The Mad Moon leaves many species on the brink of extinction, their population reduced to just a few individuals. This is of little concern to many scavenging insects, whose numbers swell by feasting on the flesh of the dead.

-Richard Deguerre, naturalist

The insufferable sound of buzzing filled the air. Gaspard kept a hand ready to swat any insects who mistook him for a meal and proceeded down the corpse-lined streets.

Between his brief time spent unconscious and spending an unknown amount of time lurking in the dark, Gaspard had lost all sense of how many days had passed since the Mad Moon. It had apparently been long enough for the insects to start breeding. Clouds of swarming flies filled the air as they swarmed around the long rotted bodies of former festival-goers, feasting on rancid flesh.

Gaspard drew his sword to strike down a beast -in this case, a large beetle that flew towards him. The massive insect bounced off the flat of his blade and fell to the street with a chitinous thud. It right itself indignantly and scuttled off to find an easier meal. In a matter of days the insects had completely forgotten their fear of man. Their audacity almost inspired Gaspard. They fearlessly dove into battle against a creature dozens of times larger than themselves. The fact that the beetle had been effortlessly swatted aside proved that valor counted little in the face of overwhelming force, however.

A mosquito buzzed past Gaspard’s ear, and he deftly swatted it aside. The streets held no shortage of blood, so he did not feel inclined to spare any for such a small beast. He restrained the strength of his swat, at the very least. The insects would be instrumental in making this city clean again one day. They would drink the foul blood and devour the rotted flesh, eventually scouring corpses down to the bone. For Gaspard, who had neither the time nor the soap to safely clean the detritus of thousands of dead bodies, the bugs were a necessary evil.

Gaspard rounded a street corner, and saw ahead of him a great black mass in the distance. He saw motion, and ducked behind a nearby wall, out of sight. He peered out from his hiding place and observed as best he could from a distance. His fear was brief, and Gaspard stepped out after realizing that the mass itself was not moving, rather the layer of insects that covered it swarmed with the illusion of motion. At a slow pace, Gaspard moved towards the intersection where the great hulk rested.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Of the many monstrosities Gaspard had seen, most had some form of exposed flesh or open wounds, and it seemed that the inevitable rot had finally set in. The colossal hulk of a once-fearsome abomination laid in the center of the square, it’s long body curled around a fountain of fetid water. Insects crawled across skin that sloughed off it’s massive body, while worms and maggots dug their way through decaying muscle. So thick was the shell of scavengers that at times it even seemed alive, as the layer of crawling insects produced motion where there was none. Gaspard appraised the feast of rot and shook his head.

“I do not envy you, nor the person you once were,” Gaspard said.

With a lurch, the great hulk shifted. A great mass of flying insects burst from its hide as the swarm fled in fear, exposing the gnawed-upon flesh beneath. Gaspard took a sharp step back as well, hand to his sword. The apparently still-living creature lurched forward again, and the exposed muscles near its jaw flexed. No fearsome roar emerged from the maw of this creature, merely a choked gurgle and an explosion of bile flowing from between its teeth.

Gaspard’s brief, terrified retreat came to an end as the creature failed to move any further. It shifted again, and Gaspard could see severed tendons and devoured muscles struggle to move the beast’s broad limbs. Smaller muscles shifted in its face, trying to move and focus eyes that had long since been feasted upon.

Where there had been fear, now Gaspard’s heart held only disgust. These monsters were sickening enough to begin with, and being gnawed on by scavengers did them no favors. Gaspard could see the stomach physically shifting through a gap in the creature’s ribs as it struggled to vocalize again. Once more, no sound came forth, just a weak trickle of black bile from its limp jaws.

As it struggled, Gaspard got the impression that it was trying to move towards him. He wondered if it acted on some remnant of predatory instinct, or if, like the suicidal monstrosity so many days ago, this beast felt that Gaspard was its way out. A chance to escape the indignity of its new, cursed existence.

In either case, Gaspard’s course was clear. He drew his sword and stepped forward, staining his boots with the thick black bile that still pooled around the creature’s head. Another trickle of the foul vomit seeped forth, this time bearing a foul gurgle along with it. Gaspard tried his hardest not to hear it as a cry for help.

With surprising ease, Gaspard’s blade slipped through the creature’s forehead and stabbed into it’s brain. With a final lurch of relief, the creature’s exposed muscles finally went limp. The trickle of bile quieted as a final sigh escaped the collapsing lungs of the dead hulk. Gaspard stepped away.

No sooner had he done so than the insects returned, digging their mandibles into the flesh once again. Gaspard turned and moved away. He did not wish to linger near this macabre feast.