《The Woods Have Teeth》Penance: Doom
Advertisement
It is infuriating. It grates on its nerves. There is an urgent need to be filled, and it insists on staying on the opposite side of what may as well be an infinite chasm.
Khuldral seethes as it watches the most foul human as he persists in keeping a murderer’s watch upon the flowing barrier.
And in that period that stretches horrendously long, it studies the target. It feels out his very soul. It seeks to know all that has earned this man his graduation from a forgivable mere sinner to a monster worthy of eternal damnation.
Khuldral smells it in the wind. It tastes the air and the stink of it is bitter on the tongue. Khuldral breathes deeply of the cold forest air.
And it learns of the dark things that dwell in the hearts of men.
Not only this man, for he is not the only one within range. No, there are several individuals about whom Khuldral can sense.
None compare to this man.
Lurking in his heart is a willingness to give up his family to the grave. There is an urge to see himself as omnipotent, to be above all others, to press them beneath his hand in subjugation.
And underneath all of that, behind his willful desire to ignore and dismiss the needs of others for the selfish wants of himself, there lies something quiet and still. Behind all that he has done and all that he plots yet to do is a bleak coldness of heart.
He cannot see himself as worthy of adoration unless he stands above others who are unworthy. And he desires, more than anything, adoration.
This unworthy man, however, will receive none of that where Khuldral must bring him.
The great and horrible hound from beneath seeks to make of him a customer for justice, as he will pay a great price.
Khuldral lurks, and it watches, and it waits.
And after some time, it sees the impatient sinner stand, look around, and finish crossing the river.
This infuriates the enormous beast. Its tail thrashes with anger, and blade-sharp claws rend the earth. It paces the riverbank, drooling thick ropes of black saliva upon the ground.
The creature places one massive paw into the shallow rock-lined stream. The running water repulses it. It drains the strength from the pads of its toes. Khuldral jerks the paw away as though burned. The river washes away the stains of its presence from the land as it washes clean the print left behind.
Advertisement
Khuldral whines and birds scatter from the trees. It licks its paw as it sulks. The enormous creature resumes pacing the bank of the river.
There is only a narrow break in the overhead trees where the river rends their root beds in twain. And through that break is where Khuldral spots her.
The witch flies upon her mortar and pestle, sailing through the air with grim darkness as her trail through the sky. Soot spills behind her and scatters upon the treetops. It spills into the river where it floats harmlessly downstream, a faint trace of her dire passing.
Khuldral ducks swiftly underneath the cover of the trees. It curses their seasonal lack of foliage. It holds itself precisely still. Dead things have more motion in them than this fell hound as it attempts to pass without notice.
The witch, however, is not one to be fooled by stillness.
She calls out over the tops of the trees and speaks with words not heard for thousands of years. She speaks in the tongue of devils and of angels and of that which is neither and older than both. She speaks in the language of Creation and all that hear they compel it to answer if they hear it and comprehend it or not.
And they compel the creature to answer. They compel it to stand forth and be seen by that hag who rides upon the strange wings of the night.
Khuldral walks on shaky legs to the riverbank, where it cannot cross. It snarls hostility at the woman in the sky.
“There you are, you nasty little thing,” the witch cackles in a high-pitched squeal. “I knew you were hiding out here. You just couldn’t help yourself from letting out a howl, now could you?”
Khuldral growls. The sound, lower than the movement of mountains, draws ripples in the water that have nothing to do with how it moves to follow the course of gravity. Trees tremble at the noise, and loose stones clatter against the ground.
The witch is unimpressed.
Her flying mortar lands upon the bridge, as if to taunt the older monster with her ability to defy the running water below.
A terrible wound bleeds darkly from her thigh. Khuldral can smell the blood and the poison in it. It can taste a death in the air, but it is not hers.
“If you act too soon,” the witch informs the monster, “all your work will be undone. The repentant will find forgiveness. The unrepentant will encounter mercy. Your haste will make you obsolete.”
Advertisement
She pulls a broken arrow through the flesh of her thigh. Khuldral recognizes it as having the stink of his intended target upon it.
It sniffs long and hard. The wind of its breath pulls at her gray hair and the trees bend toward the creature as it peels the information from its senses. The man is close, so close, it determines with its inhaled breath. And he is afraid.
Khuldral takes a step backward, retreating from the wicked witch into the unwelcoming forest.
“Wait,” she cautions it, “wait and you will have what you require. Act in haste and you will only be destroyed. Nightteeth, hold your strike. Show prudence.”
Khuldral tilts its head and lets out single low bark. Its voice cannot form words, but it can ask questions. Why is the witch offering this advice? Why is she providing sagacity for a monster in her demesne?
“I am offended,” the witch responds. “I am deeply offended.”
The hound of Hell gives her another long, drawn out sniff.
It smells the witch, and she terrifies it. She smells of death, of sugar, of things better left unsaid. She smells like bread baked with the ground up bones of one’s enemies. She smells of breadcrumbs left on a trail. And she smells of mushrooms, growing in the rot and decay of a healthy wood.
What she does not smell like is human sin. She stinks of prophecy. She positively reeks of destiny.
And she smells like blood and poison. She smells like a dying woman.
She does not, however, appear stricken by the arrow that has found her leg. She does not limp. She does not favor it.
Any other person. Any other human at all. Most other living creatures would have been destroyed by this poison. The poison tip of the horrible arrow seeps darkly into her skin. Her injury weeps foul smelling pus that runs down her leg.
