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GUEST LECTURERS

A Commission for Aeznon

Bored.

He was bored.

He sighed, rolling onto his back and staring stolidly into the cold grey sky, clouds heavy with the promise of rain. Eyes that had watched the downfall of whole civilizations and been the incarnate terror of a thousand doomed souls were half-lidded with exasperation.

It wasn't even going to be a good storm, he reflected gloomily, watching the light drizzle start to drip down on him and onto the prosperous, bustling, dull little town beneath him. No proper dynamics, no good sense of drama. He might have been able to whip it up a bit, electrocute some unlucky unfortunate down there.... but that was boring as well.

The creature drew in another slow breath, his long, feathered ears flicking with irritation beneath his beloved hat as he stretched and stood up, morose, impatient, and

hang on.

_ _

A word, muttered and spoken four stories beneath the rooftop that he reclined on - cloaked by eldritch powers from the eyes of any of those beneath him, a wolf hiding among sheep - a word that he knew well, a puny attempt by those he and his kin had visited to define a thing such as him. A name, lost in myths and old stories.

He cocked his head, supernaturally sharp ears cocked now as he listened to the little creature, talking quietly to itself - no, the sound of the voice alone told him a king's ransom of information, the creature was talking quietly to himself. Male. Young - not yet two decades, he guessed. Species? A canine of some sort...lupine? Vulpine?

He started to grin, looking down at the slim form of the young, tan-furred fox (told you), walking away, blissfully unaware of the monster staring intently at him from atop the old apartment block. The creature stretched, his moves sinuous and graceful, and spread his wings. He wasn't bored any more.

Not now that he'd found someone to play with.

***

"...which, as we can see, bears a strong resemblance to this... um... 4th century carving from a - no, this _5th_century carving from a minor Tesseractine temple in the southern Mordecian region: for example...er... the... the..." Geta felt himself hesitate, and, his ears drooping, dug into his bag for his notes once again. He glanced through them surreptitiously, without stopping walking, and suppressed a frustrated groan.

This was not good.

The date of his presentation had always seemed so blissfully far away, so easy to put off. He'd had a few thoughts, scribbled down a few notes, and left it there: there's always tomorrow to get properly started, after all.

Then suddenly, it was a week away. And now, it was tomorrow.

...Part (VII): The Candidate is expected to research, create and present to the examiners and fellow students a presentation on a subject of their choosing. It should cover the subject extensively, being a minimum of fifteen minutes in length. This is worth 25% of the final grade.

_ _

Hell.

Sleep had been replaced by the traditional scholarly substitutes: coffee and sheer desperation. Every spare minute had been spent at his computer, researching, tap-tap-tapping away, editing and reviewing. And yesterday, after doing more work in five days than he'd done in the past two months, it was finally finished - and despite all the chaos of its creation, Geta had to admit it wasn't too bad.

And then he remembered that he had to present it too. Without notes.

He shook his head, trying to concentrate on walking, muttering his lines and mentally berating himself simultaneously. It was just lucky he'd managed to persuade his teacher to let him into the hall a day early, really. Hopefully, actually performing the talk to an invisible audience would help fix it in his memory.

Hopefully. Because right now, it seemed that hope was all he had. Geta swallowed, and started to walk ever-so-slightly faster. He kept muttering.

To his disappointment, by the time he'd nearly reached the end of the lecture, and was about to get onto his favourite part, he had reached the hall. He let himself into the foyer with a lent key, cocking his large ears to listen. It was quiet, peaceful, and empty - everything was set up for tomorrow, and now he was alone.

Geta smiled nervously at his reflection in the mirror of a window, imagining the creature that stood before him on stage tomorrow. Did he look like a performer? Below average height, his fur soft and downy and the colour of desert sands, fading to a smoky brown on his paws and muzzle. His ears, perked with anxiety, flickered as he glanced at them, then shifted his gaze to his eyes: large and a deep sea green. He'd always loved that colour. Fingering the pendant that had hung around his neck since he was five, his sensitive pads tracing over the stylised knot emblazoned on it, Geta took a breath and opened the door to the hall.

It should have contained a small stage, upon which was mounted a large screen. There should have been a projector set up at the back of the room, from which his presentation would be shown, and a relatively small number of seats - the audience was quite few, after all - in between. Geta knew this; he had seen it all set up.

Possibly, they were still there. But he didn't know, because he couldn't see a thing: the entire hall was shrouded in total darkness.

He sighed, and reached across to the light switches.

Click.

It made no difference whatsoever. Geta blinked in the dark, and tried again.

...Click...Click. ClickClick. Click...

Still nothing. He groaned softly to himself. "Brilliant. A blown fuse. Just my luck." The fox sighed, turning to go, to try and see if he could find the fuse box, and muttered darkly, "Could this day get any worse?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

Geta froze, his eyes widening, and spun back round.

"Who... who's there?"

"You can call me Pangur, my dear. And don't worry, the lights will come back on soon."

"Oh." He hesitated. The name rang a faint bell... but he had more to think about. "Um, good. Sorry... who are you?" The blackness yielded no secrets... nearly. He thought he could see two faint pinpricks, emerald green, side by side in the far darkness. Must have been a function of the projector - at least that was -

CrackleFZZzt -

_ _

click.

_ _

• still working.

It booted up instantly, and the screen blazed into dazzling life. Geta flinched back, instinctively, and a soft chuckle sounded forth from the darkness. He frowned, beginning to feel the hard bitterness of anger flare inside him.

