Page 9 of Sacrificed to the Mountain Demon

I shake my head violently, trying to dislodge the thought. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm a monster. The last of my kind. I don't need anyone. I don't want anyone.

My gaze falls on the not-nest I've created. The soft mosses, the glittering trinkets. My lip curls in disgust.

"This isn't me," I snarl, lashing out with my tentacles. They sweep across the cave floor, scattering the carefully arranged items.

But even as I destroy it, a part of me aches. It's a feeling I've pushed down for so long, buried beneath layers of anger and violence. Loneliness. The crushing weight of being the last of my kind.

I slump against the cave wall, my chest heaving. My claws dig into my palms, drawing blood. The pain is a welcome distraction from the thoughts swirling in my head.

"I am Jytos," I growl, my voice low and dangerous. "I am the nightmare that haunts their dreams. I am the monster they fear in the dark."

But the words ring hollow in the empty cave. And for the first time in centuries, I wonder if there might be more to life than just surviving.

As night falls, I crouch at the edge of the forest. My eyes soon fixate on the village below. These humans seem to have no intention of sleeping. The air crackles with tension.

"What the fuck are you up to now?" I growl, my voice low and menacing.

The villagers scurry about like ants, carrying torches and strange bundles. They're preparing something, that much is clear.

I watch as they clear a large area in the center of the village. The ground is swept clean, and a circle of white stones is laid out. It's precise, deliberate. This is no ordinary gathering.

"A ritual?" I mutter, my interest piqued. "Well, isn't that fucking cute."

My gaze sweeps over the bustling humans, searching for one in particular. There. The girl from earlier. She stands apart from the others, her face pale in the flickering torchlight. Even from this distance, I can see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands tremble at her sides.

Something stirs in me, a feeling I can't quite name. It's not hunger, not exactly. But it's just as primal, just as demanding.

"Fuck this," I snarl, shaking my head to clear it.

I'm about to turn away when I see her. The old woman from before, the one who seemed to be in charge. She approaches the girl, her wrinkled face set in grim determination. I strain my ears, catching snippets of their conversation.

"...for the good of the village..."

"...the monster will protect us..."

The girl's shoulders slump, defeat written in every line of her body. And suddenly, I understand. They're preparing her for something. For me.

A low growl builds in my throat, rising to a roar that echoes through the forest. The villagers freeze, their faces turning towards the sound. Towards me.

I bare my teeth in a savage grin. Let them tremble. Let them fear. I am Jytos, the last of the Umbrath, and I bow to no one.

But as I watch the girl being led away, something shifts inside me. For the first time in centuries, I feel... uncertain.

"Fuck," I mutter, my claws digging into the earth. "What the hell am I getting myself into?"

The night deepens, and with it, my restlessness grows. I can't shake the feeling that something is about to change. My muscles coil with tension, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Fuck, I hate this uncertainty.

I prowl the perimeter of my territory, my senses on high alert. The forest is unnaturally quiet tonight as if holding its breath in anticipation. Even the nocturnal creatures seem to have gone into hiding. Smart little bastards.

My thoughts keep circling back to that human girl. There is something different about her. Something that calls to the darkest parts of me.

I pause at the edge of a clearing. My eyes scan the shadows. The moonlight filters through the canopy, casting eerie patterns on the forest floor. It reminds me of the ritual circle those villagers were preparing.

A growl rumbles in me. What are they planning? And why does it involve me?

Part of me wants to storm into their village, to tear through their flimsy defenses and demand answers. To show them exactly why they should fear the monster in the mountains. But another part, a part I barely recognize, urges caution.

"Fuck this waiting game," I snarl.

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