Requested
Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
The curses echoed in your mind like shards of glass, each expletive nearly overshadowed by the loud, unyielding pounding of your heart, threatening to explode from your chest.
Pain pulsed against your temples with every frantic heartbeat, but how could you be held accountable? You had no idea where your feet were taking you. The forest was utterly dark, except for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the treetops, leading you down a path you could only hope would lead to safety.
It didn't matter where you ended up, only that the sound of the chainsaw faded behind you. Distance equated to survival.
At least, that was what you convinced yourself. until the reality emerged in the stillness.
You gasped for shallow, ragged breaths, collapsing against the twisted bark of a tree. The cicadas screamed their endless tune in your ear, but their noise could not drown out the icy dread settling in your chest. It was not finished. You could sense it. You were being hunted. Somewhere out there, concealed in the suffocating darkness, he was waiting. The entity. The beast. Chain – No man could withstand what he had, no man could transform into what you had glimpsed. This was something more sinister, something spawned from hell itself.
In which you thought you were in the clear – Footsteps, heavy and intentional, snapping branches with merciless precision.
Your ears strained, your vision narrowed, and through the haze of your terror, you saw him. The silhouette loomed, taller, broader, more grotesque than your memory allowed. ilth clung to his face in a mask of decay, obscuring whatever trace of humanity might once have lingered beneath. His left arm, mangled and half-severed, dangled uselessly at his side, a gruesome testament to the torment he had endured—proof that suffering was no obstacle, only a plaything. In his other hand, he gripped a machete. Rusted, filthy, and slick with dried blood, it spoke of histories better left buried, a silent catalogue of victims carved into its blade. He stood like some ravenous beast, lips curled in a hunger that was not merely for flesh, but for the act of destruction itself. He did not toy with his prey. He did not savor. His desire was simple and absolute — he wanted to plunge his tools into the living, to rip apart the meal before him, and to shatter the plate on which it bled.
furthermore, the noise you feared the most ; the savage growl of a chainsaw tearing through the night. The sound shook your bones, ridiculing your hope. If he had wanted, he could have ended you already. But no. That was never his purpose. Monsters like him did not kill out of necessity. It relished it. It lingered. It toyed with you.