"To draw the population together in a festival will lead to many unnecessary deaths. Simple logic regarding the mutations rates resulting from the Mad Moon informs us that a higher concentration of men will lead to a higher concentration of monsters."

-Adele Vivald, in a rebuttal to her brother’s proposal

The puddle of blood didn't splash as Gaspard stomped through it. It was thick and congealed, and for a moment Gaspard suspected he was going to lose a boot. Both stayed on his feet, and he thanked the fates for that. The usually minor inconvenience of losing a shoe could mean life or death today.

He was currently being chased by what had once been a dog. Or at least Gaspard hoped it had once been a dog. It was lumbering forward on four bent limbs and had a long, canine-like snout full of sharp fangs, but in the wake of the Mad Moon, that meant very little. It had no fur, or even skin, and it's misshapen muscles throbbed with every frantic heartbeat as it raced after Gaspard, chasing him away from the city's heart.

The madman's warnings had proven quite prescient. The center of the city, closest to the palace, was brimming with monstrosities. Great mountains of corpses served as food for some of the most twisted and hideous abominations Gaspard had ever seen. Even the broken body of the suicide and the fused flesh of the burned abominations paled in comparison to the towering monstrosities surrounding the palace. They were greater in not only number but size, many of them swollen to unnatural proportions, or, more horrifically, formed from many corpses fused together by the Mad Moon's light. Gaspard had briefly recoiled in horror at a large creature crawling forward on ten spiderlike limbs, each formed from what was once a man, before being forced to flee.

The road curved ahead, and Gaspard turned to the unknown. He hoped he wasn't charging directly towards another beast. He was trying to head back to the burned-down district he'd been in the other day, as he knew it to be clear of monsters, but he wasn't there quite yet. There could be any number of strange things lurking between here and there. Gaspard tried to put that fearsome thought out of his head and focused on running.

The street now was thick with the remnants of the festival, with banners and streamers choking the air overhead and abandoned carts and stalls lining the streets. Gaspard easily weaved his way between the stalls full of rotten treats, and hoped the more cumbersome hound would struggle to get by. He heard the sound of crashing wood behind him as the hound charged right through one of the many abandoned stalls. Gaspard resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and see if it had lost a step.

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Just ahead, some of the banners had fallen and were strewn among the corpses on the street. Gaspard carefully measured every stride to avoid slipping on a blood-slick banner or tripping over a rotting arm. He could hear the hound's panting behind him, still unsure if it was getting closer or not. A cross wind rustled the banners that still hung overhead and carried the scent of ash to Gaspard. He was getting close to the burnt homes he'd passed earlier. For the first time on this chase he had some hope of salvation.

Gaspard rounded the corner and saw the ashen ruins of the buildings in the distance. It was strange to think of those scorched ruins as his savior, but they were necessary for his plan. The massive hound required more than a few slashes with a sword to slay. Gaspard looked at one broad archway that was still standing, attached to one of the more intact homes.

Just as Gaspard pondered his next move, a blast of hot air crawled across the back of his neck. Rancid breath crawled over his shoulders as the hound closed the gap and let out one loud huff of satisfaction before its jaws closed around Gaspard's shoulder.

Pain and adrenaline blinded Gaspard to what came next. He had brief recollection of being lifted off his feet and shaken for a moment. When he regained any ability for coherent thought, Gaspard had a bloody sword in his left hand, and blood dripping from massive gashes in his right shoulder. The hound was screaming in an unsettlingly human voice as Gaspard stumbled away from it. He dropped his blade, used his spare hand to support his wounded arm, and made a dead sprint for the arch he had locked eyes on earlier.

Every step he took stressed the wounds in his shoulder, but Gaspard managed to stomp to the threshold. This room was still relatively intact, with all four stone walls still standing. The roof, however, was splintered and crumbling, as was the archway that held it up. Gaspard shouted over his shoulder at the hound. It had a gash across one eye, apparently from Gaspard's blade, but it still managed to sprint forward towards its prey. Gaspard ducked through the archway and pressed his back against the wall. There was only one way in and out of this chamber. Hopefully this half-formed plan worked.

The swollen head of the hound barreled through the ashen archway. The oversized shoulders of the beast caught on the edges, and the force of impact splintered the burned wood. The hounds forelimbs scraped at the stone as it tried to force it's way through the narrow arch, heedless to the crumbling wood and stone around it. Gaspard watched the masonry crack and covered his face with his sleeve.

The burst of dust and rubble bounced off his sleeve, but the cacophony of broken stone and splintering timber hit his unguarded ears. In the middle of the noise, he heard the dull, gruesome sound of something piercing through flesh, and a pitiful whimper from the hound. The crumbling continued, and Gaspard kept his face covered until the last stone had fallen and the room was quiet. He pulled his dusty sleeve away and opened his eyes, to no avail.

The room was pitch black. He could smell dust and the fetid stench of the hound, and he could see nothing. There had been only one way into this burned chamber, and now there was no way out.