"Look, I need to get this set up, okay? Can you please get the lights on - now. And who are you anyway, Mr... Pangur? What are you doing here?"

(Yes, he was certain he had heard it before. But where?)

_ _

And then Geta realised that the screen was displaying page 1 of his presentation.

Geta Harrison: A Study of the World's Mythical Creatures.

"Hey - that's private! If you want to see, I'm supposed to be presenting it tomorrow, but... Look, what the hell are you doing with it?"

"Geta..." It was one word, but it was clear that "Pangur" sounded simply amused. The vulpine felt, for some reason, an odd twinge of fear in his stomach. How did this... creature (hell, I haven't even got a clue what species he is! The voice sounds... avian, perhaps? This is getting annoying), how could he possibly know his name?

"Who the blazes... who are you?"

"Shhh... I'm looking for something."

The screen flickered with a curiously electrical sound, and changed. And changed again. Geta stared as his presentation cycled through its pages, through the ancient stories and legends of all the pre-Authoritorian civilizations. Past the Tsangian legends of the demonic Ktheli, which drank every drop of their victim's blood while they were still alive, past the Djel'harian stories of the leviathan Jhokatzi, ocean-borne creatures large enough to be mistaken for islands, and still on, passing through all his exhaustively slaved work with less than a glance.

"Will you please get out of - "

"Quiet."

Geta stood, fuming silently, as his hidden audience flickered through hours of work in seconds, only slowing when he reached the final section.

The fox looked at the screen, and he had to admit the work was good. Especially in this bit. He'd really got into the legends of these surrealistic creatures: there were just so many - all over the world, from all kinds of ancient civilizations. That had always been bemusing. There were theories that they were just based off fossilized remains of prehistoric beasts, but...

"Ah-ha."

_ _

"Pangur" laughed low in the darkness, and Geta, stood with his arms folded as he muttered darkly to himself, realised that they had reached the last and possibly the oddest slide of the entire presentation. A photo of the archeologically famous "Topper's" carving, found on an Arwraki temple on the Western fringe. The stone had been carbon-dated and examined by the best minds in the business: there was no doubt that it was at least one and a half thousand years old.

And yet, perched neatly upon the stylized head of the gryphon that the carving depicted, there sat what was, quite unmistakeably, a small top hat.

For a few moments, there was silence. Then Geta snapped, "Have you seen enough now? I need to get ready to - "

"Not bad, I suppose." The stranger's voice had its' cocky, amused quality again, but it didn't seem addressed to anyone in particular. Pangur remained silent for another long moment, and added cheerfully, "They got the beak right, at least."

"Wh-"

And then Geta lost his words, and just stared.

Pangur raised his head into the light of the projector: he was an avian after all, his beak the cruel hook of a bird of prey, his feathers a deep, deep scarlet, melding to a sleek black around his dark beak and below his chin. But... the proportion was all wrong. He was huge.

_ _

But the proportion was all correct.

His profile blotted out and matched with that of the carved gryphon perfectly. And Geta noticed great tufted ears, ears which dwarfed even his, ears which no bird should have, rising from his skull. The head was even wearing the same jaunty little hat, balancing precariously upon his massive, streamlined skull.

There was a blinding flash, as if lightning had somehow struck inside the building - but it was green, emerald as a polished jewel - and the lights came back on. Now, the stunned fox could see the creature's vast, smoothly feathered chest, and see where the crimson feathers melded smoothly into sleek fur, as the forelegs of an impossibly huge eagle transformed into the gracefully muscular hindquarters of an equally enormous lion. He could see the wings, furled neatly for the moment, that looked like they might stretch the width of the entire hall when raised. He could see that even while quadrupedal, Pangur stood taller than him at the shoulder, and his clawed forelegs betrayed a terrible strength that was beyond his imagining. The hat should have looked comical. It didn't.

Geta realised it had small, stylised skulls inscribed around the brim.

And now he could remember the nagging thought: The name, for it was inscribed behind the horrific form of the gryphon upon the projected carving. Monta hritel abura ganelr, nacihas uhrel Pangur. Ancient Arwraki. He'd made a small annotation to it, with a quick translation.

And the beast spoke, and it called itself Pangur.

Another moment passed, a moment where silence was all the world could muster. Then Pangur opened his eyes, and they glowed the terrifying emerald that Geta had mistaken for the computer's lights, and he smiled as he looked at the fox, suddenly so small before him, and raised his claws. The talons - several inches in length, and as sharp as a knife - gleamed the same unnatural emerald, as did his slick tongue and the inside of that cruel beak as he opened it, and spoke.

"Boo."

Geta couldn't even summon a scream, and all that left his throat was a gargled whimper as he whirled round to the door, his paw fumbling frantically for the handle, and to his amazed relief - thank you god, oh god help me - it turned in his grip and he thrust forwards and it started to open to freedom, to a world he knew, to life, and -

Light.

Pure, dazzling green light, so bright it hurt. Not just his eyes but his whole body, an agonising jolt that made him jerk rigid. He howled out loud, seemingly weightless for a second, and then CRASH.

Geta smashed into the hard wooden floor, skidding another few metres, and he realised that he was twenty or thirty feet from the door. It still stood calmly ajar, an escape so close...

The creature that called itself Pangur had not moved. But... how..?

