Chapter 20: Into the Hillbilly Hell

Fear Island — Dream Forest — 1666

They followed the shoreline, soon spotting the landmark: a colossal mushroom, the size of a house, with a red cap speckled with white spots pulsing like eyes or veins. Smaller insects crawled at its base, but the group passed quickly, turning left onto a narrow trail deeper into the forest.

The path led to a shadowy clearing where the mist thinned just enough to reveal a crude cabin, built of twisted logs and covered in living moss that writhed like maggots feasting on a corpse. Smoke rose from an improvised chimney, and the air carried the smell of burning wood mixed with something rotten. The doors and windows were irregular, as if the cabin had grown there rather than been built.

“Right here,” Tetanus whispered, stopping behind a tree. He felt the mark on his chest burn intensely, an unmistakable sign that the Black Cube was near. “The woodsman must be inside.”

Gume gripped his axe, muscles tense. “Want to go in swinging? Or you got a better plan?”

Meia-Noite studied the cabin in silence, fingers drumming on his shotgun. “Let’s take a look first. Could be a trap.”

Al-Yasiin chuckled softly. “Trap or not, the cube’s calling. I can feel its energy from here. But watch yourselves. It’s not like I can do much beyond rooting for you to screw it all up.”

Tetanus nodded and crept closer, peering through a cracked window. Inside, a colossal shadow moved in the darkness: definitely the woodsman, a deformed and brutal figure, a massive axe embedded in a table. On the same table, the Black Cube pulsed faintly, casting a dim light on the creature’s grotesque face.

“He’s there,” Tetanus murmured, pulling back. “And so’s the cube…”

The group advanced cautiously across the clearing, approaching the cabin like shadows in the thinning mist. Tetanus led, his harpoon raised in his right hand—his only hand now—followed by Gume with his axe ready for battle, and Meia-Noite in the rear, his stolen shotgun aimed at the irregular windows.

Before they could reach the door, it creaked with a prolonged groan, opening slowly to reveal giant, calloused feet descending the steps.

The woodsman emerged, a colossal figure, perhaps two and a half meters tall, so deformed he seemed molded by the forest’s own madness, with purple, wrinkled skin like rotting tree bark.

He wore only a long, faded purple coat, tattered at the edges, dragging on the ground like a shroud. In one thick hand, he held a rusty axe, its blade stained with dark sap, as if it had cut more than wood.

His face was a living nightmare: severely deformed, with a mouth—a ragged, drooling slit full of crooked teeth—where his eyes should have been—two red, bloodshot orbs, lidless—inverted on the lower face, blinking out of sync. He was naked under the open coat, exposing a broad body, a swollen belly, and a grotesque, long penis swinging freely between his legs, like a living, pulsing root ending in a bulbous, swollen tip.

The woodsman’s long, black hair fell in greasy strands to his shoulders, tangled with dead leaves and insects, and a thick, unkempt beard covered what remained of his chin, nearly reaching his chest.

The woodsman stopped at the threshold, staring at the group with those inverted eyes, the drooling mouth at the top of his head twisting into a guttural sound that seemed like a muffled laugh. He said nothing, merely tilting his head slightly, as if sizing them up as firewood to chop. Then he began to advance slowly, each step echoing like the creak of old logs, his rusty axe dragging on the ground. His bulbous, pulsing penis swayed with the movement, a repulsive detail that made Gume swallow hard.

“What the fuck is this thing?” Gume whispered, his dark face flushing, his giant axe trembling slightly in his hands.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tetanus replied, his voice firm, positioning the harpoon for a throw with his trembling hand. Since losing his left arm to Honorato, he’d become noticeably more reclusive—short words, distant stares, a wall of silence raised against his companions’ unasked questions. The phantom pain throbbed in the stump, but he used it as fuel, each breath a vow of vengeance against the world that mutilated him. “He’s between us and the cube. We take him down.”

Meia-Noite aimed his shotgun, finger on the trigger. “Careful. Slow doesn’t mean weak.”

The woodsman paused a meter from the group, his red eyes gleaming with contained fury, the drooling mouth on his head twisting into a snarl.

“GET OUT! THIS FOREST ALREADY HAS TOO MANY WORMS!” His voice was a hoarse thunder, laced with unexpected intelligence for such a grotesque creature. He stood motionless for a moment, his rusty axe dangling at his side, as if waiting for the group to retreat.

Tetanus, harpoon steady, stared at the monster without backing down. “We’re not going anywhere without the cube,” he said, his voice cold but muscles taut for the fight.

Gume tightened his axe’s handle, ready to strike, while Meia-Noite raised his shotgun, eyes narrowed beneath the black cloth. “Last chance, freak. Get out of the way.”

The woodsman tilted his head, his long beard dripping saliva. Then, with surprising speed for his size, he raised the axe. “THEN YOU’LL LEAVE HERE IN A BODY BAG!”

Meia-Noite fired, the shotgun’s roar cutting through the air. The woodsman, with impossible agility, twisted aside, the shot hitting a tree behind him, exploding into splinters and luminescent spores.

Without hesitation, he charged, swinging the axe in a brutal arc that sliced through the mist like a gale.

The battle erupted into chaos. Tetanus advanced, trying to bury the harpoon in the woodsman’s purple chest, but the creature was too agile. The monster’s axe came down with force, and Tetanus barely had time to partially dodge. The rusty blade nearly struck his right arm—the last he had left, but by luck, Tetanus managed to evade.

Unable to stand firm, staggering back as the harpoon fell from his hand.

“TETANUS!” Gume roared in desperation, charging with his own axe. The woodsman spun, blocking the blow with his axe’s handle, the impact forcing both to stumble back.

