The wendigo stood atop a craggy outcropping, its antlers scraping the low-hanging boughs. Emaciated and towering, it licked the remnants of his last meal. An older man, too old to run. Too tired to fight back. Easy prey. Yet still he hungered. It surveyed the vast woodlands below. What once had been clean farmland around Mont St Michel was now a trampled wasteland, with corpses rotting in the sun.
Wiyaga –for that was the name it had been given millennia ago– inhaled deeply, savoring the acrid scent of decay that permeated the air. Its lipless mouth twisted into a grotesque approximation of a smile. Soon, very soon, it would have enough strength to crack open the impenetrable black walls.
A guttural growl escaped its throat as it descended the rocky slope. The minions awaited, a seething mass of nightmares given flesh. Demons with too many eyes and not enough skin. Monsters that defied description, their forms a blasphemous melding of man and beast. They writhed and snarled, barely contained by the Wiyaga’s domineering presence.
As he approached, a hulking creature –more bear than man, with razor-sharp claws and matted fur caked with dried blood– lunged at a smaller, serpentine entity. Without hesitation, the wendigo's bony hand shot out, grasping the bear-thing's throat. It lifted the monster effortlessly, bringing it close to his own terrifying visage.
"You dare..." Wiyaga’s voice was a whisper of winter winds and cracking ice. The bear-thing's eyes widened in terror, its struggles ceasing immediately. "I have no use for undisciplined beasts."
With a sickening crunch, the wendigo crushed its throat, yanking forward to fully decapitate the bear. Before tossing the lifeless body aside. Beasts fell silent, their gazes seeking the master.
"Better," Wiyaga hissed, addressing the assembled monsters. "But still not enough. Not nearly enough."
It began to pace, elongated limbs carrying it through the mass of monsters. Hellhounds had been culled, the mercenary servals were murdered, and only Pandora’s most faithful, those corrupted by her own visage remained. Each of Wiyaga’s steps left frost in its wake, a fraction of the wendigo's essence.
"The city walls mock us," he said, stomach rumbling as he pointed towards the battlements. "Their magics turn our kind into mewling, senseless things. You have been tested, these walls do not hold sway over your minds."
He smiled, a toothy lipless rictus.
“Soon the moon will reach her supremacy, gather all of Pandora’s children, for upon that night, we will feast!”
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A chorus of snarls and roars answered. The wendigo's gaze fell upon a group of human shaped demons standing apart from the press of monsters. He’d tried eating them, but found them made of noxious smoke rather than blood and flesh. Inedible, yet intelligent. His new lieutenants. One such demon had sculpted his body into that of a minotaur, while the other’s shapes were more nebulous, covered in wiggling tumors and splotches of fur. Whose form rippled and changed with each passing second.
"You," Wiyaga pointed one claw at the minotaur, "Report."
The bull-headed creature stepped forward, dropping to one knee before its master. “Elder Wendigo, I will sacrifice the herd so you may mount the walls.”
A low hum of anticipation rippled through the assembled monsters, this was excellent news. No ladder would support a wendigo’s weight, but a mountain of corpses just might. Wiyaga turned its attention to the other shapeshifters.
"And what of our other endeavors?"
The largest of the tumor riddled masses spoke, voice like dripping mud. “We have infiltrated the city, ignore the bull headed buffoon, for we can open the gates upon your command great one.” Said the mass, clearly pleased with itself.
"Good good, but the spirit general defends the gates, she will not be so easily deceived.”
“Bah, she is of no concern. The cat weeps over a dead man–” Said the jello-man, interrupted by the wendigo’s claws wrapped around his throat.
“Shapeshifter," it growled, “You have always been a fool. I have warned you thrice concerning the catpian. A fourth warning will not be made if you continue.” Said Wiyaga, his smile turning feral. “Inedible or not, you will be turned into fiber.” He said.
The ever-changing being solidified into a vaguely humanoid shape, its features an unsettling blend of tumors, inky flesh, and human silhouette. “Yes, great one, we shall await your orders. The catpian shall be left to you, and only you may taste her flesh.”
Satisfaction coursed through the wendigo's frigid veins. Piece by piece, the puzzle was coming together.
"Excellent,” Wiyaga’s voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “Those who serve me well in the coming battle will forevermore feast upon the choicest morsels."
The lieutenants bowed low, basking in their master's rare promise.
“An oath of things to come.” He said.
With a gesture, the wendigo summoned forth several cages. Within them, bound and gagged, were felinid prisoners scouts and travelers unfortunate enough to have been caught in the horde's path.
"A taste," Wiyaga announced, "Of what awaits us all."
The cages were opened, and screams filled the air as the lieutenants fell upon their prey. Flesh was rent in a carnival of blood, all the while Wiyaga watched dispassionately, his hunger quivering for a taste, yet holding back. He must leave space for the spirit catpian. She would surely slake his lust. One way or another.
Felinid were slender, and their corpses were as inadequate as their lives. Leaving the lieutenants hungry. They scattered to the four winds, obeying the great one’s commands. Gather more bodies, more flesh, and more mass for the coming siege of Mont St Michel.