surroundings. The bark of the trees is pale, smooth here yet striated there. Some trees bear only leaves; these can be fleshy and succulent, the color of clotting blood or a midnight void, or else delicate and beautiful, seemingly carved from jade. 8

Other trees bow and smile in the brilliant darkness, showing off tresses of blooms, whose petals are patellas or other, less identifiable parts. Some trees sport pulsing veins which streak their flesh. Others groan beneath the weight of fruits strange and horrifyingly familiar, profane and profound. 9

"Fuck," the youngest of the men grimaces and grits his teeth against the urge to vomit, pointing at one tree amongst the others. Amongst its velvety black arrowhead foliage hang its obscene fruit. The group of men immediately turns their back on the death's head tree, trying to pretend they don't feel the eyes of its horrible crop on their backs. They close their ears against the whispering moans of the corpse-heads, beast and human, dangling from the trees. But they cannot build a wall against the memory of those things.10

Trapped within a manifest symbol of death-in-life, the men shudder, looking away from each other. The chill of the Bone Forest sinks into their bones. 11

Now the hunter emerges as if from nowhere, as if he has been there all along. He chooses to manifest as a horse-sized, sleek red wolf-of-Hell. Its empty candle-flame eyes alight in sensual anticipation, it lashes its stinged serpent's tail as it prowls toward the cluster of men. Initially veiled in shadow, as the beast approaches the moonlight delicately outlines each seeming feather to reveal a gleaming blade. This is a beast out of nightmare, a thing with a grinning skull-face and hawk-wings made of knives.12

Sparks flare in the empty eye-sockets as its mandible drops, gaping the all-swallowing maw.13

Immediately, two break and run in pure panic. With a cackling laugh the predator is upon them, leaping, his body following the prey's motions in midair no matter how the fool tries to dodge.14

Pseudo-wings arched high over its back, the hell-wolf snatches at the first runner, while simultaneously the stinger lashes out at the second. 15

The other four, who had been debating fighting back, watch transfixed in horror and fascination. 16

The hungry ghost manifest lands on the first man's back, his eagle's claws flexing through the shoulder blades with a strange, distinct tearing-popping sound. 17

The second man's shriek dissolves into an agonized gurgle as the huge curved sting protrudes from below his ribcage. Venom dribbles from the tip, oozing back down to the wound. The second man becomes rather woozy; he simply hangs dreamily as the tail lifts him into the air, suspended from the stinger.18

Hungry, so hungry... The demon-ghost basks in the sensation of mingled blood and venom dripping, dripping, dripping against his back. He sighs happily, flexing his claws in the first man's flesh like a child enjoying the sensation of wet sand. 19

Then he cranes his neck and fixes his jaws around the round of the man's skull, but instead of crushing, he ensures a firm grip, then rips it away.20

The remaining four would, in their brief remaining lifespans, argue over whether the first man was still alive or not. They only became certain he was dead after the knife-winged beast devoured his entire upper torso in a single gargantuan bite, crushing the fleshy morsel down into a manageable swallow after several careful mastications.21

The tail swings around, and the other men glance at each other, assuming the hunter will deal with his paralyzed snack before he goes for the others, or else attack them outright. They are prepared for either eventuality. 22

This, of course, is precisely what the spirit knows they think it will do; it confounds their plans by doing both simultaneously. 23

Even as it rips into the now-delirious runner with its jaws, tearing the stinger free, its foreclaws lash out, sinking into the flesh of two men between the ribs. With terrible strength the dead thing forces them closer, dragging them within range of the lethal bite. 24

One man turns to flee while the beast is occupied, but forgets the tail. He too is impaled and lifted into the air, his pitiful wails little but background white noise to the hunter as he smashes the last intact male against the punishing, vengeful Earth with one bladed wing.25

Howling Silence never tires of the sight of the fleshy geyser a living body erupts into when smashed between a solid object and ten thousand well-honed blades.26

Eager for more, the dead thing tosses one remaining victim into the air in order to belt the hapless man with his wing. The man's body disintegrates against the force of so many perfect, hair-thin cutting edges. 27

Gore falls as a sacred rain against the hunter. He shudders with delight. As the sanguinary shower saturates his senses of touch and smell, it feasts its tongue on the flesh of the last victim, its ears riveted to the sound of sundering flesh and prey's cries. And, of course, his eyes glory in the sight of blood, lakes of blood, rivers, oceans, universes of blood...28

For quite some time the beast's world is reduced to one of shining hot blood and savory, power-rich flesh.29

It fills its belly.