He made for the door, and this time he saw it as a bolt of pure emerald electricity leapt -straight from the gryphon's absurd hat and from it's blazing eyes of green- and grounded itself on his body, making him scream again. His limbs jerked wildly out of control, like a marionette in the hands of an overexcited toddler. He thought he could smell his own fur singeing, and the pain was unbelievable. Geta slumped forwards, gasping for breath, and the gryphon stood up - dear god, it was massive - and started to stalk towards him. Every move was poised and graceful and absolutely terrifying.

"I think we can be fair about this, yes?" Pangur grinned as he spoke, his eyes radiating jade light. "If you manage to get out of that door, you'll go free."

"What... what do you mean?"

The gryphon shrugged, his huge shoulders rippling. "I like to play fair, you see. You still have a chance."

"P-Play...?" Geta tried to stand up, feeling his tail coil around his legs, trying to hide behind him. "You... I don't..."

"Nonsense. It's very simple, Geta: I'm going to... play with you." His voice made the words purr, and Geta felt his muzzle slacken with shocked fear. "But if you can escape; if you can get out of that door, I won't pursue."

_ _

Play.

_ _

How could such an innocent word be so terrifying?

The fox stared at him, then at the unreachable exit: so close, and yet so impossibly far away, then at the huge form of his assailant. Pangur summarised their collective thoughts quite simply. "You haven't a chance, of course. I like to play by my rules."

"No... wait, please... I don't understand..." Geta heaved himself to his feet, realising that he was bruised all over, and swallowed back a whimper as he tried to speak. "Just... you don't... h-how can you exist? You're myths! I researched you for my, my..."

He gestured wildly at the screen, still obliviously showing the carving of the very, very real monster that stood before him, and repeated weakly, "You-you're myths..." Perfectly aware of the blatant untruthfulness of such a claim.

The monster chuckled, sitting down a few feet from him. "And where do you think they came from?"

"But... you can't... it's, it's impossible..."

Pangur cackled with laughter. "There are more "impossible" things in this world of yours than you could ever imagine, little Geta."He winked playfully. "Although I'd say... I'm the most dashing of them."

"I don't..." Geta hesitated, and instantly the confusion spilled out of his unguarded tongue, seizing with manic, insane glee on the most useless thing it could find: "I... just -what the hell is that hat?"

The gryphon sat back upon his great haunches, and his iridescent eyes crossed as he glanced up at the hat. "What about it, little Geta? Don't you like the hat?"

Somehow, this was more terrifying than any gruesome death threat could ever be.

The fox heard the pounding of his blood in his ears as he stammered, and again it sprang out from his tongue before his terrified brain could get in gear.

"B-But - I, I think it's... I - I...please... I don't... J-Just why a top hat?"

_ _

Pangur giggled quietly to himself, and replied, "No, no, no... You see, this isn't a copy of one of your silly little hats. This inspired the top hat. This was the original."

A pause, when terror subsided slightly to total and utter bewilderment.

"...What?"

"It's a long story, really. And... you know what? I'm tired of talking." The monster smiled, and inclined his huge sleek head towards the door: the one hope his victim could imagine. "Come on, Geta. Play with me."

Geta stared at him, his ears flattening themselves against his head with fear. Desperation took hold of his trembling muscles and propelled him forwards, towards the door, and this time he was a mere inch away from the handle when a brilliant bolt slammed into him and sent him spinning into the air with a terrified howl of agony.

For a second that seemed like an hour, he hung, nearly fifteen feet off the hard ground, flailing wildly. Then Pangur leapt.

Geta's disorientated mind could only whimper as he felt the tremendous force smash into him in mid-air, bowling him over and over as the gryphon casually landed, rolled... and used the excess momentum to throw him straight into the wall. Smack.

He felt tears in his eyes as he collapsed, and realised he was starting to cry. His body felt like it was on fire, his lungs winded and choking, and for a moment, his mind held no thought save for confusion and pain.

"Oh...God..."

The fox took a breath, and slowly and painfully, looked up, wiping his streaming eyes with a paw. He trembled with the effort.

"How, how are you... how the hell are you doing that?"

Another bolt grounded itself inches from his muzzle, making his fur crackle and stand on end, and the vulpine stifled a scream as he flinched away. Pangur smirked, starting to pad playfully towards him. Emerald light spilled forth from inside his beak as he spoke.

"I'm part thunderbird. Electricity is my forte, really. Why do you think the lights didn't work?"

"But... how..."

"If I every question you had, Geta, we'd be here all day. And I want to play with you."

Again that word, and by now Geta was certain he knew what it meant. He whimpered, staggered, and slowly stood up, leaning against the wall for support, and felt his paw fumbling for his beloved necklace, holding it like a lucky charm. "Look... please. I... I've done nothing wrong... if you're insulted, I'm sorry, I, I didn't know -"

"Insulted?" The gryphon cocked his head towards the presentation, looking quizzical. "Oh, no. I was delighted with it. Perhaps I could have come tomorrow, given the audience all a bit of a surprise: a sudden guest, here to explain in more detail the "entirely mythical" creatures. But instead... come one, little fox. Let's play."

"But-"

And then Pangur pounced on him. With his claws crackling with lightning and sharp as razors. And he screamed.

Somewhere inside the raging storm of agony, a tiny part of him reflected that he should be grateful for the jolts of pure energy arcing all over his body. Because it overwhelmed his nervous system, and that meant he was barely able to feel the pain as the gryphon's talons carved a series of bloody furrows into his flesh. He howled again, and then all the breath was knocked out of him as Pangur lazily tossed him away. The ground was hard, and he gasped for a breath that came resistantly, punishing him for every molecule that passed his lips. It hurt. And worse, the attack had been so brutally casual, like he was just a broken toy: no longer interesting, no more purpose but to be lazily thrown aside.