Tetanus tried to rise, but balance betrayed him. His feet slipped in the blood-soaked mud, and he stumbled backward, falling directly into a hidden trap—barbed wire, likely set by the woodsman for careless prey. The spikes dug into his back and legs like living claws, tearing flesh in deep furrows, pinning him to the ground like a fly in a web. He thrashed, each movement worsening the wounds, fresh blood mixing with the old, the world spinning in a vortex of agony and humiliation.

Meia-Noite, with unnerving calm, seized the distraction. He aimed at the woodsman’s right arm holding the axe and pulled the trigger.

The shot exploded the creature’s arm in a shower of purple flesh and bone shards, the axe flying and vanishing into the mist. The woodsman merely grunted, a sound echoing between the trees, his inverted eyes bulging with fury and pain.

The air in the clearing thickened with the stench of blood, rotting sap, and burnt gunpowder. The woodsman, now a mutilated abomination, remained standing, even with his left arm blown to pieces and his axe lost in the mist.

His bulbous, pulsing penis, swinging obscenely between his legs, began to tremble violently, as if possessed. With a wet, repulsive sound, it detached from the creature’s body, falling to the ground.

Before the group could react, the thing began crawling through the dirt, moving like a living creature, its pulsing veins propelling it toward Meia-Noite. Small, slimy tentacles sprouted from its tip, stretching like hungry fingers toward the cangaceiro’s throat.

“What the fuck is that?!” Meia-Noite shouted, recoiling as he raised the shotgun. The thing lunged, fast enough to wrap around his face. The tentacles brushed the black cloth covering his mouth, but Meia-Noite was quicker. He pulled the trigger with a deafening *BANG*, the shotgun exploding the monstrous appendage in a spray of purple flesh and viscous fluid that splattered the ground and nearby trees. The stench was unbearable, like rotting meat mixed with sulfur.

“SWALLOW!” Meia-Noite bellowed, wiping the cloth on his face with a trembling hand as the remains of the monstrous penis writhed on the ground before going still.

Meanwhile, Gume charged the woodsman with blind fury, his axe swinging in brutal arcs. “DIE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” He landed a devastating blow on the creature’s left shoulder, severing what remained of the arm in a gush of purple blood. The woodsman staggered but, impossibly, remained alive, his deformed head snarling as he tried to attack with punches, crooked teeth snapping in the air.

Tetanus, still trapped in the barbed wire, fought against the excruciating pain in his remaining right arm and the new wounds. Blood soaked the ground, but he gritted his teeth—it wasn’t time to die. He felt exposed, vulnerable, but rage kept him conscious, a low fire fueled by the betrayal of his own body.

Meia-Noite ran to him, tearing a piece from his own coat and wrapping the wounds in makeshift bandages, tying them tight to stem the bleeding. “Hold on, you bastard! Don’t die now!” He used his knife to cut the wires, freeing Tetanus with precise slices, ignoring the spikes tearing his gloves.

The woodsman’s drooling mouth snapped, spitting black sap as he growled with infernal determination. Gume dodged a clumsy attack, the ground shaking from the creature’s impact, and counterattacked, burying his axe in the woodsman’s purple chest. The blade sank with a wet sound, but the monster only laughed—a hoarse, gurgling sound.

Tetanus, with superhuman effort, rose, the world spinning in his vision. With no hands for the harpoon, he leaned on Gume for a moment, ignoring the pain that made him tremble, and limped forward. With a hoarse groan, he kicked the woodsman’s leg, tearing muscle and tendon with his boot. The creature fell to its knees, finally incapacitated, its body shuddering as it tried to rise again.

“FINISH HIM, GUME!” Tetanus shouted, collapsing to the side, his strength nearly spent, his body a ruin of cuts and blood.

Gume didn’t hesitate. He raised the axe with both hands, muscles bulging with effort, and brought it down repeatedly on the woodsman. Each blow opened deep wounds, gushing purple blood and writhing chunks of flesh that squirmed on the ground like living worms.

The monster’s head finally rolled, severed from its body, but its eyes continued blinking for seconds before dimming.

Still unsatisfied, the woodsman remained alive, headless, with an immortal determination to persist.

Gume spotted a fallen torch near the cabin, likely dropped during the fight. He grabbed it, the flames still alive, and with a roar of fury, drove it into the woodsman’s open chest. The fire spread quickly, consuming the purple flesh with nauseating smoke. The monster let out a final moan, a sound echoing from the forest’s depths, before collapsing into a smoldering pile of ash and charred bones.

Tetanus, panting and pale, sat against a tree, his stumps still bleeding despite Meia-Noite’s makeshift bandages. Gume, covered in purple blood and sweat, looked at the incinerated woodsman’s body.

“Dead…”

Meia-Noite, wiping his shotgun of the fluid, pointed to the cabin. “Let’s get inside before more shit happens.”

Tetanus nodded, rising with difficulty, leaning on Gume. “The cube… we have to get the cube…” he murmured, staggering toward the cabin, his body a mess of pain and stubborn determination.

“Actually, we’ve got way more than just a cube to grab!” Al-Yasiin retorted.

The next day, as the group recovered in the blood-soaked clearing, Meia-Noite scoured the battle debris and found Tetanus’s lost harpoon, its barbed tip still embedded in a nearby tree trunk, as if fate mocked his mutilation. Tetanus took it with his good hand, gritting against the humiliation, and strapped it to his back with improvised leather strips. He walked with slower, more isolated steps, responding to Gume’s concerns with mute grunts, his eyes fixed on the horizon as if the world owed him answers.

