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“Sage!”

“Wait.”

The creature howls.

Its arms buckle beneath its own weight. Fingers rot from enormous hands, flesh sloughing away as bones tumble into the field. Roots rip loose from its body and thrash across the ground.

Then the veins rupture.

Dark, thick blood pours from them.

Gallons of it.

It floods the field in seconds, spreading around the altar and rushing toward us.

Rhett grabs my arm. “We need to move.”

“No.”

The blood reaches my boots.

Warm.

Thick.

And the smell…

Jesus fucking Christ.

I gag and cover my mouth.

The creature claws desperately at the dirt, trying to drag what remains of itself higher.

Trying to survive.

And suddenly, I understand.

It has never been denied.

Not once.

For centuries, people gave it exactly what it demanded.

Blood.

Fear.

Pain.

Death.

Every generation fed the hunger because the generation before them taught them that they had to.

So the hunger grew.

And grew.

And grew.