This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. This work contains mature themes, including violence and sexually explicit content, and may not be suitable for all audiences. It is only intended for readers 18 years and older. Reader discretion advised.

TW: gore

Alexei’s body moved on its own accord and he fell to his knees beside the stupid, insufferable man that lay bleeding out on the floor. He tried to call for help, but he’d screamed himself hoarse over the span of the last few hours, and all that came out was a feeble rattle. The muscle memory of a 10th grade first aid class rushed back to him and he squeezed one hand around the man’s neck, applying pressure to the wound. It wouldn’t be enough, but he didn’t know what else to do. “Guide me,” the man had said, but how? Certainly not through such crude means as intercourse. With the crimson pool around them steadily growing, there was absolutely zero chance he’d even be capable of doing that. All that Alexei could think to do was beg.

”Don’t die you stupid asshole,” he choked out between sobs, “Why the hell are you doing this to me? Why would you do this to yourself? Get up! JUST GET UP!” Blood clouded every inch of his vision, and despite his best efforts to calm the panic that swelled inside him, he found himself thrust back into a memory from ten years ago. The room around him faded, replaced by the familiar, unwanted sight of Masonville’s town square, devastated and covered in rubble. From every direction the hellish shrieks of fell beasts carried through the air, and with them, the sounds of those dead and dying. Alexei scrambled across a pile of disturbed earth, his pant legs catching on the loose shards of concrete as he tried to run. 

“Just a little further,” he told himself, summoning the strength to close the remaining distance and duck underneath the cover of a produce stand. As expected, the grocer’s front door was locked, but any amount of cover from the predators circling in the sky above was better than nothing at all. He looked around. At his feet were dozens of scattered citrus fruits, all bruised and leaking their juice onto the hot July pavement. Other than that, he was without resources. At least he wouldn’t starve if he had to stay put for the night. Maybe he could fashion some sort of club with one of the legs of the stand. He almost laughed at the thought. What was one flimsy piece of wood going to do in the face of what could only be described as true eldritch horror? 

Alexei’s blood ran cold as he heard the shrill sound of claws sliding along concrete, and he looked up to see one of the great, fell beasts land calmly on the top of the gazebo in the center of the square. It was massive, and vaguely horse-like, with four powerful legs and two sets of wings like that of a scarab. Unlike a horse, its neck did not hinge at the wither, but rather it slithered back and forth like the flicking of an impertinent cat’s tail. It did not seem to notice him, and it stretched out its grotesque neck to yawn, flashing its cavernous maw and rows of razor-sharp teeth.  Alexei continued to watch in rapt horror, as if frozen in place by some invisible nail that went straight through the heart of him. The beast yawned and stretched again, this time tucking a claw back behind one of its teeth to pull out a bit of viscera. No, not viscera. That small, pink bit, cast aside by the flick of a sharpened claw, was likely someone he knew. Had been someone he knew. 

The ringing in his years returned, and he pinched his eyes shut, praying to God that he would somehow remain unseen. He received no answer. What he did hear, though, was a soft cry, like that of a kitten, and he allowed himself just enough movement to follow the sound. The small sound came again, and he looked toward the beast to see if it had noticed, as well. It appeared as if it had not. The sound was coming from an overturned wheelbarrow, one end upheld by one of the boxes it had been used to transport, and from beneath it, a flash of golden hair appeared, followed by a frightened, pale face. 

At the sight of the child, Alexei’s eyes widened in terror. He recognized this child. No older than ten, maybe eleven, the youngster was one of his parishioner's grandsons who'd come to stay with her for the summer. Wracking his brain, he tried to remember the boy's name, but he could only remember that the grandmother's name was Josephine and that she often brought ambrosia salad to church potlucks. Regardless of whether he could remember the boy's name, there was no way he could traverse the square to help, no way to even use his words to soothe his fears, so instead he simply made a gesture with his hands telling the boy to stay put. The boy seemed to understand, but shook his head in disapproval, fat tears carving two paths through the dirt that stained his small face. Alexei’s eyes flashed first to the beast, still draped leisurely across the gazebo and then back toward the wheelbarrow. To his horror, he saw that the boy had crawled out from his hiding place and was now running toward the produce stand. Alexei shook his head, pleading with the child to turn back before he was seen. The beast, then the boy, then back again. Alexei’s eyes strained to keep them both within his sights. It wasn’t until he looked back to the beast and found it missing that a rotten, swollen lump became caught in his throat. Slowly, he turned his eyes back to the boy. 

Alexei prayed that it would be swift, but it was not, and the sounds that escaped the boy as the beast fed upon him slowly, burned themselves into his very marrow. “Father, father, father, father, father, father, father,” on and on and on again, until his small body could no longer make a sound. Only then was he cast aside, like a toy devoid of all novelty.