Fear Island — The Woodsman’s Cabin

The group burst through the open door of the cabin, the air inside heavy with an oppressive stench—a mix of woodsmoke, smoked meat, and something sweeter, rotten, like fruit decaying in a damp cellar. At first glance, the cabin seemed like the home of a rustic backwoods family: a rough wooden table in the center of the main room, with chipped plates and a rusty pot on a makeshift woodstove; mismatched chairs around it, one with a straw hat hanging on its back; shelves lined with dusty jars of preserves and farming tools leaning against the walls.

But the details revealed a darker, occult nature: symbols carved into the wooden beams, spirals and inverted eyes that seemed to blink in the flickering light of a lantern; human bones dangling from the ceiling as decorations, some still with scraps of dried flesh; and, in the corner, a makeshift altar with melted candles surrounding a deformed skull, stained with dried blood, hinting at cannibalistic rituals where flesh was more than just food.

Tetanus, leaning on Gume’s broad shoulder, staggered inside, his face pale as wax, the stump of his left arm dripping blood despite Meia-Noite’s makeshift bandage. The pain was a constant flame, radiating through his entire body, but he forced his legs to move. “The cube… it’s there,” he murmured, pointing with his good hand to the table, where the Black Cube pulsed faintly, like a sleeping heart wrapped in shadows.

“You first, then the cube,” Gume growled, dragging Tetanus aside, ignoring the artifact for a moment. “This is bleeding too much. Meia-Noite, find something to tie it better!”

Meia-Noite quickly searched the shelves, grabbing a dirty rag—likely a kitchen cloth—and a bottle of something that smelled like strong alcohol, perhaps homemade cachaça mixed with rotten herbs. “Here. This is gonna hurt like hell, but it’ll clean it.” He poured the liquid on the stump, and Tetanus roared in pain, teeth clenched, body writhing.

“Damn it, that burns worse than fire!” Tetanus shouted, sweat streaming down his face. “I can take it… just do it quick!”

Gume, with trembling hands despite his strength, helped wrap the rag around the wound, tying it tightly. “You’re tough as nails, brother. Losing an arm and still standing… but if this doesn’t stop…”

Al-Yasiin, slung at Tetanus’s waist, chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with malice. “Oh, how dramatic. Lost an arm? Big deal. I lost my whole body and I’m still here, yapping. But careful, maggot—if you die, who’s gonna carry me?”

“Shut up, you decapitated bastard,” Meia-Noite snapped, tightening the bandage further. “He’s not dying. Not here, not now. But we need a place for him to rest. There’s a room in the back.”

They dragged Tetanus down a narrow hallway, passing an open door that revealed more horrors: walls stained with what looked like claw marks from something dragged by force, dried blood, and an even stronger stench of decay.

The “family” room was small and grim, with a straw bed covered in a filthy sheet, a broken dresser, and a cracked window letting in the forest’s mist. Under the bed, something stood out in the dim light: a disfigured female corpse, its pale skin stretched over bones, the face mutilated as if gnawed by animals—or worse, by the woodsman himself. Its empty eyes stared into nothingness, one arm outstretched as if begging for help that never came.

“Shit…” Gume muttered, shoving the corpse further under with his foot to hide it better. “This bastard was a real cannibal. Look at this.”

“Don’t look. Just lay me down already…” Tetanus grunted, collapsing onto the blood-stained bed with a groan, his exhausted body sinking into the uneven mattress. The blood still seeped through the bandage, but slower now. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily. “Get the cube… keep it safe, don’t leave it there.”

Meia-Noite nodded, heading back to the main room while Gume stayed by Tetanus’s side, keeping watch. “Rest, brother. We’ll handle the rest. If you get worse, I’ll carry you in my arms if I have to.”

Tetanus gave a weak laugh, the pain clouding his vision. “Just… don’t let me die here. There’s still too much shit to deal with…”

Al-Yasiin, now placed on the dresser to “keep watch,” chuckled. “Oh, how touching. Priorities, maggots.”

The group settled as best they could in the grim room, the silence of the forest outside broken only by the distant crackling of the woodsman’s burning body, as Tetanus slipped into a restless sleep. Gume stayed awake through the night, eyes open, watching the surroundings, while Al-Yasiin kept vigil from the dresser, though he didn’t seem to care much.

Tetanus, lying on the filthy straw bed, had sunk into a restless sleep, the pain in his stump pulsing in waves that mingled with the weight of exhaustion. Al-Yasiin, on the dresser, kept his eyes open, their malicious gleam reflecting the lantern’s faint light, as if mocking the others’ suffering even in silence.

Meia-Noite, however, couldn’t sleep. His senses, honed by years of fighting, picked up something wrong in the air. He rose suddenly, shotgun gripped tightly, the black cloth over his face adjusted to muffle any sound of breathing. The room was dark, except for the yellowish light leaking through the cracked window, illuminating the disfigured corpse that had fallen from under the bed, its presence mocking their attempt at rest. Gume was snoring, Tetanus murmured in his troubled sleep, and Al-Yasiin merely watched, saying nothing.

A low, rhythmic sound echoed through the cabin—*tap, tap, tap*—like heavy footsteps dragging something across the wooden floor.

Meia-Noite stood alert, his eyes narrowing beneath the cloth. He moved silently, like a shadow, shotgun raised as he followed the sound down the narrow hallway.

He passed through the main room, its dim light dancing on walls covered in occult symbols. He noticed crooked portraits of saints hanging on the walls, their faces disfigured, their eyes painted to seem like they watched passersby. In the corner of the makeshift kitchen, pieces of human flesh—arms, legs, a headless torso—were scattered among trash, gnawed bones, and cracked jars of preserves, the stench of rot nearly making him gag beneath the cloth.

