Goat Penis = 362 = The End of Time
Goat Penis = 362 = The End of Time
The sounds of anguish
Shake the earth
And coax my ears.
A burst of monstrous, distorted laughter sliced through my ears—a thunderous roar that shook the earth and pulled at its skin. For a moment the merging of realms halted, abruptly falling mute as though commanding my focus—no gory rain, no wind, not even the sound of my own breathing. The lashing from behind had stopped as well, and as I glanced back I found my pursuer standing in place, his gaze turned skyward.
Dark emanations of gore
Grace my senses,
Calling me forth.
Transference began with a clump of black tendrils hanging from the vortex like connective tissue from a wound, soon revealing legs. And those legs seemed to span the whole sky, their dark flesh wilted off the bone in mangled strands and woven black arteries. But at their pelvis a long, pulsating rod came into view, its bulbous head piercing the air with a potent erection. The jagged tips of enormous thorny wings descended until the apparition’s head finally gazed at me—horned and hircine—its animalistic eyes stricken with malice.
I carve the veil
Between antipodes,
Emerging in blackened flesh.
He stood upright—unnaturally so—his posture seemingly forced by a stake impaled from anus to throat. The air around him twisted and popped as though his presence created friction between hell and earth. I’d come face to face with something truly infernal—a being of pure, distilled evil transfigured into matter—the Antithesis.
An arc of crimson lightning struck the earth before me, seemingly birthed from heaven as it propagated the white-hot wrath of hell. This bolt of aether did not briefly lunge and withdraw but instead remained a writhing centipede, tendrils scorching phlogiston from the air. A shrill murmur filled my ears and crackled beneath my skin, my surroundings rapidly flickering scarlet.
From its blazing core arose a dark sliver—spectral plasma exalted into physical matter. The sliver grew erect, seeping down its vermillion axis, tapering into a slender thorn. Abruptly, the crackling pillar vanished, seeming no more than a hallucination, its issue clattering against the ground. And at my feet lay a sword—so blackened by patina that it appeared native to an even colder, darker realm.
I figured this blade could be none other than a gift from demonic to mortal flesh, conceived by a mutual deathlust. I wrapped my fingers around its sable grip—icy in spite of such blazing inception—and envisioned the blood it would spill.
Yet in my other hand the glass shard remained, and I ran my thumb over the sticky crimson membrane that left its surface opaque. I’d already baptized the shard in my fluids—cut myself out of the womb of desolation so that I may drown in a world of pleasure. What kind of lover would I be if I’d cast it away so early?
I relaxed my midsection as I searched for a thoroughly deep wound from my prior torment. I aligned the fragment’s head with its lips, and through a sharp exhale I thrust it into my flesh, scalding pain drawing an outline of its jagged shape. The glass sat lodged halfway into my abdomen, and another teeth-grinding shove kept it in place with only a small protrusion peeking out.
Beside me, the creak of a door rose just above the beating of rain, and I turned to see a rigid shape of candlelight carved out of the bloody mist. I squinted and ran my gaze across the wall of houses beside me—hardly visible through the storm—seeing no hands that could have opened it.
Tempestuous wailing diminished into a faint patter as I shut the door. Blood trickled from my skin and the edge of my blade, leaving a puddle around my feet that crept between floorboards. I shook my head like a dog and blinked away the remaining wetness, finding myself in a decrepit living space. An assortment of pots and bowls lay scattered on a dark wooden table—all coarse with dust and oxidation. Over a small furnace hung bundles of grains, vegetables, and herbs—many dark and withered while others had become nests for spiders.
A creature stepped in unwittingly from the adjacent room, carrying a woven sack over the shoulder of its tunic. Time froze as our gazes met, the figure halting its movement. Through its eyes I saw my own presence—naked and drenched from head to heel in blood—staring with equal vacancy.
But the twisting of my stomach reminded me that time had not truly been petrified, and that death drew closer with every moment, indifferent to whose soul she would claim. The tension between us coalesced into palpable sparks, my heart pounding and muscles quivering until their tension could only be released through unbridled, overwhelming violence.
