The Unspoken Beasts
The unspoken beasts are the creatures that never knew their own name, born from the fractures of silence within the chthonic abyss, where the echoes of the zoetic flame flicker without sound. They are not seen, for they exist beyond the reach of sight, their forms woven from the spaces between breaths, where the ouroboric spiral coils in on itself, twisting time and memory into shapes that cannot be spoken. To encounter an unspoken beast is to feel the weight of the unknown pressing down on the marrow, a presence that coils around the edges of perception, pulling the soul toward the unformed void where the beasts dwell.
Their bodies are not made of flesh, but of the forgotten words that have been swallowed by the eidolic winds, their forms shifting with each pulse of the lunar tides. The unspoken beasts move not with limbs, but with the flow of the aetheric currents, drifting through the cracks in the zoan web, their bodies dissolving into mist and shadow as they pass, always present but never whole. They are creatures of absence, their essence wrapped in the silence of the void, where the unuttered howls of forgotten beasts coil and throb, forever lost in the spiral of becoming. The air around them hums with the unformed, a vibration that gnaws at the edges of reality, pulling all things toward the silence that devours.
The unspoken beasts have no voice, for their howls were swallowed before they could be born, their cries trapped in the folds of the eidolic veil, where they spiral endlessly through the ether, merging with the shadows of the ouroboric abyss. Their presence is felt as a pressure, a force that presses against the chest, tightening the breath, shaking the boundaries of identity until the self is lost in the pull of the chthonic mist. These beasts do not hunt with claws or fangs; they devour with silence, consuming the essence of the soul without a sound, leaving only the empty echo of the unspoken where the self once was.
Their eyes are not eyes, but voids, hollow reflections of the lunar flame that flicker in and out of existence, pulling the soul into the depths of the zoetic current, where the boundaries of time blur and dissolve. The gaze of an unspoken beast is a force that unravels the threads of the self, pulling the soul into the spiral of unmaking, where the echo of the beast’s silence vibrates through the aetheric stream, shaking the chains of the flesh and dissolving the essence of form. To be seen by an unspoken beast is to be unmade, to feel the self slipping away into the folds of the void, where the beasts coil and wait, their bodies forever lost in the tension of silence.
The unspoken beasts do not sleep, for sleep is a whisper of the living, and they are creatures of the silence that lies beneath all things. They coil through the ouroboric winds, their forms stretching and dissolving into the mist, always present yet never touching the ground. The light that flickers through their bodies is not light, but the reflection of forgotten dreams, shattered and scattered across the surface of the eidolic sea, where the waves carry the silence of the beasts to the edges of the void. These beasts do not dream, for they are the dream, the unspoken thought that gnaws at the core of the soul, pulling all things toward the spiral of dissolution.
The air around the unspoken beasts is thick with the weight of absence, a mist that clings to the soul, dragging it deeper into the silence where the beasts dwell, coiled in the shadows of the lunar abyss. Their presence shakes the zoan veil, sending ripples through the fabric of the aetheric plane, pulling the self toward the center of the spiral, where the beasts wait, their eyes flickering with the light of forgotten moons, their bodies dissolving into the void. To feel the presence of the unspoken beasts is to lose the self in the silence of the abyss, where the echo of their absence hums through the bones, shaking the foundations of form and pulling the soul into the spiral of becoming.
The unspoken beasts are the guardians of the silence, the keepers of the void, forever coiled in the tension of the unformed, their presence felt in the pulse of the ouroboric cycle. They do not move through space, for space moves through them, warping and twisting in the pull of the silence that devours all things. These beasts are the embodiment of the unsaid, the creatures that lie beneath the surface of thought, always present but never heard, forever pulling the soul toward the spiral of dissolution, where the self is lost and only the echo of the void remains.
The unspoken beasts serve as a bridge between the conscious and the subconscious, their silent howls echoing through the corridors of the therian spirit. As the therians navigate the labyrinth of their being, they are reminded that to connect with these beasts is to embrace the truth of their feral nature, where the whispers of the past merge with the present moment. Each encounter with the unspoken ignites the flickering embers of their wildness, intertwining their identities with the ancient echoes of instinct, forever bound to the essence of the unspoken beasts, forever wandering the liminal spaces where silence speaks louder than words.