The sound of footsteps came again, clearer now, from outside.

Meia-Noite carefully opened the cabin door, shotgun ready, stepping into the mist-shrouded clearing. The forest around seemed alive, the trees’ eyes blinking in sync, as if conspiring.

A few meters ahead stood a black goat, motionless, its cross-eyed red eyes glowing like embers in the darkness. The creature stared at him for a long moment, head tilted, before slowly turning and trotting into the forest, its hooves echoing in the mist.

Meia-Noite hesitated, but something in the goat’s gaze—an unnatural intelligence—compelled him to follow. He advanced, senses sharp, navigating the twisted vegetation.

The branches seemed to bend to touch his cloth, and the mist clung to his ankles like invisible hands. The goat moved quickly, always ahead, its dark back nearly blending with the forest’s shadows. Meia-Noite sped up, ignoring the growing unease in his chest.

Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet gave way.

A sharp crack echoed, and the earth opened like a hungry mouth. Meia-Noite tried to grab a nearby branch, but it was too late. He fell into a shallow but deadly pit, lined with wooden spikes sharp as blades. They pierced his body in multiple places—

Chest,

Abdomen,

Legs—

Tearing through the cloth with cruel precision. Blood gushed, mixing with the damp earth. Meia-Noite let out a silent scream, blood flooding the inside of his rag mask and dripping to the ground. His eyes lost their spark as life drained away, the black goat watching impassively from above before vanishing into the mist.

Meanwhile, in the cabin, Tetanus was trapped in a nightmare.

In his dream, he saw the woodsman, still alive, his purplish skin pulsing like an exposed heart. The creature held him with impossibly large hands, its inverted eyes gleaming with malign lust.

Tetanus felt the monster’s weight against his body, its grotesque penis pressing intrusively, attempting to violate his anus, while the drooling mouth laughed and whispered unintelligible words. Tetanus tried to fight the sensation, but his arms—now only one—had no strength, and the pain in his stump mingled with the horror of being violated.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Even accustomed to the feeling, the trauma of feeling defiled from within was overwhelming, and nothing could cleanse it.

Never. Never. Never…

The nightmare was so vivid he could smell the rotten sap and the semen leaking out as his insides tried to resist. The woodsman’s guttural moans mixed with Tetanus’s pained grunts.

Suddenly, Tetanus saw himself in his own dream, watching himself being violated in the third person, and in his peripheral vision, a familiar face he’d tried to bury for years.

He saw Father Arture, multiple smooth, filthy faces surrounding him. Even as he tried to ignore them, he couldn’t—the face followed him from every angle.

“Tetanus! Wake up, damn it!” Gume’s voice cut through the nightmare, and Tetanus opened his eyes, panting, body drenched in cold sweat. The faint light of dawn filtered through the cracked window, illuminating the grim room. Gume was beside him, prodding him with the axe handle, his expression worried. “You were screaming, brother. What the hell was that?”

Tetanus took a deep breath, the pain in his stump now a numbing burn. He touched the wound, feeling the absence of his arm like an inexplicable void.

“Just… a bad dream,” he murmured, voice hoarse. His stomach growled loudly, a cruel reminder that he hadn’t eaten in a while. He sat up with difficulty, head spinning, and glanced at the bag beside the bed. The Black Cube was there, pulsing softly, safe. He sighed, relieved, but Meia-Noite’s absence made him frown.

“Where’s the cangaceiro?”

Gume looked around, confused. “He was here when I fell asleep. Probably went to piss or something.”

Al-Yasiin, still on the dresser, spoke in a serious tone. “Doubt it. He’s not the type to abandon gold… or the cube.”

Tetanus stood, leaning against the wall, dizziness threatening to topple him. “Let’s look for him… it’s true… he wouldn’t just vanish.”

They left the room, Gume carrying the axe over his shoulder and Tetanus leaving the harpoon behind—he lacked the strength to carry it and still didn’t feel well enough. The cabin was silent, except for the dripping of something wet in the kitchen corner, where pieces of human flesh lay scattered.

The stench of rot was overwhelming, rivaling the worst taverns and filthy alleys Tetanus had known in his travels.

They exited the kitchen, the stench of decay even stronger in the “sunlight” of the dead day—a sickly sweet mix of decomposing flesh, mold, and something metallic, like old blood. The main room was as they’d left it, a scene of domestic horror frozen in time.

Then Gume kicked an old armchair in the corner, making it creak and shift forward. “Check this out.”

Beneath the armchair, hidden by a worn, stained rug, was a heavy wooden trapdoor, secured by a rusty bolt. The strongest stench of rot seemed to emanate from there.

“What the hell is this?” Gume muttered, covering his nose with his arm.

“Only one way to find out,” Tetanus said, his stomach churning again, but a steely determination taking hold. Maybe Meia-Noite was down there, injured—or worse.

Gume looked at him, worried. “You good for this, brother?”

“No choice…” Tetanus grabbed a short knife they’d found in the kitchen—a stained, dull blade, but better than nothing—and tucked it into his belt. “Open it.”

Gume forced the bolt with a metallic creak and pulled up the heavy trapdoor. An unbearable stench exploded outward, so dense it felt physical. It was the smell of death in its purest, most concentrated form—carrion, shit, semen, and despair.

Tetanus gagged, stepping back. Gume vomited on the floor, spitting out what little was in his stomach.

“Fuck…” he coughed, eyes watering. “What the hell’s down there?”

Gume lit a lantern from the table, its flickering flame barely illuminating the darkness below. A steep, rotten wooden staircase descended into a black abyss.

“MEIA-NOITE!” Gume shouted, his voice echoing in the void below. “You there?”

