Page 4 of Sacrificed to the Mountain Demon

But the words ring hollow. I'm the last of my kind, the sole survivor of a once-proud race. There's no one left who understands me. No one here who can match my power or challenge my will.

My black skin gleams in the harsh mountain sunlight. I'm a dark god in a world of light, feared and revered in equal measure.

"Who needs company anyway?" I snarl to the empty air. "I'm better off alone. Stronger. Faster. No one to slow me down or get in my way."

But even as I say it, I can't shake the nagging doubt. The longing for... something. Someone. A worthy adversary, perhaps. Or a loyal subject. Or...

"No," I growl, shaking my head violently. My tentacles lash out, carving deep gouges in the rock face. "That's not who I am. I don't need anyone. I don't want anyone."

I stare off in the distance for a brief moment, reminding myself of my resilience.

"I am Jytos," I roar, my voice echoing across the mountains. "King of these mountains. And I answer to no one but myself."

With a full stomach, I turn and begin to head back to my cave. I pause mid-stride. My tentacles twitch with sudden alertness. Something is off. The air thrums with an unfamiliar energy, setting my teeth on edge. Waira. And not just one or two, but a whole fucking pack of them.

"What the hell?" I growl, my deep voice echoing off the rocky cliffs.

This isn't right. Waira are solitary predators, not pack animals. In all my years ruling these mountains, I've never seen them gather like this. It's unnatural, and it pisses me off.

I scan the terrain with my green eyes. The waira are out there, I can sense them. Their presence is an affront to my dominion.

"You want to play, you overgrown mutts?" I snarl. "Bring it on."

But even as I posture, uncertainty gnaws at the back of my mind. Why now? Why here? Waira aren't known for theirintelligence, but this... this feels orchestrated. Like someone's pulling their strings.

The thought of some unseen puppet master encroaching on my territory makes my blood boil. This is my domain, dammit. No one challenges me and lives to tell about it.

I crouch low on the rocky outcrop, my tentacles coiled tightly against my back. The human village sprawls below, a pathetic collection of wooden hovels and stone structures. The scent of smoke and unwashed bodies wafts up, making my nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Fucking humans," I mutter, my deep voice low. "Always huddling together like scared little prey."

But I can't deny the curiosity inside of me. These creatures, so weak and fragile, yet they persist. They build, they breed, they... leave offerings?

My green eyes narrow as I spot a familiar sight at the edge of the village. A dead human male, laid out on some kind of stone altar. It's not the first time I've seen this, and it sure as hell won't be the last.

"What's your game?" I growl, my tentacles twitching with irritation. "You think I want your cast-offs?"

I've encountered humans before, of course. Killed my fair share when they dared to encroach on my territory. But this... this is different. It's like they are trying to communicate in their primitive way.

A group of villagers gather around the altar, their voices carrying on the wind. I strain to listen, my superior hearing picking up snippets of their conversation.

"...appease the mountain god..."

"...protect us from the waira..."

"...sacrifice to the dark god..."

I can't help but smirk. Dark god, huh? I like the sound of that. But why do they think I want their dead? Do I look like a scavenger?

My tentacles lash out once more, carving deep gouges in the rock beneath me. The stone crumbles easily, a reminder of my strength. These humans, with their soft flesh and fragile bones, they're nothing compared to me.

And yet...

"Dammit," I snarl, punching the ground. The impact sends tremors through the earth, and I see a few villagers look up in alarm. "Why the hell do I care?" But I do care, and that pisses me off more than anything.

As I watch them scurry about like ants in their little village, I can't shake this nagging feeling. There's something... intriguing about them. Something that keeps drawing me back, time and time again.

"Fuck this," I growl, rising to my full height. "I've got better things to do than watch these idiots play house."

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