But as Geta cracked open one streaming eye, starting to weep uncontrollably, he saw the gryphon's horrific eyes of glowing green, aflame with glee, and he realised, with a rush of ice-cold terror: the monster wasn't finished yet.

"Oh, my god... please..." The vulpine felt another sob shake through his entire body as he looked down at the ravaged ruin of his chest. He'd never been particularly fond of his fur: felt the colour was a bit dull, really. But he couldn't imagine anything like this: not possible, just not possible.

The ragged tears criss-crossing his ribs had been instantly cauterised by the electricity, leaving only hideous scars that wound themselves around his torso, stinging him for every movement. He'd liked to imagine his chest was fairly well toned... but now no-one could tell. Geta felt a fat tear roll down his face, his sea-green eyes overflowing with them, as he tried to stand up -

-and Pangur cackled with sadistic glee, and leapt at him again. The world whirled in a blur of light and scarlet and jet black feathers and bright, bright green eyes.

And then those claws began to toy with him again.

After a minute or so, he lost consciousness, and some part of him begged that it was death.

***

"So easy to break..." Pangur tutted to himself, gazing down at the slumped form of the young vulpine, trapped and torn beneath his claws. He sighed, and sat down, berating himself from getting over-eager again. It was just too much fun to stop... but he wanted little Geta to wake up soon. It was just too hard to keep himself from breaking him too early.

The gryphon cocked his great feathered head, a talon - it's green somewhat dulled, no longer crackling with power - tracing delicately across the ripped wounds: he had let his toy bleed a bit now, and the warm scarlet contrasted wonderfully against the vulpine's tan fur. He looked carefully at it, studying the anatomy of the torments, and nodded, clicking his beak softly with satisfaction. It had been excruciating, of course, but Geta still had full use of all his muscles. He could still move, and struggle, and squirm...

Shadows danced over the beast's cruel face as his radiantly emerald tongue darted out, running across his beak. It left a thin line of viscously wet saliva.

Helifted the small body of his toy into to his arms, and the unconscious fox whimpered weakly and snuggled into the warmth of his torturer's feathered chest. Pangur giggled softly, and just held him there for a while. He could feel little Geta's heartbeat, still pulsing with terror, fluttering against the bars of his ribcage. He could feel the blood running through his veins - except, of course, where it dripped from the gruesome tears in his flesh, soaking into the gryphon's feathers: crimson on crimson. It felt delightful.

But he wanted to play some more now. So he had to wake Geta up.

FZzzt-CRACK!

_ _

"AARRGGHHH!"

The shock was so powerful that a small fire caught alight in the fox's ear. He jolted with such force that his tan-furred form seemed to blur, every muscle convulsing with the terrible current running through his body. Geta woke up screaming.

***

And he froze, realising where he was, and suddenly screaming wasn't enough any more.

The vulpine let loose a high, choked whimper as he scrabbled in Pangur's claws, trying desperately to push away, his sea-green eyes wide and glistening with tears. But the beast's strength was unbelievable, and his struggles weren't so much shrugged off as simply ignored. The gryphon let his plaything writhe helplessly in his grip for a moment, then playfully threw him again: straight up in the air. Geta wailed out loud, a flailing paw brushing lightly on the ceiling: forty feet up in the air, above a hard, hard floor, his mind simply overwhelmed by terrified shock: oh christ oh christ oh christ, and then he shrieked again as he started to fall, still waving his limbs around desperately, trying to grasp at anything, anything - but thin air has little substance to offer handholds. The ground rushed up to meet him -

• but Pangur got there first.

With a sonic crack-BOOM of green energy, the great beast exploded upwards in a leap that carried him up to the falling Geta, and the monster winked lazily at him again, his claws enfolding the fox as he spread his wings - dear god, they were massive, even bigger than Geta had imagined - and flipped over, gliding smoothly to the ground.

He dropped Geta a few feet off the floor, landing right over him on all four feet - feline paws and avian claws smashing into the wooden floor in perfect synchrony, splintering it with a dry crack. The bone-jarring thud shook his victim's entire world, and as Geta swallowed back a sob of terror and pain, he could feel every inch of his body aching at his movement.

The fox drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and tried to hold it, not trusting himself to speak without starting to cry. He slumped back, staring up into the terrible emerald eyes of his tormentor.

"Please... just... why are you doing this? What... what the f... the fuck have I done to d-deserve this?"

Pangur giggled lazily, and a claw gently wrapped itself around the shaking form of his little plaything. "Done? Come on, little Geta... let's not bring morality into this. I haven't finished playing yet."

Geta tried to ignore the hot rush of sickening fear that rose up in his throat at the word now, filling his mouth with the metallic tang of blood. He felt the tears start to flow freely at last, but forced out words, pleas that held his whole life in their hands.

"But... please, you, you don't have to do this... I mean...what did I do? Why..." He closed his eyes as he spoke, feeling suddenly ashamed at his selfishness. "...just why me?"

The gryphon picked him up with no less effort than if he'd been a doll, handling Geta carefully now - a fragile item, easily broken - and held him close, pressing him into the the silkiness of his scarlet feathers. The vulpine squeaked a weak protest, shying away from the warmth.

"Why you?" Pangur shrugged, jolting his living plaything. "Simple, really... I was bored. You are interesting. And..." He grinned, green light spilling out from inside his beak: another impossibility in a world which suddenly defied all logic, making the fox whimper with fear. "...well, I could tell that you'd go down fighting."