But she is not dying. Another breath and Khuldral knows she is not going to. She cannot. She has spit in the eye of death itself and given herself over to immortality. She is not a person, Khuldral realizes, but a thing unto herself. She is of the woods and not of the woods. She is human, but not human. She is simply the ogre witch, and none can thwart her will.
She is like a spider in the web that is this wood, everything that touches it touches her lines of power and control. She is a threat to all who trod upon this ground. She is a fungus, where life is dirt and she grows in it.
Khuldral growls lower, and he cowers in her presence.
The mortar spills its content upon the bridge as she lifts off again, cackling at his fear. Crushed bone, soot, and ash scatter in her wake.
When she laughs, Khuldral can see that she has sharp, yellow teeth. She tilts her head back and her wild hair flies about her face.
And then she vanishes, borne upon winds that lift her impossible mortar and pestle into the sky and take her away into the deeper darkness of the woods.
And Khuldral cowers still. Its ears pin back against its head in panic. Its long tail tucks beneath its legs. Its belly presses into the dirt with the desire to vanish, to escape, to be anywhere but right here where the horrifying witch who knows what destiny might look like can sense it.
It does not understand her warning. It understands nothing, save the need to complete its given task. Nothing can delay a swift judgment. Nothing can stay the grip of its jaws upon the throat of one who deserves to be dragged into the fiery depths below.
The fell creature cannot cross the river. It cannot pursue that which it must hunt. It cannot. It cannot.
The repentant will find forgiveness.
The unrepentant will encounter mercy.
What is mercy? What is forgiveness? It does not understand. It only knows how to perform its singular task.
The woods grow quiet as Khuldral sulks, still frustrated at its impotence.
And it is in this silence that Khuldral finally hears the approach of a person once more.
The slight woman steals through the forest on the opposite side of the river. Burrs catch in her dark hair, and thorns have pricked her exposed skin. Khuldral smells her and it remembers her. It recognizes the taint upon her.
If it cannot achieve the goal that roused it from ancient slumber, then it will take the next best option. That one deserves to be trapped in the jaws of justice for her many crimes as well.
Just because they are not as vile as those of the one that follows does not mean they are undeserving of punishment.
But.
He follows. And Khuldral can smell that he is very near now.
Advertisement
Rise Of The Worm Sovereign
Lin Wu was a university student that died after having one too many energy drinks and then reincarnated into the body of a worm. He awakens to find out that he now has a system, but even it doesn't have a clear idea of where they are.
8 4820High-Class Mob
As Leo opened his eyes, he found himself in the body that is not his. Colt Edgeworth is a man with little to no information in the story Sword of Heaven. The character Colt Edgeworth died in the hands of his fiancé after experiencing some stabby-stabby action. And that is who Leo had become. ‘I am in a world that has magic, different technology, customs, races, and Gods actually do shit, and I have a woman who loves me but also wants to turn me into swiss cheese...’ He looked at the mirror, contemplated his fate, and came to a single conclusion... ‘So be it, I’ll try living.’ Note: This is my first time writing and English is not my first language, so there are mistakes, I only managed to Re-edit [Volume-1 Chapter 1 - 20], please tell me about the mistakes. The cover is not mine, I just saw it and thought it was awesome...all rights reserve to the original creator Kolsga https://www.deviantart.com/kolsga/art/Drake-571265818
8 505Im a Kobold, So what
Crimson is a rare red Kobold who longs to leave the cave and explore the world, however, he needs to manage to not only survive the harsh world but also the humans who shun him if not attempt to take his life. (You can follow me on Twitter @Madgekko1 For future novel updates as well as vote on book ideas I write)
8 182Strings Of The Orchestrator
Intro: The system swept over the earth, wrenching everyone from their normal lives and throwing them into new worlds made of chaos and insanity. The rules that once governed the world have shifted. The laws that once bound people, both the dangerous and the kind, have vanished. Now, life is all about advancement, pushing your numbers and skills higher and higher. Alone on a distant world, Max Grand instead must now prove himself, not to the system that now governs his entire world, but to his companions and best friends. Follow Max on his journey through space, through time, through space again, meeting people, going places, and doing things. All the nouns. Note About myself: I am only a hobbyest writer. I hope the internet doesn't expect novel level content from me. I have seen what others on the internet, and even more so this website, can produce and aspire to reach their level. I have no Idea what will come of this, but it should at least be a fun experience for all involve. The writing improves gradually as the chapters go on. I invariably learn some stuff after writing a bunch, finding what works and what doesn't. I definately need to work on paceing and dialouge and flow. Those are the three main goals for now. **Chapter lengths float around the 2300 to 2500 word range as of current chapter Thank you and happy reading.
8 83The Twin Chronicles
Two strangers connected by fate to become twins, one to be good one to be evil. A story of betrayal, death and war. Over a world that it not real! But to them it is home. Choose a side good or evil! And who decided what is good and what is evil.
8 196Beyblade - Metal Saga: A chaotic blader
Jacen is just a typical blader from the U.S., who just moved to Japan for a while to battle strong bladers. Or at least that's what he wants people to think. Because the teenager has more than just one secret hidden in his past.But over years he kept them hidden from the world. Still, what will happen when he meets the crazy Gingka and his friends? Will he trust them enough to tell them his secrets? Or will exactly these secrets keep them from trusting each other?*i do not own beyblade or most of the plot. Only the parts i add and the ocs belong to me, as well as their beys.**going to get rewritten and than continued**Rewrite is still in work*
8 61