The lust was gone, replaced by a sharp view of the fire and the satisfaction of a goddess that had not known the sweet taste of this plane in millennia.

The crackle of the fire sent the charming voice’s mind back to that festival. It was there that it finally knew its purpose, the glorious purpose that had brought us across the cosmos.

“They’ve been gone an awfully long time!” a whiny female voice proclaimed. She was platinum blond. A pair of cut off shorts showed off her long legs.

A harsh male voice answered her, “The fire isn’t spreading. That means that they got it put out. They’ll probably be back in a few minutes.”

“What I want to know is, what was that thing that came screaming down from out of the sky like that?”

“Meteorite. Maybe a small satellite,” this statement came from a man wearing glasses and a flannel shirt.

A crude voice, belonging to a round man with long hair responded, “Satellite? We better not have the fucking C.I.A. come ruin our camping trip looking for a crashed spy sat!”

A few of them laughed. The one with the harsh voice frowned.

The fat one got up, “I’ve got something for those damn spooks!” he turned away from the fire and let out a mighty fart. The flames leapt. He laughed manically as the others scrambled away, spilling food and drinks. A petit girl with dark hair squealed and fell, fouling her white tank top with the mustard and ketchup that she had slathered her hotdog with.

The man with the harsh voice bolted upright, showing that he had the others by a full head or more. He too was blond. Our senses washed over him. The taught muscles could only have been the product of stadiums.

“You. Fucking. Dipshit!” the blond man with the harsh voice exclaimed.

“Sorry,” the fat one said sheepishly, his laughter silenced. 

The blonde male was the leader. We would take his seed. It would be useful later.

The dark-haired girl got up, “Damn it! Look at what you made me do!” she cried, her hands held out in front of her soiled shirt in exasperation.

The fat one smirked, “Dirty tits, that’s the worst.”

Balking, arms stretched toward the ground, stamping the earth once in a show of indignation, she turned and started heading to one of the tents. The twisted and calm voices saw the opportunity. We moved to take advantage of it.

“You stupid fucker!” the blond man yelled as he grabbed a half full beer bottle.

“Hey!” the blond girl protested, as the drink had been hers.

The tall male ignored her. The fat one ducked as the bottle tumbled toward him. Beer sprayed as it twirled, a twisting circle of mankind’s favorite poison. It grazed the target, bouncing off. The bottle went on to strike a tree trunk, where it burst into a shower of brown glass.

“Hey! What the fuck, dude!” the fat man bellowed. He and the tall one preceded to have a shouting match. The man in flannel tried to talk them down.

The dark-haired woman mumbled to herself as she removed her shirt, saying that the garment had better not become stained. She had been wearing nothing under it. The dark nipples were pert in the cool air.

Tossing the shirt on the ground, she undid one of the backpacks and began to dig around in it. Her focus on the jumble of clothes, she failed to notice us as we moved in. Stepping between the tents, we closed in.

Narrowed eyes that were soaked in fury and annoyance drained, widened when she realized that something was standing over her. Her head tilted up. A single moment of total horror, her final moment. The others heard nothing. All three of the voices knew how to keep things quiet.

Back at the fire, the blond man turned around and started walking away.

The voice of the blond woman, its obnoxiousness a perfect contrast against her beauty, “Where are you going?”

“To take a leak!” he said in a huff, continuing to stomp away from the fire. Another opportunity. We moved with haste.

Around the fire the campers worked to clean up the mess which the prank had caused. The fat one apologized, the girl accepted it, gave him a brief hug. The one with the glasses and the flannel shirt took up a trash bag.

We circled around. The victim stopped, posted up on a bush. The blond girl started heading toward the tents, asking the dead girl if she needed help.

He whipped out a massive member. Whistling haughtily, he sent a stream into the bush. We moved in behind him, letting the little tune play across the squirming abyss of our minds.

The blond woman reached the tents. The limp body made her start. The blood that painted the sides of the tents and the backpacks made her shriek. The two that still stood by the fire gasped, looked in her direction. The blond man did the same; that is when he saw us.

With reverence, we tore his genitals off. As he screamed, the member disappeared down our gapping mouth, passing by the razor teeth, between lines of spittle. A punctured heart finished him off.

The remaining girl ran back to the fire. The boy in the flannel was fighting with a bulky flashlight. We knocked him into the flames as we stepped into the firelight. More frantic screams from the campers as we focused on the fat one.

A slash and his guts were pouring out. Pain and terror poured out of him just as hard as he fumbled with the slimy, bloody ropes. The agony slammed out, a song that the humans could not hear, a song to which we would slaughter them to.

The man in the flannel scrambled out of the fire, his hair singed, his skin reddening. His glasses had come off. Clumsy, hasty movements got him back onto his feet.  He practically ran into us. A single chomp, he was decapitated. His brain still functioned for a few long moments, long enough for him to witness what happened next. We spat the head out, aiming for the female as she turned to run.

The severed head struck face first, burying its agape mouth into her ass. She fell, tried to get up, saw the head laying in the dirt, saw us, began to scream again. We walked toward her. She tripped over one of the lines that held the tents in place. By the time she recovered we had reached her.

When we returned to the fire the fat one was sitting down, staring into space. His entrails were splayed out on the ground in front of him.

We put a claw into each eye, punching through the back of the skull. A blast of bone fragments. His soul left that plane, letting go quickly, giving into its fading.

All that remained was the smell of blood and guts, the crackling of the fire. Inside us, the harvested phallus started to change. An owl swooped over a nearby field; its huge eyes scanned the tall grass for prey.

The charming voice spoke to its comrades, [We are so close. We only need to spread a little more fear, only need to kill a few thousand more to bring her back!]