Gáta, God of Chaos - writing practice

The light of the steadily rising moon slowly lit up the floor of the large barn through the gap in the wooden walls and the open doors. As the hunter woke up, he quickly realised that he was bound ankles and wrists to a chair, not by ropes: snakes. Panic slowly set in as he struggled against them and they tightened their grip, turning his limbs cold. Footsteps lightly pattered around the area. He struggled to see much further than his knees as a voice rose lightly rose out of the darkness.

     “This is wrong… this is all wrong…” There was sounds of chains followed the gentle rustling of hay, like something was being placed on the top of it. “How dare you,” the voice said, pointing the tone in the direction of the hunter. Panic slowly set into his mind as the shadowed silhouette slowly approached him. The figure was crouched in front of him when a streak of moonlight hit the man’s face. Within almost no time at all, flames lit up surrounding lanterns, illuminating the entire barn. The hunter saw the corpses of his sixteen kills laid gently on the hay, almost as if they were sleeping. As he scanned the room, the hunter’s breath caught in his throat and fear tingled the hunter’s spine when he saw the unmistakable slitted golden eyes of Gáta. He stood crouched over the hunter. He had one dagger in his tunic, the other in one hand, and his legendary crown of human bone and metal, claws protruding from his nail bed and behind those glowing eyes was a harnessed chaos.

     “Sir, I—“ Gáta placed a cold finger on the hunter’s mouth.

     “Shh, your time for talking is over,” he said cooly as a one visible dimple rose closer to one eye, showing a slight smirk. He was so close to the hunter’s face he could smell the dried blood on his face. “Now, usually I don’t mind the smell of blood, but only when it’s your kind’s.”

     “I didn’t mean to—“ Gáta clutched him by the jaw strong enough to hear a crack.

     “You didn’t mean to go hunting, on sacred ground? You didn’t mean to hunt, my sacred animal? So you could sell it on your little Mortal’s illegal market?” Gáta turned his hands outward, and the corpses of the enormous Tigers rose to life behind him, their bones snapping back into place as they began to prowl forward. They looked at him with a burning intensity, as if they remembered the hunter’s face. Gáta looked at him with an intensity to his Tigers, and the hunter avoided them at all costs, shuffling around in his chair as the snakes bound themselves even tighter. “What’s the matter? Want to be freed?” Asked Gáta.

     “Yes, my good Lord,” squealed the hunter, and Gáta smiled. The Tigers behind him began to slowly turn away and run away through the open doors.

     “Of course you do.” Said Gáta. Like a breath, he was gone and took all light from the lanterns, with the only light being from the moon now high in the sky, followed by the second moon. The snakes that bound him to the chair fell away, and he leapt to his feet fast enough to fall slightly dizzy for a little while. He then rummaged around, determined to get home. He left though the open barn doors and closed them behind him, those burning golden slitted eyes etched into his mind. Something snapped in the woods in front of him. As he scanned what he could see left in the little light left of the day, everything went quiet. As he locked the barn doors, a Tiger leapt out of the shadows and crushed his neck. Gáta stood against a tree with his arms folded and a smile that lit up his golden eyes.

     “This is what happens to people who kill my pretty pets,” he said as the Tiger feasted on its fresh meal.

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