The great felled beast lay within a pool of its own fetid bilious hemolymph; its eight legs splayed out in a star-like formation, like it had been stepped on by some great, monstrous boot. It adopted a similar posture to its diminutive cousins, possibly due to some quirk of arachid biology that persists throughout the family, despite scale.
Surrounding this pool was a small pack of black and green striped hounds bouncing around its corpse—rows of serrated teeth gnashing and gnawing loudly against the tough exoskeleton of the titanic octoped—as they tried to tear off pieces of chitinous shell to reveal the soft, gooey flesh that eagerly awaited, inside.
