The fields of yellow-stained corn appeared very much similar to the insides of the bladed spinning device that Max was so fond of using. Not in the literal sense, but rather when something had jammed the chainsaw it was clear what internal malfunction had occured, as it also was when something had disturbed the neatly standing maize. Even the slightest unevenness would have been enough for Max to notice the crouched figure in the fields without the murder of crows circling over them. He held down the trigger of his terrifing instrument, raised it over his head, then started to charge.
But when he reached the pale shape they did not yield to the spinning blades and instead let out a shrill gasp and seemed to move through it, and Max, without so much as a scratch.
Max was momentarily suprised.
Whenever his saw came down upon his targets and they, through incomprehensible means, moved passed it they never went through Max completely. But his shock was as short lived as the recovery of his swing, and he went after the pale figure readying his off-hand hammer for a second strike.
The target was limping and was soon within the blunt head's reach as Max pulled back his left arm. But once again the figure let out a gasp for air and phased through the attack unscathed, much to Max's anger. This began a pattern that only increased his ferocity when all of his assualts were met with thin air, and disolved what was left of his patience. In a blood-lust fueled act of desperation Max charged the figure with his chainsaw held high and lessoned his grip as he swung it parallel to his waist. It span through the air at such a speed that the figure was at last knocked to the ground.
Max went over to inspect his handy work and was pleased to find that the chainsaw's tip was covered in a glowing red substance. The figure lay still as he raised the mighty weapon above his head once more and filling the air with its ear splitting cry before letting it fall.
The figure was not abscent of her reflexes however, and she went clean through Max's clumsy attempt at finishing her then countered with her own strike aimed towards his back, her bonesaw now deeply embedded in Max's swollen shoulder blade. Max responded to the pain by swinging his arms backwards, hitting the figure firmly in the chest. He grasped at the sharp pain and let out a mild groan as he removed the saw and flung it towards the figure. She threw herself down as the saw just skirted over her head, and the ground was litered with the excess of her open wound. She let out a cry and warped to where the saw had landed.
As she disappeared out of the field Max revved up his chainsaw again and followed, sprinting as fast as he could.
As he rushed out of the corn field Max lowered his arms and slowed down. Now aware of his targets ability he carefully walked around the stacked haybales. His sunken eyes were easily able to spot the glowing red trail that lead into the farmhouse. If it didn't already light up in his contorted vision its scent would have most certainly lead Max to wounded target.
The blood lead upstairs. Like a moth to a flame Max honed in without hesitation, only stopping to taste the air once he ascened the staircase. There was little doubt in his mind that he would catch them much easier in the enclosed corridors. As he turned the first corner the trail abruptly stopped at several scraps of stained white cloth. Max was undeterred. He had them cornered after all.
The crows outside had gathered on the roof of the house and began to cry out as Max methodically stepped around the hallways, waiting for the nervous breathing of a target that always graced his ears when they were trapped on the second floor. The silent air was disturbed by the expected breathing when he entered the last room. Inside was the splintered remnants of a wooden dressing table and several stools, now happily broken as they gave way to vivid memories of abuse before Max had crushed them under his heel. Also present were two rectangular boxes. They were made of red dyed wood and had metal hinges with several thin slits to peer in. It wasn't uncommon for them to be used as hiding places during a hunt, a luxury that Max savoured as he often plucked the terrified and helpless from their steel coffins.
He put his ear to the box on the left. It was audibly silent. He made sure to keep his head facing the doorway as he went closer to the second box, as to not startle to target inside. He walked to the side of the box and listening whilst quieting his own breathing.
There was no doubt of what was inside.
He flung the box open and had only moments to see the pale figure lunge foward, spliting the leathery skin across his face apart with her saw then warp behind him as he recoiled from the pain. Her entire body weight fell upon Max, and his head fell into the open box before being slammed between its doors repeatedly. His chainsaw was ripped from his weakened grip by
the figure's steel grip and struck hard across Max's already wounded shoulder.
It went clean through.
Max could only comprehend the ringing in his ears and the pain coursing through his body as he fell backwards, with a mixture red, yellow and black liquid leaking onto the floor. The figure fell backwards against the wall opposite to him, panting heavily. The world became a blur and he could only just make out the appendages growing from the ceiling as consciousness failed him.
He awoke some time afterwards
Any trace of his wounds had vanished. His chainsaw was by his side, now marked with several vertical scratches. The figure was gone.
It was obvious to Max what had happened. He had failed to meet the beast's demands.
He was too eager to catch his target and too prideful to learn from his failed attempts. He was lucky that all he received from this blunder was the sharp but short-lived pain. Had he been unsuccessful against his usual quarry the suffering endured would have been unbearable.
He got up and looked out through one of the houses many rotted holes. There was movement in the maize. Max lumbered down the staircase. Once at its base he exited the farmhouse and looked out to see a figure crouching low in the field. He held down the chainsaw's trigger, raised it above his head and began to charge.
Max would not fail again.
