The monster didn't move. It merely shifted, like a mass of horrors deciding which way to ooze first. The stench was indescribable — like a soup made from sin, rotting onions, and gym socks.
Judge's stomach churned as if his guts were trying to file for independent citizenship. He tightened his grip on Golden Eagle, his fingers sweaty, trembling, every instinct screaming at him to run.
"Okay... big, ugly, smells like a cursed cheese shop — this is gonna be fun," he muttered, adjusting his stance.
The abomination took a step forward. Judge half-expected a shudder in the earth or a guttural growl. But none came. It moved in perfect silence — not graceful, not violent — just wrong. Trees snapped, bushes crumbled, all without a sound, and the air grew colder in its wake. Its nine eyes locked on him, blinking in a maddening, arrhythmic pattern. Unblinking. Hungry.
Judge fired first.
