By the time it was done, the man had long since gone into shock. The monster cared not at all. The soul could not hide from it behind the veil of unconsciousness. As much pleasure as the monster took from the physical torment it inflicted on its prey, that was nothing compared to the ecstasy of destroying a soul.
Much like a cat might knead a dying mouse, the monster began slowly shredding its victim's body while it turned its real attention elsewhere. It paid little attention to the work of its hand; just enough to make sure it did not kill the man too quickly.
Mist, again, began to surround the monster, blurring its vision. Not the gray mist of its master's cage, but the savage and exciting colors of its spiritual hunting ground. Dark colors; purplish-reds so thick they shaded quickly into black, as the monster plunged deeper into the hunt. It followed the fleeing soul through that mist, tracking it as surely as a hound tracks a hare. Then, cornering its prey in a place which could not be described outside of a nightmare, it proceeded to feed and feed; until there was nothing left but scraps of pinkish violet, fading away into the billows.
Under other circumstances, the monster would have saved a small portion of the prey's soul, to gnaw on afterward as a dog gnaws a bone. But carrying even a scrap of soul back to its cage ran the risk of alerting some cleric who might by chance be encountered during its return. If that cleric possessed magic ability . . .
The master wanted no complications. Not yet, at least. So, reluctant but obedient, the monster devoured the soul entire.
Its vision began returning. Under its hands, it could feel the lifelessness of the corpse even before its eye could once again see its surroundings.
The surroundings returned, eventually. The same dark room; darker, now that the bedding was no longer remotely white. The monster had no idea how much time had elapsed, exactly. Not much. Surprisingly little, in fact. What the monster thought of as 'feeding time' always seemed much longer than it really was to the world at large.
It straightened and stepped back slowly from the carnage on the bed, all of its senses alert once again.
Nothing. Not a sight, not a sound. Just the quiet and darkness of a great house in sleep.
The monster was not surprised. For all the havoc it wreaked while feeding, the process was actually almost silent. Had it still been capable of the pride that had once been a cherished vice, it would have felt pride at its skill.
But that ancient god was gone. Only animal satisfaction remained.
Before leaving the room, the monster took the time to lick itself carefully and thoroughly. Not because of any fastidiousness, but simply because the master's instructions had been clear. Leave no trace of your passage.
The thick purple tongue removed the blood and gore quickly and expertly. Then, like an animal moving away to sleep after feeding, the monster returned to all fours and slouched its way out of the bedroom; down the hallway and out onto the balcony; taking care to close the doors behind. Leave no trace.
On the balcony, it paused long enough to lick away any large puddles of canal water left by its entry. What remained would evaporate with the sunrise. A lurch and a slither and it was creeping back down the wall, scanning carefully to make sure there was no one to see.
It slid into the water with hardly a sound. The tail began to move again, and the monster glided through the canals.
The master would be pleased. Remembering Chernobog's discipline, the monster felt relief sliding alongside satiation.
Although, somewhere inside the mind that had once been divine, a small rage burned and burned. There had been a time . . . when the monster had disciplined others; and smiled coldly, seeing relief on the faces of those he spared.
It might have wailed then, with despair. But the master's instructions had been clear. Leave no trace. Make no sound.
* * *
During the return, the shaman barely managed to obey his master's instructions--and then, only by the sketchiest interpretation. Several times he lost sight of the monster swimming ahead of him through the canals.
But . . . he had no trouble following the creature. The monster might have cleaned itself well enough to fool human investigators, with their dim and dull senses. But the shaman--even in his human form, much less this one--was not fooled for an instant. The monster left a trail of havoc and horror that reeked worse than anything the shaman had ever encountered.
Except . . . in the presence of his master.