Geta froze, and felt his scars flare up with pain.

Go down.

Oh no.

He felt the vast and terrible thought circling his head, too mind-numbingly horrific to take in: THIS IMPOSSIBLE CREATURE, THIS MONSTER... HE'S GOING TO KILL YOU, LITTLE GETA. KILL YOU...

_ _

Kill you...

_ _

"NO!"

It couldn't, it couldn't, it COULDN'T be happening. Geta uttered the filthiest word he knew, writhing desperately in the claws of his captor as he twisted: left, right, feint right and go left, struggle with every ounce of your strength, slamming his fist hard into the fluff of the gryphon's feathers. He howled with desperately futile rage, and -

This time, there was no crack of thunder. Pangur's claws were directly in contact with the vulpine's body, so the shock didn't need to pass through the air. Geta's scream of anger simply choked of into a gargled cry. He felt every single muscle in his body simply seize up with abject agony, and for a moment his vision blacked out totally beneath the onslaught. His world, his entire world, was nothing but pain and terror.

The electrical blast itself lasted only half a second, but it was almost a full minute before Geta stopped shaking enough to start crying again.

He managed to crack open one eye, and realised that he was on the floor again, curled up in a ball. The fox gasped for a shuddering, half sobbed breath, and the air smelt unmistakably of singed fur. Geta looked up - and straight into Pangur's glowing green eyes.

With a yell of terror, he rolled frantically away. This time, there were no thoughts of hope or plans for freedom in his head as he scrambled for the door: still so, so tantalisingly ajar. He couldn't think of anything other than fleeing. Even the scream of helpless fear that leapt from his throat - by now chafed and ragged from his cries - came of it's own accord, for the vulpine was aware of nothing, nothing but his terror and his desperate, insane desire for freedom.

And to his amazement, he was getting close. Despite everything that the monster had done to him, Geta's legs were still strong, and his injuries somehow failed to incapitate him at all. He sprinted forwards, and as he started to reach out for the handle, he felt a wild, crazy seed of hope take root in his heart, and from his taut lips came a weak cry of triumph.

It was what Pangur had been waiting for.

WHAM.

***

He'd almost made it.

The sudden burst of desperate energy from his plaything had, truth be told, genuinely impressed Pangur. And more: he'd realised after an amused second or two that the little fox was in real danger of getting close to escaping. Almost too close.

Almost.

Blurring with impossible, incredible speed, the gryphon leapt and smashed into his captive, ripping his toy's hand away - inches from the handle, from freedom. The sheer force of the colossal impact knocked all the breath out of Geta's bruised lungs, leaving him unable to do so much as gasp for a choked breath as they rolled over and over in a wild, whirling embrace... however, Pangur was being careful. There were no broken bones, no muscles torn beyond use...

But that didn't mean he couldn't play a little more. It still hurt.

_ _

They came to a tangled, panting halt, and Pangur waited, but this time his toy didn't attempt to escape again. Geta simply lay, curled in the gryphon's clawed embrace, and wept to himself, his shoulders shuddering with utter despair.

A few minutes passed patiently, in a monstrous peace broken only by the fox's sobs, but waiting wasn't Pangur's strong point. The monster sighed, his talons wrapping gently around Geta's shaking form, and lifted him effortlessly up to eye level, letting his captive clutch feebly at his great, cruelly curved beak for support. The fox opened his sea-green eyes slowly, and they were brimming over with salty water, as if wildly attempting to imitate their namesake. He flinched away from the gryphon's orbs of glowing emerald - scant inches away from his terrified face - stifling a scream, and words tumbled half-finished from his shaking mouth.

"Please... I don't... I don't want to... please... don't do this..."

Pangur let him trail off into silence, taking a surreptitious breath and tasting the fox's scent for the first time. He felt a soft growl rumble out from inside his massive chest, and his maw began to water. He waggled an eyebrow at the tearful vulpine, his voice sibilant and sing-song.

"Don't do this? Me? Come now, Geta, what could little old me possible do to you?"

"... I ...I don't...j-just SHUT UP!" Geta slumped, trembling: his outburst had consumed all his feeble reserves of energy. "I don't want... you can't... you can't do this... please."

The gryphon smirked, winking playfully at him. "Oh yes I can. And more than that. You see, Geta... at the risk of sounding clichéd... I'm afraid I'm going to eat you all up."

Geta stared at him, the blood draining away beneath his tattered fur.

For a long moment, he was still as the carved Pangur, somehow still projected onto the wall behind. Then he collapsed utterly - every single muscle in his body slumping, a puppet with its strings cut - and started to sob in earnest.

***

"No..." The word was weak, quavering, and the effort made his lips tremble. He hung onto the gryphon's beak for dear life, and wept with sheer hopelessness. This just couldn't. Couldn't be happening. Couldn't.

"Please... oh, no, no..."

Pangur giggled at him, the sound almost endearing and childish - a noise totally at odds with the titanic monstrosity of nature that embraced him - and cooed softly, "Aw... don't worry, little one. It's going to be fun."

"You monster.. I-I hate you... I don't... oh god, please..."

"Sssh. You see, I won't tear you to pieces... well, can you imagine it happening with this beak?" He giggled. "No. I have a few more tricks to show you, my dear."

"I don't understand... But... but you..." And then Geta knew. He knew what it was. The answer danced at him in those eyes of impossible, roiling jade, laughing. It was insane - no, more, it was ridiculous, even laughable.

