tofi's trail

There are many things that can be found in the silver-bathed forest at night. Many, dark, dangerous things.

Hands protruding from a tree, large and nearly dead. They are grasping at Garakos wrists, at their ankles, their hair, their kimono, their legs. Garakos black kimono wraps against the tree like a shadow intersected with bloodred veins, their hair is caught on fingers and branches much like spiderweb. A shadow carrying the stench of death hovers in front of them, a smile that slashes light across the shifting murkiness, pale emptiness like bottomless holes a pair of eyes staring at them.

Garako isn’t bothered, they simply return the death grin with one of their own, all sharp teeth and golden eyes of amusement, and it makes the shadow pause, though it isn’t for long.

The shadow steps closer, and even in the moonlight it is a swirling mess, a walking corpse with malice buried in its chest, and even that doesn’t cause any change in Garako. The shadow seems perturbed, and its energy is unleashed in full. The pressure of it might be enough to buckle a humans knees, but Garakos smile just widens, and they giggle. It doesn’t help in soothing the low-level demons bruised ego.

It steps closer and leans their face close to Garakos; Garako can feel its foul breath on their face, and it irritates their senses. But Garako purrs, annoyance disguised. Miss, the dead man hisses, grasps Garakos neck with a shrivelled hand, aiming for intimidation but failing. Do you realize your situation here?

Garako giggles, “Hihihihi,” and they tilt their cheek against the dirty arm. “Perhaps I don’t,” they say, and the other inhuman character might be failing in its goal of instilling fear in Garako, but Garako succeeds in making the shadow even further annoyed.

The dead man removes its hand from Garakos throat, and tears at the kimonos front to bare Garakos chest. Way too flat, it mutters, and Garako tips their head, so their cheek brushes against one of the hands reaching out of the tree at their back. “Mmmyes,” Garako hums. They brush a finger softly against the hand grasping their hand against the barkless trunk. “Not everybody can bee well-endowed. But that’s just fine with me.”

A huff comes from the shadow. Annoying broad, it grumbles. It presses into Garako, chest to chest, and it bites their neck. It stings, and Garako feels blood trickle along the path the fingers grasping them trace, until the tickling trail is caught by the kimono fabric.

“Terrifying,” Garako chimes, purrs, and the shadow growls. It steps back, its lipless mouth stained with Garakos blood, and it glares.

Say that when you’re crumpled up with the rest, it says. It pulls open Garakos kimono at the waist, bares their lower regions to the air together with the rest of their lower body. Their legs, already bare, their chest fully visible, their neck bleeding, but equally undressed. Only Garakos sleeves are still in place, folding around their hands together with the hands grasping at their body and clothes.

Once again, the dead pause. It stares, takes in the unexpected discrepancy, the cock falling in front of the folds. What? Garako laughs, the sound unchanged, unbothered.

It only annoys the corpse further, and it decides to ignore the mystification it feels over Garakos additional sex organ. Well-endowed. I’ll give you well-endowed, bitch. Garako bares teeth in a dangerous smile then, a warning. They are not a dog, thus not a bitch. They are a cat, a dam or a molly, if one has to use gendered terms, which Garako generally doesn’t. But they’ll compromise, for their own satisfaction. “Bitch yourself, you better call me pussy if you have to.”

Yes, far more derogatory, the corpse agrees, not realizing that no, it’s not, when you’re a cat. The being is far too distracted to realize that it agreed to one of their requests. It is far more focused on figuring out the logistics of Garakos nether regions for that.

It doesn’t take that long, and it doesn’t take that much effort. Three bone-squishy fingers pushes inside their cunt, finding the warmth there, and Garako hisses, laughs, and two more digits join in with the first three, flaring apart in annoyance. Garako feels nails dig into their skin, feels the fingers slip in and out and around. It feels good, and wetness coats the corpses fingers when it pulls them out. It looks between the glistening fluids and Garakos face, and it snarls. Perverted pussy, it hisses, and Garako giggles. “You’re saying you’re not? Just as much as you are scum?”

The creature snarls, and it slaps Garako in the face, hard, bruising, with rough nails that leave red scratches along Garakos pale white skin. Garako licks blood off their red lips, and still Garako laughs. “Were you not going to show me well-endowed?” they ask, and the creature swears. It grabs Garakos hair at the front, hair too long to be remotely close to being called bangs, and it pulls their head forward, against the hands that have grasped them in a chokehold too loose to actually do damage. You pussy, you fucking pussy, you will regret ever talking back.

“Sure I will,” Garako says, the words agreeing but their sweet purr doing the opposite. They are much against placating this demon; its victims deserve to see it get frustrated and annoyed, rather than to see it relish.

It takes a few moments, then the creature produces a cock from its crumbling body. “Hmmm,” Garako looks at it, an unimpressed, critical look on their face, in their tone. “Not nearly as impressive as you implied you would be.” It infuriates the demon.

Without thinking more about it — though if it didn’t wonder about Garakos attitude at being snatched up against the tree in the first place, it’s hardly capable enough to wonder about Garakos current attitude — the dead man grabs its cock, and pushes mercilessly inside of Garako. It looks at Garako with triumph, then growls darkly as Garako bares teeth in another mocking smile. It pounds into them, and Garako purrs. Sometimes, some rough and dirty is perfectly great. But- “You’re so small I only feel your body against my cock, not yours inside of me.” Not that it matters in reality (and they actually do feel its cock to a degree) but they are looking to make the creature even angrier. The angrier it gets, the less it will pay attention to its surroundings, and the angrier it gets, the more satisfaction the victims may get. Garako can already feel how the hands’ grip has started to loosen.

The demon pounds, fucks them hard, raw, ruthlessly, and though it had been after another victim to satiate itself with, it sees no fulfilment. At least not mentally.

It does come, heavy, pulsing, filling Garako. Garako feels their gut swell, feels their skin tighten further and further, and the creature is still coming. Garako licks their lips, sees another triumphant look falter on the creatures face, and then, the grip on Garako is so loose that they can tear free without struggle.

The creature is caught of guard, still buried as deep as it can inside of Garako, and Garako pushes forward, falls on the creature. There is a loud noise of metal meeting metal, and then it’s crumbling rapidly. It lets out an inhuman scream, loud and core-shredding, and Garako laughs and grins as it writhes with all the resentment its victims holds towards it.

A nail, thick as ever and five sun long, pierce the corpse demons skull. It sizzles as the last dried muscles evaporates, then bone cracks with the sound of dry wood struck by lightning, and a great gust of wind blows Garakos hair over their shoulders, draping it in front of their face, ripples the cloth of their clothes.

Bone dust is scattered by the wind.

Garako presses their expanded tummy with their fingers, and liquid pools underneath them. They pick up the nail before it is soaked in the black, tar-like substance. It is already burnt black, used for countless exorcisms, and the hammer that Garako holds tangled with their sleeve is dented with so many impacts.

They stand, draw their kimono back into place, and swipes their hair once more over their back.

Garako turns, and looks up at the bare, glistening tree, and sees it split open in the middle. Between the roots lay heaps of bones, stolen, ruined, destroyed by the corpse demon. Garako feels the whispers of the girls in their ears, a weeping thank you, and they smile, a soft smile directed at the freed souls. “Be reincarnated to peace,” they murmur to the quieting din of ghost voices.

They turn, and as if nothing had happened, they return home to their humans little apothecary.

Grasping Branches