Only silence answered, followed by the sound of labored breathing and a wet dragging noise.

Tetanus descended first, carefully, the steps creaking under his weight. Gume followed close behind, axe ready.

The Beast’s Basement

Tetanus descended the creaking staircase cautiously, each step groaning as if it might collapse at any moment. Gume came behind, jumping lightly onto the last step to avoid breaking the fragile stairs with his bulk, landing with a thud that echoed in the small, claustrophobic basement.

The stench was indescribably foul—a reek that seemed to clutch the soul and twist it. Both tied torn rags over their noses, but the fabric did little against the rot permeating the air.

The basement was a cramped space, its damp walls covered in black mold and something that looked like pulsing, living flesh in the cracks. The floor was sticky mud, speckled with broken bones, scraps of dried skin, and dark stains that could be blood or worse. The lantern’s light flickered, casting distorted shadows that seemed to move on their own.

Tetanus gripped the knife tightly, his eyes scanning for any sign of Meia-Noite, while Gume held the axe over his shoulder and the lantern in his other hand, his face twisted in disgust, a rag tied over his mouth and nose.

“This is worse than hell’s asshole, so damn cramped… what a nightmare…” Gume muttered, voice muffled by the rag. “Meia-Noite’s not here, Tetanus. Let’s go back.”

“Not until we’re sure,” Tetanus replied, voice hoarse, moving forward carefully. His feet sank into the fetid mud, something crunching under his boots.

Then the lantern’s light revealed a message on the wall, written in dried blood, the letters crooked and uneven, as if scrawled by trembling fingers:

“I lay with the black goat; he filled my insides more than any man, more than my husband. I tasted his seed. I let the beast corrupt me…”

Tetanus stopped, his stomach churning as he read it. “What the fuck is this?” he whispered, the mark on his chest pulsing as if responding to the profanity of those words.

Gume stepped closer, eyes wide. “She… fucked a goat?” He nearly retched, trying to shake off the disgust. “This family’s more fucked up than I thought…”

Further along, another wall bore equally disturbing messages, also in blood: “He was more man than you ever were. Twice the size, to be exact.” And, in larger, almost triumphant letters: “It was the best fuck of my life!”

“Goddamn, these people are sick,” Gume said, voice trembling with a mix of rage and disbelief. “This is pure devil shit.”

They pressed on, the basement opening into an even smaller adjacent room, where the lantern revealed a scene frozen in horror.

Seated in a rotten wooden chair was the corpse of an old woman, likely the woodsman’s wife. Her skin was gray and wrinkled, her eyes sunken in dark orbits, her mouth open in a silent scream. She wore a tattered, blood-stained dress, her bony hands clutching a broken rosary, fingers curled like claws. The floor around her was covered in black feathers and hoofprints, as if something had circled the chair before her death.

“This just keeps getting worse,” Tetanus murmured, approaching cautiously. He noticed a worn leather diary on a makeshift table nearby, surrounded by melted candles forming an irregular circle. Near the diary was a framed portrait of the woodsman—his face from when he was a normal human being, but still sinister, his eyes completely obscured, his beard long and black, his long hair pulled back...

image [http://mothrainstitution.wikidot.com/local--files/thewoodsman/The%20Woodsman.png]

The diary seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy, as if it were an extension of the island’s madness.

Gume picked up the diary, hesitant, and began flipping through its yellowed pages. The handwriting was sloppy, written in haste and despair, but legible enough. He read aloud, voice trembling:

“The beast of the night came. A black goat with eyes that burn like embers. It invaded our home, our lives. My wife… she gave herself to it. Said it was more man than I’d ever be. It fucked her womb, corrupted her soul. I saw her moan like a whore, laughing as the beast took her. My manhood was stolen. My daughter… I couldn’t take it. Rage consumed me. I violated her, broke her innocence, and then killed her with my own hands. My wife, shamed, slit her own throat. I can’t bear it anymore. The forest calls me. I’ll hang myself from the tallest tree, where her eyes can see me.”

Gume slammed the diary shut, face pale. “This bastard… he… his daughter, and his wife killed herself because of it. And this goat… what the hell is this goat?”

Tetanus stared at the woman’s corpse, the mark on his chest burning with an intensity that made him grit his teeth. “Maybe this goat’s tied to Meia-Noite’s disappearance. He’s not here, but these hoofprints…” He pointed to marks in the basement’s mud, leading to a seemingly solid wall. “There’s more here.”

Al-Yasiin, tied to Tetanus’s waist with Gume’s help, let out a fiery sigh. “That goat doesn’t sound like just some animal that likes married women. Could be a servant of the God of Vermin or maybe the Trickster God—seems his type. This island’s their chessboard, and you’re the pieces. Meia-Noite probably fell into a trap.”

Tetanus clenched his single fist, knife still in hand. “Then we go after him. We don’t leave anyone behind.”

Gume nodded, eyes brimming with tears. “And you, Tetanus? You’re half-dead. How’re you gonna keep going?”

“I’ll manage,” Tetanus replied, voice firm despite his weakness. He grabbed the diary and stuffed it into the bag with the Black Cube, which pulsed as if responding to the touch. “Let’s get back outside. Digging deeper is our best lead.”

Tetanus and Gume emerged from the basement, the stench of death still clinging to their clothes and noses, leaving behind the intimate horror and stepping into the clearing around the cabin.

Gume was doing him a favor, carrying the bag with the Black Cube and the woodsman’s diary. Al-Yasiin, tied to Tetanus’s waist, kept a rare silence, his eyes fixed on the forest as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows.

Outside the cabin, Gume spotted the woodsman’s rusty axe, tossed in a corner of the ground, its blade still stained with Tetanus’s blood.