But now he couldn't imagine laughing ever, ever again.

He raised his head slowly, eyes streaming, and found himself oddly transfixed by the gryphon's surreal hat, dark and dapper and ringed with the dead, as Pangur confirmed his waking nightmare.

"Heh. Have you guessed? I'm going to swallow you whole, Geta. And you don't need to be so mortally afraid: thunderbird heritage, remember? It's all about the storms. I can create fresh air right inside my stomach - out of thin air, so to speak." He chuckled gently, and Geta looked straight at him, his eyes widening with the heart-stopping epiphany of slow-dawning terror. "So you won't suffocate. You'll be fully awake and alive... as the digestion kicks in."

And then time stopped for Geta.

The world spiralled away into infinity. The stars above collapsed in on themselves. Everything there was came to ashes. And a new universe began. Stars and planets were birthed from the omnipresent miasma of space. The miracle of life evolved from dust. The Catalyst slammed civilization and sentience into being. The world today was built up... And a new hall was created, ready to showcase Geta's final presentation.

...And he did not move, clutching to his torturer's huge beak as he stared into those impossible orbs of verdant flame and felt his thoughts ice over with pure, total horror.

"D... Digestion?"

The word was whispered, uttered with a sort of reverence.

"Oh, my god. No. P-Please, no..." He closed his eyes against the tears, clasping weakly at his tormentor's hungrily hooked beak: so impossibly huge, he could imagine the horrific thing of chitinous cruelty enveloping him entirely with a monstrous ease... But why imagine? He was going to experience the very real, very final thing itself in just a few short, sweet moments.

"Look... please... just... oh god... no, no, no - " and then Geta stifled a scream of horror as he suddenly felt the slick caress of the gryphon's long, emerald tongue on his bare, bloody fur. Lapping hungrily at it. Tasting it for the first time.

The monster purred with pleasure.

"Now then," Pangur remarked, and Geta could sense the thick, dripping saliva beginning to collect inside his maw. "One last note, Geta, before we... begin... You see, you can still play with me as you slide down. I want you to squirm." He spoke as calmly as if proclaiming his desire for Geta to accompany him on a trip to the cinema. "I want you to go down fighting: every ecstatic inch of the way."

"I... I won't." Geta's voice shook, but now he felt his incandescent terror and despair cool slightly, solidifying into a dull, exhausted rage that made bile rise in his throat. "I won't let you -"

"Oh, come on." The gryphon pouted at him, giggling. "That's very mean. I think it's time you were taught some manners, hmm?"

"Please..." he managed to whisper, and then Pangur tossed him away and hit him with a bolt of jade lightning while he was still flailing in the air. The world blurred with pain and emerald light, and then he was sliding wildly across the floor, leaving a bloody smear, his lungs choking with agony.

Geta's muscles shook as he tried to lever himself to his knees, but the pain of his bruised muscles was too much, and the fox slumped again, sobbing to himself. He raised his head, slowly, and suddenly Pangur was inches away, grinning cruelly at him in the haze of hopelessness. The gryphon crouched low, his dark beak opening to reveal the glistening emerald flesh inside. He smirked.

"Painful, is it? There's worse, I promise you."

"No... I'm begging you... please, no..."

_ _

Pangur's maw gleamed hungrily at him, his green tongue darting out to take an excruciatingly slow lick of the whimpering vulpine's face, cleaning off his tears and drenching him in thick, viscous saliva. He smirked.

"I would say that it would be over soon... but it's not. It's just about to begin. Have fun." The gryphon jerked forwards in a casual feint and snickered softly as Geta flinched away, his eyes wide, tearful, begging. "I know I am."

He winked one last time, and his beak gaped wide and clamped shut around his prey's whole head.

Geta screamed. Hard. As hard as he could. But the sound seemed to be absorbed by the soft, dripping walls that enveloped him up to his neck, making the sound seem curiously flat and dull. He felt the thick slickness of Pangur's tongue wrap around his muzzle, coiling and writhing like some vile serpent as it tasted him - and then, as muscles all around him clenched with incredible pressure and yanked him forwards, the monstrous appendage pushed at him, firmly and deftly, guiding his body into the starving abyss of the gryphon's throat.

Geta swore out loud, trying to swallow back his sobs, yanking his head from left to right - and then he felt his body pulled up as Pangur raised his head slightly, a feral snarl of pleasure echoing through his cavernous throat. The fox's paws curled into fists that hammered wildly at Pangur's beak, at his feathered neck and engorged throat, at his scarlet chest - but his blows were blind and weak with pain. The gryphon chuckled, and another gulp pulled in his shoulders. Geta spat his rage, yanking at the silky, saliva-drenched feathers that had been fluffed out by the bulge that was his own head, his mind creating useless fantasies of the creature gagging and spitting him out - or at least, of his writhing actually hurting this murderer; this insane monster that was going to torture him to death and laugh at his screams.

With a hideously wet gluck sound, the fox's chest was pulled inside his tormentor's hungry maw, pinning his arms to his side. Geta realised that he was starting to hyperventilate, his breath coming in shallow gasps that made his head spin - and he realised that he could see, somehow. The throat of the gryphon pulsed faintly with some unnatural bioluminescence, lighting his way forwards in an artificial, almost neon green. He could weakly perceive the rippling, peristaltic motion of the walls as they squeezed him hard, painfully, and pulled him inside.