I tightened my grip on the sword, a mixture of panic and bloodlust sending me forth with both arms cocked to the side. Towards the beast’s skull I yanked them in a wide arc, and out of instinct it raised an arm to protect itself. The blade carved through flesh with ease, sending a tremor through my wrists as it struck bone. My adversary released a deep cry that emerged as a grunt from behind bared teeth, and struck my neck with its fist, evoking more rage than pain.
I yanked my sword free, grating marrow as a plume of blood splattered against the walls and floor, the metallic stench of death flooding my nose. A scream finally tore itself out of the beast’s throat as it lost the ability to mask its pain, and it bent at the hips with its wounded forearm clutched tightly.
Like an executioner I raised my blade high, driving down with my elbows as iron slammed into the creature’s nape, snapping through vertebrae. And just as the titanic force of the blow shook my skeleton, its victim fell limp into a puddle of gore.
My own heavy breathing replaced the sound of violence as I stared at the corpse, its neck split open like parted lips with crimson saliva running down its face. And in the corner of my eye I saw the tip of my stained blade, running up its edge as I recalled how the Antithesis had gifted it to me in a burst of lightning—placed it in my gluttonous hands before I’d even realized how deeply I hungered.
I felt a dark revelation emerging from my own blood as it surged hot and viscid through my brain—I’d sent my life down a path with no return—a trail of agony and death that would fold in on itself and shove me further ad nauseum. Shackles forged out of my own sadism would drag me by my wrists until they bleed whether I dig my heels into the ground or let perversion take hold.
A vile, thunderous cacophony of laughter shocked me out of my own thoughts and ripped through my ears, dust falling from the rafters as vibrations formed ornate patterns in my victim’s blood. In a burst of vitality the corpse’s limbs regained their function, though their impulse remained disconnected from its mind, thrashing like snakes caught on meat hooks without regard for their own joints. Its arm swung in a mindless arc that struck the floor and cracked the bones of its wrist, shoving against the ground until the carcass lay on its back. I scoured my mind for how a lifeless body could squirm with such fervor, wondering if some external force had seized it or if my own unquenched wrath had breached the physical.
As its limbs continued to flail the beast lifted its head—the wound in its nape spewing dark blood as it tore further—and repeatedly slammed its skull against the floor. The solid thud of bone against wood grew into a crumble and a squelch until bright oxidized fluids swirled through the darker pool.
With a deafening snap its chest bust open, a heavy wave of gore painting the ceiling and trickling from the rotten grains. The corpse’s ribs had simultaneously broken and twisted themselves upward, its sternum floating in a pool of blood at the crater’s median.
From the gaping wound in its thorax the creature’s skin began to peel itself back in narrow strips, its tunic fraying against their pressure, exposing a blood-slick layer of muscle and fascia beneath. The flesh twisted and branched and converged into a florid lattice of sinew, seemingly creating and destroying matter at a whim until all I saw was a thousand worms wriggling in each other’s bloody excrement.
Muscle soon followed, peeling from broken ribs and twitching entrails, fleshy coils rolling down to the corpse’s phalanges before exploding towards incomprehensible detail like every fiber had been possessed by a different manic consciousness. And across every string in the fleshy web ran autonomous trails of blood, forming geometric patterns and illegible liquid sigils.
I felt a strange pressure under my eyes as though I was about to cry, followed by a forceful tightening in my chest—a parasite crawling beneath my ribcage. A splitting force enveloped my skull as though attempting to rip it in half. I rubbed my temples to soothe the pain, but pushed so hard in frustration that I only worsened it.
Such an illogical reaction—my heart aching and my eyes weeping as though I was not the victor in this altercation—as if I had not somehow reduced this creature to a mosaic of gore. Rage quickly smothered any trace of sadness, my own emotions betraying my consciousness. Droplets of black liquid ran from my face like loose pitch, and I quickly realized that I was not crying.