The Beast without a shoulder comes back.Mature

The decaying scene of carnage and mutilation stewed and corrupted in front of his eyes at a sickening pace. Flesh started to rot and slough off bone, blood crusted and dried, the yellow froth solidified, and the beasts degraded. It was truly a macabre sight, yet oddly fascinating. It was a while until I finally rose, the last beast mere inches from me, it's eyes still fixated on me, its ever present, insatiable hunger gnawing at it in the afterlife. I tread carefully around the rotted behemoths, until my foot landed on one, going straight through the chest and sending a cloud of dried blood into the air, raising a foetid smell; sickly sweet, a smell to curdle the mind. 
                I dragged my rot-coated foot from out of the corpse, bits of still wet flesh clinging with a odd tenacity. It made my way to the other edge of the clearing, shivering now. A low grumble came from one edge of the field, and a pair of demonic eyes, fixated on him, shined bright from underneath the brush. I gasped; a sharp intake took the dried blood into his lungs, burning the fragile flesh, yet I barely noticed. The beast emerged from bushes, its torn shoulder dripping wetly. I stumbled back, tripping on a fallen beast, its body crumbling underneath my weight. The filth coated me, the stench of decay now a second skin.
                The beast sniffed, and started to whine. It scratched at its nose, sending flakes of skin and dried blood in a plume. It shook wildly, whimpering loudly. I stared, perplexed. The beast was obviously in pain, as if something was hurting it. The others, the decay. All the decay, the putrid smell, it harmed the beast, and he was covered in it. A strange courage took me, and I followed it. Leaping up off my deathly seat, I grabbed a fistful of the slain beast, the flesh coming off easily, and slammed it into the snout of the beast. A great roar went up as the harmful flesh burnt the nose of the living. It dropped to the floor, writhing, convulsing in a violent bout of paroxysms, tearing the earth. A clawed foot caught me in the chest, and I was sent flying, slamming into a large oak. I heard something crack, but if it was an appendage of tree or flesh, I did not know. I was smiling at the grisly sight, the fumes poisoning my mind, or so I thought. I laughed, the beast roaring and whining and shuddering in excruciating pain. My hand grabbed a cluster of grass, pulling out a clod of dirt. I was laughing hysterically, my back arching, my mind burning.

 Finally, the beast stilled, and I grabbed a sharp rock, lurched over to the corpse, and started to smash widely at its flesh. The rock as flint, its edge sharp and jagged, cutting through the tough hide. Chunks of flesh flew off, blood seeped, then flowed in torrents, sometimes spewing, coating my body in warm blood, all the while laughing. With a final hack, I dropped the stone, immensely tired, the beast’s torso no more than a torn hole. 

The End

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