He bent to pick it up, testing its weight. It was a one-handed weapon, lighter than his own axe, with a short handle and a blade that, despite the rust, still cut with deadly ease—Tetanus knew that the hard way.

“Here. This might come in handy,” Gume murmured, handing the woodsman’s axe to Tetanus, who took it with a nod, the pain in his stump a reminder of the price paid.

“Let’s find Meia-Noite,” Tetanus said, voice hoarse, pointing to the hoofprints and boot tracks mingling in the clearing’s damp earth. The marks led into the forest, vanishing among the twisted trunks. “He wouldn’t disappear without a reason.”

Gume slung his own axe and the lantern at his waist, his cracked and worn armor from the kraken fight hanging in pieces, offering little protection. “If he fell into a trap, we’ll need to be careful.”

They followed the tracks, the forest around them pulsing with a malevolent energy. After a few minutes, the trail led to a pit hidden by leaves and mist, a cruel trap lined with wooden spikes sharp as knives. At the bottom, among the bloodied spikes, lay the body of Meia-Noite—or what should have been Meia-Noite.

Tetanus and Gume stopped at the edge, looking down, stomachs churning. There was no real physical body. What remained was a pile of rags, the cloth covering his face torn and hanging, revealing… nothing. Beneath the clothes, there was no flesh, no bones—just a vague silhouette and what should have been blood on the ground, like a solid shadow that dissolved into smoke when touched by light. The cangaceiro’s hat, still intact, was caught on a spike, stained with dried blood.

“What the fuck…?” Gume whispered, eyes wide. “He… wasn’t human?”

Tetanus clenched his fist, the pain in his stump forgotten for a moment. “I don’t know what he was. But he was still one of us.”

Tetanus carefully descended into the pit, ignoring the dizziness, and retrieved Meia-Noite’s hat. He searched the rags, looking for anything useful. He found a folded, yellowed, stained document hidden in a secret compartment in the hat—the same sealed letter with the governor’s crest, filled with coded notes Meia-Noite had partially deciphered. “This… is what he was giving his life for. Evidence to take down the governor.”

Gume looked at the document, confused. “So he died for this?”

“No,” Tetanus said, folding the letter and tucking it into the bag with the Black Cube. “He died for this island. But we’ll finish what he started. For him.”

Al-Yasiin remained silent, watching with a strange glint in his eyes…

“I’ll miss the rag-face. But no time for moping. We move on!”

They followed the goat’s tracks, which continued beyond the pit, winding through the forest. This time, they stepped with extra care. After a tense walk, they found the black goat. This time, it seemed… ordinary.

A generic goat, with short horns and cross-eyed yellow eyes that lacked the malign intelligence from before. It grazed among mutant mushrooms, ignoring the group.

Tetanus, without hesitation, drew the woodsman’s axe. “Fresh meat,” he murmured, advancing.

The goat stood still, naively, seeming to stare at Tetanus with a mocking gaze. With a single blow, Tetanus decapitated it, the head falling with a wet thud. The body collapsed, black blood oozing, absorbed by the forest’s hungry earth.

Gume picked up the decapitated animal’s body, slinging it over his shoulder. “At least we eat today.” He sheathed his giant axe on his back, the cracked armor creaking with the movement.

Meia-Noite’s absence now weighed like a shadow. Tetanus, Gume, and Al-Yasiin kept walking, searching for a safe place to camp and eat. The forest seemed quieter now, as if satisfied with the sacrifice.

After hours of walking, with the pale sun beginning to set in the sickly yellow sky, they spotted a clearing in the distance where human figures moved.

A tribe of natives, their skin painted with marks reminiscent of the Old Gods’ symbols, watched the group cautiously.

Tetanus and Gume raised their hands in a gesture of peace, considering everything. They approached slowly. The natives, armed with wooden spears and bows, exchanged glances and whispers when they saw the decapitated black goat on Gume’s broad shoulder. The tribe’s leader, a tall man with black feathers in his long hair forming a sinister arc, red ritual scars on his chest, stepped forward. His eyes fixed on the goat, and he murmured something in an unknown tongue before bowing, pointing to the trail ahead.

“They’re… letting us pass?” Gume asked, confused.

Al-Yasiin chuckled softly. “Looks like the goat was a problem for them. Probably a servant of the Trickster God, like I said. You killed a local demon. Congrats, you’re officially heroes to a bunch of naked natives now.”

Tetanus said nothing, only nodding to the leader, who returned a look of respect. The group passed through the clearing, the trail leading them deeper into the colony of encampments. The feeling of ancestral eyes on them weighed on their souls.

Native Encampment

The clearing where the tribe was settled was an oasis of order amid the cursed forest’s chaos. Straw and wooden huts were arranged in a circle, with campfires crackling in the center, casting dancing shadows on the natives’ painted faces.

The indigenous people moved with predatory grace, their eyes gleaming with curiosity and caution. Some carried baskets of strange, glowing fruits, while others sharpened spears or wove ropes from luminescent plant fibers. The air smelled of smoke, burnt herbs, and roasting meat—a relief after the forest’s constant stench.

Tetanus, Gume, and Al-Yasiin were led to the center of the encampment, where the leader, a tall, muscular man, awaited, his scars glowing in the firelight. He held a carved staff pulsing with symbols. Beside him stood a young woman, his daughter, named “Slender Moon.” She was strikingly beautiful, with bronze-polished skin, deep purple eyes that seemed to hold ancient secrets, and long black hair with unpigmented braids woven with colorful feathers.

Her clothing, made of leather and woven fibers, clung to a lithe, strong body, drawing looks that Tetanus tried, with little success, to ignore. She stared at him with a mix of fascination and challenge, as if sizing him up.