For a moment, he just stared straight ahead, transfixed by the emerald tunnel of wet flesh that led to only darkness. Then Pangur swallowed again, and the horrible calm broke. Terror, blind to logic and conscious thought, flooded through every vein in the fox's body, ice-cold and hot as flame at the same time.

Geta howled with terror, writhing, twisting in every direction until he felt like he'd sprained every muscle in his midriff, and he kept struggling, stretching the muscular walls of his predator's gullet to an obscenely ridiculous size. He felt a rumbling shake through his body, and for one desperately hopeful instant thought that it was pain, that Pangur was going to start choking on him, that he could still do something, anything, to control his doomed fate.

But no. It was pleasure. The gryphon purred again, another swallow bringing him inside up to his hips.

(I want you to squirm for me, cackled the memory of the voice inside his adrenaline-gorged brain, laughing smugly as he writhed, and knew the ecstasy that it caused, and yet kept writhing, because he couldn't, couldn't, COULDN'T die like this. What about his presentation, babbled his mind, who's going to present that? What about everything I promised myself I'd do? What about my life, so much yet to live?)

Geta felt his tail start to entwine around his legs with terror, and he snarled again, but the defiance was feeble, exhausted. The fox sucked in a frantic breath, and started to squirm again , locking his paws around the edges of Pangur's cruel beak, yanking, trying to save himself from -

Slurp.

_ _

-sliding further in.

"NO!"

_ _

Now the slick flesh and brutally caressing tongue had reached to his thighs, and suddenly Geta could see that the crushing walls of Pangur's throat had opened out, a valve squeezing around his body as he started to slide into...

...into... the... gryphon's.... stomach.

"Oh God, oh God, no... by the catalyst... no..."

I can create fresh air right inside my stomach.

_ _

His sensitive nostrils flared, sensing a myriad of strange scents: an exotic, oddly pleasant musk that made him whimper with terror, a curious smell akin to ozone - like the smell of an impending storm, he realised - and more, because Geta could taste a sharp, bitter acridness to the air. Acridness.

Acid, he realised with a yell of pure horror.

_ _

You'll be fully awake and alive... as the digestion kicks in.

_ _

"Oh christ... please..."

Pangur growled softly in response, and Geta knew his answer: No.

"F-FUCK YOU!" he screamed, starting to sob even as he started to struggle again, his muscles groaning with exhaustion. The fox howled like a lunatic, squirming with every ounce of his strength, feeling his calves start to glide in. "I HATE YOU... I HATE YOU SO MUCH!"

The world seemed to spin dizzily around him with a great THUMP sound that shook him to the core, and Geta took a snarling, shivering breath, unsure if he was upside down or not. He imagined the gryphon rolling over not his back as he swallowed again, so that Geta's hind paws were dragged into his slick maw, letting the horrendous tongue tickle them with gleeful pleasure....

But he couldn't tell. He couldn't see outside. And he never, ever would ever again.

Of every delirious thought and crazed emotion that Geta had felt, every dream and loss and hope he ever experienced in his short life, that realisation was the most painful.

He slumped, sobbing quietly as Pangur swallowed once... twice... three times - each gulp about a minute apart as the predator savoured every inch of his prey - and he was squeezed into the chamber of the gryphon's glistening, verdant-hued stomach. Geta wept quietly as he felt the strong, muscular walls force him into a ball: possibly, he was upside down, so that he was facing the sky he would never experience again. He looked up- down? behind? gravity had abandoned him, everything of reality retreating away so that he could in this absurd, impossible fashion - pushing and stretching the chamber of his murderer's belly, and realised he was able to perceive the rippling emerald walls all around, and even his own fur: dyed a vile dark green by the luminescence of the gryphon's flesh.

"Please..." he couldn't do more than simply whimper the words, but Geta knew that Pangur was listening. "You d-d-don't... you don't have to... there's... there's st-still time... y-you can still let me go..." The words echoed feebly inside his skull: let me go, please let me go...

_ _

"Wrong!"

Pangur's voice slammed into his ears, echoing and deafeningly loud from inside, and the fox yelped with alarm, hugging his tail close as he cried inside the belly of his murderer, who didn't wait for a response, seeming to sin g with sadistic glee as he crooned, "It's far too late, Geta. Far, far too late. It's starting already, you see. Can't you feel it?"

"Feel... feel what? I don't-" Geta froze, even his tongue seizing up with horror as he clutched his paw to his tail - slick with saliva and juices, of course: he was drenched all over - but it felt strange. It was starting to tingle.

Alive as digestion kicks in...

_ _

"OH NO!" He screamed, kicking out wildly as the sensation began to intensify starting to become uncomfortable, an itch that went to the bone and could not be scratched. "Oh no... oh Christ, please... not this, no, no, no... look, I-I'll give you... I'll give you anything. Anything! Just don't... please...oh no..."

"Anything?"Pangur giggled and shifted his colossal weight, making the vulpine wail as he slipped over , rubbing every inch of his fur against the pulsing walls of green. "Anything at all?"

"Yes!" Geta stared wide-eyed into the jade darkness, his ears drooped and shaking. "Anything you want! I... I promise! Please... just don't."

"Well then..." the gryphon sounded amused, and Geta's heart fell from his mouth to the level of his kneecaps. "...how about this: I want you to squirm for me."

"No... I don't...please..."

"Come on, little Geta. Play just a bit more, yes?"

"Just... j-j-just shut up..." he whispered, curling up and hugging his knees, gazing hopelessly at the slick emerald of Pangur's stomach walls. "I h-hate you... I hate you so - ow!"

