In the outstretched mouth of the tusked fiend, a storm spun, perpetually rotating within its chasm of a maw as strands of lightning cackled and flames danced within its supernatural jaws.
The surrounding trees were plucked from the soil, their roots draped like hanging limbs as the boundless inhale of the demon pulled the oak into its deathly mouth.
Absolutely no coherence lasted in the enraged guardian's besides its own mouth; its arms constantly swirled into the limbs of other beasts–the hooves of a mare, the talons of an avian, the claws of a lion. Even to unnatural shapes, seeming to find its primary meaning for its arms in dark-blue roots that stretched, clutching to the area like the veins of a living forest.
Its nose continuously shifted; spiky, long, short and like a button, or shaped like the snout of a pig.
There was only one thing seemingly on the mind of the ageless demon–