Meanwhile, two tribe warriors took the decapitated black goat from Gume’s shoulder and began preparing it over an adjacent fire, rubbing luminescent herbs into the sizzling meat, releasing a surprisingly appetizing aroma. Other natives watched, whispering among themselves, clearly relieved by the creature’s death.

Tetanus, with the woodsman’s axe ready to draw near the short knife at his belt, approached the leader, ignoring the dizziness still plaguing him. The stump throbbed less, but he kept his posture firm. “Thanks for the passage,” he said, voice hoarse but respectful. “But we can’t stay. We have business off this island. We need to leave.”

The leader, whose war name was “Stone Claw,” tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with supernatural intelligence. “You killed the Black Goat, a monster that haunted our people for generations. It stole our children, defiled our women, poisoned our waters. For that, you are welcome here.” He paused, pointing to a larger hut in the back. “Stay tonight. Eat, rest. But leaving Fear Island… that takes time.”

Gume, already surrounded by warriors offering bottles of a greenish liquor that smelled of fermented sap, let out a loud laugh, clearly oblivious to the situation’s weight. “If there’s booze, I’m staying!” He took a swig, coughed, and laughed louder, slapping a native’s back so hard he nearly fell. His cracked armor clinked with the movement, but he didn’t seem to care, lost in camaraderie.

Tetanus frowned, ignoring Gume’s cheer. “How long to get out of here?” he asked the leader.

Stone Claw sat by the fire, inviting Tetanus to join him. Slender Moon stayed by her father’s side, her purple eyes fixed on Tetanus’s long, purple hair, falling in messy strands over his shoulders. The natives whispered among themselves, pointing at him—his toned abdomen, visible through his torn shirt, and his single gleaming eye, reflecting the firelight like a flame. To them, Tetanus was more than a man; he was almost a divine figure, a demon-slayer with an aura echoing their cultural myths.

“We can build a boat,” Stone Claw explained, voice deep. “I’ll gather our best warriors and craftsmen. The island doesn’t like being abandoned. And there’s a price.” He paused, eyes narrowing. “A Quibungo, a massive monster—” he gestured upward with his hands—“with a mouth on its back, has been stealing our children, devouring them beyond the forest. Kill the Quibungo, and we’ll ensure your escape.”

“Deal done… anything to get out of this place…” Tetanus murmured, his good hand touching the axe’s handle. “This cursed island’s taken too much from us already.”

Stone Claw nodded, satisfied. “You’ll have food, shelter, and protection tonight. Slender Moon will guide you to the hut.” He looked at his daughter, who gave a slight smile, her purple eyes gleaming with what might have been interest in Tetanus.

Gume, half-drunk, raised his bottle in a toast. “Damn, Tetanus, they treat you like a god! And what am I? The divine warrior?” He laughed, pounding his chest, as the natives around him laughed too, impressed by his strength and carefree attitude.

Slender Moon approached Tetanus, her voice soft but firm. “You’re different. Especially you.” She slid her smooth hand through his hair and across his cheek. “The elders say a one-eyed man carries the gaze of the gods. And you killed the Black Goat. That’s no small feat… truly.”

Tetanus gave a tired half-smile, too exhausted to respond with charm. “I just want off this island. And to finish what my friend started.”

Night fell as the encampment came alive with drums and native chants. The black goat, now roasted, was served on wooden plates, the meat surprisingly tasty, seasoned with herbs. Gume mingled with the warriors, drinking and telling exaggerated stories, while Tetanus, guided by Slender Moon, was led to a simple but clean hut with sleeping hammocks and a small fire. Al-Yasiin was placed on a shelf, grumbling about “partying maggots.”

The Hut

Inside the hut, the outside world—the drums, chants, Gume’s laughter—became a distant murmur. The air was warm and thick with the scent of the central fire’s smoke and dried herbs hanging from the ceiling. A hammock of natural fibers hung in a corner, inviting.

Slender Moon moved with fluid grace, filling two gourds with a thick, slightly cloudy liquid from a clay jug. “Manioc wine,” she explained, handing one to Tetanus. “Helps you sleep. And forget…”

Tetanus took the gourd, his fingers brushing hers briefly. Her skin was soft as velvet, a stark contrast to his own calloused, wounded hand. He took a sip. The drink was sweet and earthy, with an alcoholic burn that warmed his throat.

“You fight like a demon from ancient myths,” she said, her purple eyes roaming his body, lingering on the bandaged stump. “Does the pain not consume you?”

“It does,” Tetanus admitted, taking another, larger sip. The wine began to soften the sharp edges of his pain and exhaustion. “But I can’t stop. Never.”

She stepped closer, raising a hand to touch his face, her fingers tracing his jawline, removing the band covering his eye. His scar cut through his eyebrow and ended where his other eye should have been.

“There’s a storm inside you. I can feel it,” her voice a hypnotic whisper. “The God of War and the God of Death vie for your spirit.”

Tetanus didn’t respond. Instead, his good hand found her hip, pulling her gently closer. The tension between them was palpable, charged with curiosity and a primal attraction beyond words.

He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her scent of smoke, earth, and something floral and wild.

Slender Moon didn’t play coy. Her hands explored the tense muscles of his back, the grooves of old scars, the texture of his sweaty skin. She slid her fingers over his defined abdomen, feeling the strength contained there, before her hand found the hot, pulsing mark on his chest.

“This…” she whispered, eyes wide. “This is ancient, a key…”

“It’s a curse. That’s what it is,” Tetanus replied, voice hoarse from the alcohol and her closeness.

