Krollock floated through the forest, searching for something, but unsure as to what.
Something was drawing him to this place, something out in the forgotten corners of the wild wood, but he could not place what he was feeling. The fact that he were feeling it at all meant that it fell into his domain; it was something corrupt, and it was something strong, but of only that much was he certain.
There was something familiar about it, whatever it was. A sameness to it, something that he recognized, but it was not something he had encountered before. For all it's familiarity, it was alien to him. It was something new. It was something he had to find.
As he hovered through trees, he felt a surge, a spike in whatever force had pulled him here. Scanning the ground below, he spotted a small, dead animal. Whatever it had been, it was very little now. A tiny skeleton, thinly connected by withered meat and draped in stained fur that drifted off of it like loose dandelion seeds. The life it once had was long gone, replaced by that which writhed about it from within and below. But something else caught Krollock's gaze. The source of the black energy that connected it to whatever it was that he were seeking.
A piece of wood jutted from it's ribcage. It was jagged and splintered from the force of it's entry. Violence. That was part of what he tasted about the whole thing, but there was something else. The end that protruded from it's back had been gnawed through, chewed apart in a frenzy. Whatever had done this was so terrible, that the tiny creature did everything in it's power, expending every last ounce of it's being to simply die away from the thing that skewered it.
Krollock told the animal to awake, and it got to what remained of it's legs, shook off a host of the squirming life that had covered it, and looked up at it's master.
Take me to the thing that did this.
Even in death the creature hesitated. If it had a soul, it would have refused. Luckily, it did not. Slowly at first, it trotted off into the woods, dripping small white objects from it's underside like tiny raindrops.
Before long, a stench. A stench unlike anything most will ever smell. A smell Krollock knew all too well.
He could feel the power growing. It pulsed flowing from it's origin like black blood pouring into the world. Soaking everything around it. Corroding it. Up ahead, he could see a wooden box, standing alone amidst the trees. It looked -- and felt -- like a casket.
The little animal looked up at Krollock as though it were hoping beyond hope that he would have mercy. His new master was beyond mercy. He snatched up the fetid thing, opened his mouth far wider than was possible, and shoved the creature, squealing, somewhere deep inside it.
Leave, you'll not.
After a moment, the squealing stopped.
He moved toward the rotten wooden box, it's door cracked a bit. Flies buzzed around it with enthusiasm. Throwing the door wide, a volley of dead animals lay scattered within. Some had objects sticking out of their withered bodies, old safety pins stuck in eye sockets, screws lining ribcages, pieces of broken glass bisecting skeletons. Vines grew along the inside of the outhouse, seeiming to wind like diseased veins from within the toilet itself. Starting small at first, and growing in length and thickness as the vines progressed up the rickety walls, were thorns. scores of razor-sharp thorns dotted the vines, most bearing the impaled carcass of a small animal. One of them, Krollock saw had been chewed clean through.
The source of the infection was here; pulsating, deep within the foul hole that yawned before him.
He looked within, and saw it. With a dull popping sound, his arms creaked and stretched, growing pushing themselves deep down the stinking darkness, until he felt his prize. Clutching it, he pulled from it's septic cradle.
It was amazing. The power this tiny thing posessed....the rage. The hatred made flesh, the pure, endlessly, effortlessly flowing blackness.
Krollock floated out of the vulgar tomb, into the open air.
He held the little, reddish-pink thing aloft, showing it the sky.
He brought it to his breast.
Leaning into it's misshapen face, he spoke, like any father would.
Welcome to the world, little one. God hates you.