“The Volikoff farm.”

“I know.”

“And the Karkaroff farm. And Egor’s mill…”

“I know, Silly!”

 

A farmer kneels beside his field, lined with rows of potatoes. Something has been affecting the valley – the crops should be standing tall, yet their stems have yellowed. Their roots grow twisted and tangled, clawing out of the ground. Leaves, blighted by disease, painfully weep from lilac sores as a sticky fluid leaks out, dripping onto the sick soil. The field reeks of death and decay, but the farmer digs desperately through the diseased dirt. He knows what he’ll find, but still he digs – desperation guiding his hand through the mud and muck. He has to try. More and more nearby villages fall to famine and disease.

 

Gently wrapping his hand around a spud, the farmer pulls it out of the ground. Sitting back in defeat, he holds his blackened harvest as the smell of pewter and iron begins to fade, slowly replaced by crisp sweetness – a hallow cold overtaking the summer heat and the bitter scent of gooseberry weaving its way through the air.

 

“How…? How could this be happening…? Gods, help us!” Pleas cry out through the barren sky as his companion attempts to console him.

 

 

A strange woman came through town a while ago speaking of ill omens to come. She spoke of a cold death creeping through land, twisting everything it touches. She offered salvation. A hope to survive. Yet, she was ignored by most. Those few who sought more listened to her tales amongst the soft embers of candlelight – tucked away in the dark corners of the Coiled Crossing, surrounded by oblivious and uncaring villagers from across the region telling tall-tales of their exploits.

 

No one could really answer how long she had been in town – the quiet speeches she gave. Those who chose to listen to her warnings remembered her voice most clearly. The way it cooed quietly. The way it lingered with a soft hiss. The care in every word. They remember her looking at the children playing in the grassy fields, not with disgust, but in the same way you look at something you can do nothing to help. As if she already knew their end.

 

They remember snakes peeking out from under her hood, still mostly coiled within. The way the light gleamed off their scales as she told her stories. The way they gazed back at the listeners with the same quiet attention she gave everything else in the room. The way they held no malice – simply watching.

 

 

His friend’s hand gently lands on the farmer’s shoulder, and a voice desperately tries to console him. The silence swallows the words, and a cold breeze nips at their cheeks. Tiny snowflakes drift lightly down, melting against the heat of his skin, and his eyes turn to the sky as a tide of thick clouds rolls over the tree line before stopping just shy of the town’s borders – encircling the town within a gentle cyclone. A blizzard rages, sending a soft powder across the fields. It seems his prayers were heard.

 

The deafening roar of the cyclone sends a hush through the air as the silence slowly fades, and the farmer feels a pull at his shoulders, forcing him to his feet.

“We need to get inside!”

The clouds claw upwards, crashing into themselves as they reach higher, and a lilac hue blankets the sky. A deep purple pulses from deep within the tides of torrent, revealing a soft silhouette – a tall voluptuous woman slowly rising, legs fused into serpentine tail. Beside her, a small vulpine-eared figure raises a horn as she raises her hands above her head. Her ritual begins; she lowers her arms to reveal another four unfurling from her sides – slowly, intentionally, the way a storm makes its way across the horizon. Within her palms, crystalline lights pierce through the darkness of the storm – crowned by a seventh above the silhouette’s head.

 

The crystals tear through the air in jagged lines, branching and fracturing the sky like living lightning. With a silent flash, one finds its host, piercing through the heart of the farmer’s dear companion and striking the sickened earth as they flee for shelter. Knocked to his knees, the farmer watches as Silly’s body hunches over, and electric energies crackle outward from the crystal’s path before dissipating. Beneath his skin something crawls through his veins in a violet bloom, branching from Silly’s chest to fill every blood vessel it can find.

 

Bones crack and break, twisting unnaturally to gaze back at the farmer through sunken eyes as cracked lips peel back to reveal a rotting grin – teeth dripping with a thick lilac ooze. Driven by a growing thirst – one with no end, the ghoul glides to the farmer’s side with unnatural grace before cupping his face in delicate, clawed hands. Reveling in the taste, a long tongue sloppily drags across its prey, savoring every moment before drawing in for a dark kiss.

 

Amidst the clouds, the fox’s tails fan as her horn sounds a thunderous call across the sky, releasing an onslaught of warriors from within.

 

The hunt is on.

\[All images made with ComfyUI and posted with OC owner's consent. (last one is PixAI)\]  
>!Be sure to edge for each of my the girls, dear\~ We have plans for you\~!<

The Serpent's Hunt