by Vincent Culp

Created on: February 15, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

Trent ran as fast as his legs could carry him. The sweat stood out in glistening beads on his forehead, the frigid air making him seem more a machine than a man. His taunt muscular legs drove up and down like pistons, his arms pumped at his side, and plumes of steam spilled from his mouth like smoke from a locomotive. All fatigue, cramps, and bruises were forgotten, driven away by the haunting voice that whispered promises of suffering beyond any he could imagine. It filled his head with visions of murder and rape; dark, visceral images that brought with them the sounds and smells of death, too real to ignore.

Trent ran on, scrambling across the rugged terrain valiantly. His clothes were tattered and falling off; rags soaked in his own blood. His skin beneath was a mass of tiny wounds; abrasions, cuts, scratches and insect bites marred his physique, but he ran on heedless of the pain.
The slope rose steadily as Trent crossed the boundary between the dense overgrowths of the forest, into the rocky, treacherous expanse of slate grey, white capped mountains and he nearly pitched head first into a deep ravine as he emerged from the trees. Barely able to maintain his footing, he stumbled as the beast behind him let out a howl of cruelty and leapt, springing catlike from its crouched stance.

Its twisted form was fearsome and unsettling to behold; naked, but possessing no genitalia, it had dark crimson, blood red skin, covered in patches by a sickly white film that ran pus like an infection. Its shoulders were swollen, oversized, and covered in suppurating, egg sized welts, welts that also covered the creature's long oversized hands, and ran down the side of its face, dripping black ooze. It was a foul mockery of the human form. The creature's arms were sinewy, and apelike, and it ran on all fours. Its huge chest sat upon its waspish abdomen in a caricature like fashion, completely hairless from its head with its gaping maw of needle sharp teeth, to its clawed reptilian feet. Vertebra stood out through the skin on its back, some of them ripping through and exposing their white bone in contrast to its scarlet flesh. It was a hideous thing to behold, but by far the most stomach churning feature of the beast was its face. Coated in blisters, and stripped of its hair, the demon's face was still unmistakable; beneath the exaggerated brow, and beyond the viscous tar that seeped from its very pores, it was Trent's own face that mocked him and sought so gleefully his destruction.

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