The beast coils itself from within the woods, long and ungainly, twisted horns of distorted chitin bursting from its eyes. One side of its mandibles is too long, too many eyes flaring in the recessed depths of its sockets. Its wings are twisted, its antenna long and warped, and when it opens its jaws, its speech sounds like a garbled rendition of a dying wasp's screams.

There is no sign of the messenger but his bag of goods, torn open and left by the side of the road; I fear to retrieve even that, staring the beast down as I am. The claw marks that tear his equipment asunder are too long to be of any mundane beast, and yet, as I stare down the monster before me, I fear I know precisely what they may belong to.

It jerks forwards, an unnatural movement, tripping on all too many joints as if it is a puppet on faulty strings. I do not waste time seeing what it will do if it reaches me, taking flight at once. Its wings, it seems, are for show, as it doesn't follow me even as it flares them wide and shrieks bloody murder at my flight.

I leave the last remnants of my junior behind me, guarded by the beast. I can only hope that he forgives me, wherever dead wasps roam.


Mulch, our beast beloved. Massive fucking monsters who got cursed into shapes. Ko-fi is here, as usual. Behold our very cool OCs.