“Everything’s a curse or a blessing, depending on who holds the knife’s handle,” she countered, kissing the mark through his dirty clothing.

She guided him to the hammock. The manioc wine coursed through Tetanus’s veins, clouding his mind, dulling the pain, amplifying every sensation. The world narrowed to the hammock’s gentle sway, the warmth of her body against his, the sweet, earthy taste of the wine on her lips.

He kissed her with a hunger that surprised even himself, a hunger not just for flesh but for connection, for a moment of oblivion in this nightmare. His single hand gripped the fabric of her scant clothing, pulling with desperate urgency.

Slender Moon laughed softly, a vibrant, sensual sound. “Haste is the enemy of pleasure, one-eyed warrior.” She pushed him back into the hammock, climbing over him. “Let the moon take care of you…”

She was methodical in her exploration, unraveling his tense muscles with her hands and mouth, drinking from his skin as if he were a rare spring. The wine made his head spin, the pain a distant throb, overshadowed by the pleasure she drew from him with an almost otherworldly skill.

In the drunkenness and ecstasy, Tetanus felt his defenses crumble. For a few hours, there was no Fear Island, no Black Cube, no corrupt governor, no lost friends. Only the hammock’s sway, the fire’s warmth, the taste of wine on a woman with plum-colored eyes, and the sound of his own ragged breathing mingling with hers.

With the wine coursing through their veins and desire growing within her, Slender Moon shed her woven garments slowly, each movement calculated to ignite Tetanus’s imagination and libido.

Her fine fiber dress fell in perfect folds onto the hammock, revealing the dark, silky skin of her spine, the low neckline of her right breast. She loosened her black hair, letting it fall in disordered white waves over her shoulders.

Tetanus followed each gesture with a dry mouth, his single eye fixed on the native’s body. The sight of her, once again clad only in the light of the fire, stunned him. Her full, pale lips, her soft, high breasts, the dark line of her navel—all conspired against his resistance.

As she leaned toward him, her free hand reached for the waistband of his pants, freeing his member with a smooth motion. The fabric slid to his ankles, leaving the hero’s penis exposed and hardened.

Slender Moon showed no hint of embarrassment. Instead, she leaned closer and gave a gentle lick to the tip of his erection, circling her tongue before sucking lightly.

Tetanus nearly exploded in her mouth; he’d never felt pleasure like this before. The sensation of this native taking him with her tongue and teeth was too intense to process, leaving him speechless, only hoarse moans echoing through the hut’s walls.

With a mischievous smile, she released his cock from her mouth, only to straddle him with a fluid motion.

Slender Moon’s hairy vagina engulfed Tetanus’s entire length in one smooth stroke, eliciting a moan of pleasure and shock from him. She began to move atop him, rising and falling with a sensual rhythm that took his breath away.

The soft, warm texture of her pussy enveloped his cock perfectly, the gentle hairs against his skin and the intense heat radiating from within making his blood boil. He could feel every inch of her depths being massaged, stimulated by the way she enveloped and squeezed him with each movement.

Slender Moon began to rock faster, her hips colliding with force at each thrust. She placed her hands on Tetanus’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss him, her tongue invading his mouth with a demand matching the relentless movements on his penis.

Tetanus was lost in a sea of pleasure, his mind clouded by drunkenness and the ecstasy Slender Moon inspired in him. He gripped her hips with his good hand, helping her move with more intensity, desperate for more of the euphoric feeling she gave him.

His orgasm approached rapidly, fueled by the combination of the wine, her beauty, and the pleasure she provided. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer before exploding inside her tight, hot pussy. And in that moment, there was nothing in the world he desired more than to feel the heat of their fluids mingling as she used him as an instrument of pleasure.

Without warning, Tetanus sat up, pushing and forcing Slender Moon onto all fours before him. He knelt behind her, his fingers exploring her round ass with enough force to make her moan.

He spread her wide thighs, opening her scalding pussy even further. Then, with a swift thrust, he began to penetrate, feeling the soft, wet texture of her insides envelop him like a glove.

Slender Moon moaned loudly, her hips moving involuntarily in search of more pressure and stimulation. Tetanus began to thrust, pounding against her with increasing force, each stroke deeper and more intense than the last.

His face was pressed against her nape, their breaths synchronized, each gasp and moan echoing in the enclosed hut. He could feel her heat rising, the tension in her abdomen building as she neared climax.

With a final sequence of rapid, powerful thrusts, Tetanus reached his limit. His orgasm erupted inside the native’s pussy, hot, thick jets of cum flooding her insides and dripping down her thighs. He gripped her back tightly, biting the soft skin of her neck to muffle his cries of pleasure as he ejaculated deep within her.

Slender Moon trembled, her own orgasm overtaking her, the internal contractions of her womb massaging Tetanus’s cock still inside her. She stayed on all fours, her muscles relaxed and sweaty, her breathing heavy and irregular, until the last waves of pleasure passed.

Finally, Tetanus withdrew his wet, swollen cock from Slender Moon’s pussy, watching with satisfaction as the remnants of his semen slowly dripped back onto her skin. He stood, helping her up as well, both stumbling after the intense sexual activity.

Without a word, they settled side by side in the hammock, the heat of their bodies and the scent of sweat-soaked skin creating an intimate, sensual atmosphere. Tetanus rested his head on Slender Moon’s shoulder, listening to her racing heart beating against her chest.

At some point during the long, drowsy vigil that followed, Tetanus fell asleep, his breathing becoming steady and heavy. Slender Moon stayed awake longer, watching the sleeping man beside her and reflecting on what had happened.

She didn’t know exactly when she’d started to like him, but now, with the faint light of dawn illuminating his face, she realized her affection had grown into something deeper.