He snatched at his hand, half expecting to see a wasp's barbed stinger projecting from it: for that was exactly what the sudden prick of pain had felt like. But instead, there was a tiny trickle of blood, that stained the soft flesh of his pads black in the green light of Pangur's belly. And another. And another.

Geta felt his breath start to accelerate and grow shallow, clutching the paw to his chest, but suddenly he realised that he could feel the prickling all over. On every inch of his fur. His eyes grew very, very wide.

"Well?" sang Pangur from the unreachable outside. "Let's finish this properly!"

_ _

"No..." The horrified fox yelped again, grabbing at his hand - but a small chunk of the fur simply fell off in his hand. He stared at the patch of bare flesh in the faint light, wondering why it didn't hurt -

• and then it started to hurt.

Geta started to whimper as tiny flecks of dark blood started to well up on his pale skin, the sensation akin to a thousand tiny needles just penetrating the surface. He shook it frantically, trying to wipe it on his chestfur... but now his chest was starting to moult as well. The fox blinked back tears, his breath coming in short gasps - and yes, Pangur hadn't been lying: the air was fresh and wholesome, but now tainted with the metallic tan of blood. He was going to stay alive, right up until the moment he died.

"No... nonono... please..."

The pain kept getting stronger, and Geta tried not to move: he knew that that would make it hurt more - but before a minute of steadily intensifying prickling (no, by now it was a stinging, sharp and painful and all over every inch of his body, bringing tears to his eyes) had passed, he was starting to shake, his muscles twitching and convulsing as the pain grew deeper, his fur starting to fall out in chunks. And still the acids grew stronger.

Gasping with terror and agony now, Geta suddenly felt an odd rippling, a squashing sensation which passed over his raw back, kneading the juices into it. It was the gryphon's claws, he realised: Pangur was stroking and caressing his distended belly, massaging the vulpine through sleek fur and thick flesh. Geta snarled bitterly at it, shoving his hand back - straight into the acid covered wall.

A great patch of skin simply fell off it, leaving bloody ruin behind.

He screamed at last, thrashing about as his nerves from everywhere - arms, legs, tail, chest, back - set up a cacophony of agony. But it wouldn't stop. The pain would not stop. Geta started to squirm, as the gryphon had guessed he would. He started to writhe about like someone in the grip of a violent seizure, his eyes squeezed shut, not daring to look at the mockeries of his flesh as the acids began their lengthy task of sloughing the very flesh from his bones. Geta howled again and again, red hot flames licking over his skin. It was excruciating beyond his imagination. It was painful beyond belief. He sobbed as he wriggled, grabbing at his bloody flesh, clawing at the smooth, slick walls, trying to push at the sphincter that led to Pangur's throat, thrashing and roaring with pain as the acids started to eat through his muscles. Blood was everywhere, the emerald walls painted black by it. Geta howled out loud, and it had words.

"L... LET... ME... DIE!"

Pangur only laughed.

***

"S... see?" the monster snickered to his prey, his voice shaking with pleasure. "I said that you'd squirm for me..." He growled with pleasure, feeling the struggles as Geta screamed again - muffled, of course but loud and heartfelt enough to make him purr with joy - and felt one of his hind legs start to jerk back and forth with the sensations: stretching, filling, squirming.

He stretched out on his back, ignoring the slight clonk as his hat fell off, and yowled in an almost catlike manner with pure ecstasy as the little fox began to plead with him again, sobbing as he thrashed around. Already, his muscles were starting to flake off, his greedy acids breaking down his toy cell by cell. The gryphon could tell.

"Please... oh m-my god, p-p-please..." Pangur could hear him perfectly, but for a second or two he couldn't answer overwhelmed by the cruel pleasure. Slowly, he regained his composure, and said quietly, "Do you still believe you have a chance? Do you really imagine that I have any mercy of any kind at all?"

"I don't - " Geta's voice choked off into a yell of absolute torture, and Pangur watched with approval as his bulging, churning gut shook, the vulpine inside thrashing around for dear life, howling with pain. The dark fur - black against his scarlet feathers - was thin and sleek, and he could see perfectly the outline of Geta's fists as he slammed them wildly into the slick walls of his murderer's stomach. It felt exquisite. He lay back and purred, claws stroking his belly, crushing the vulpine's body into the pool of blood and acids and digested, once-living matter in his engorged belly. Geta screamed again, and the gryphon closed his emerald eyes and lay there, watching as the vulpine pressed his muzzle against the walls of his stomach, howling a great shriek of total anguish and agony that seemed to last for almost a full minute.

And then it stopped.

Pangur cocked his head, looking at his distended belly. It was still.

He listened, and he knew that Geta's brain was effectively dead, overwhelmed by the excruciating pain. His heart was sputtering weakly, and it would follow soon.

He shivered with pleasure, and just lay there, flat on his back as he felt the last beats of the fox's heart. Geta still twitched slightly, starting to dissolve inside him. Feeding him.

Pangur smiled to himself, delighting in the sudden silence that had descended. A mark of sad respect for the recently deceased. He rolled over smoothly - grunting with effort as his swollen gut shook and gurgled beneath him - and looked up at the projected image of himself, still projected onto the wall of cold stone above. The gryphon giggled, and murmured softly - perhaps to himself, perhaps to that one creature who would never hear him now.

"Remember, my dear student: many myths hide a true story behind them. And if you can hide in a myth... then you can prey on a mind which learns of it."

He started to pad away, licking his beak contentedly, and added,

"You're never too old or too young to play with me."