Agony = 498 = Incinerated in Hellfire
Agony = 498 = Incinerated in Hellfire
A cold palm pressed against her throat, its lustful touch distinct from any sort of tenderness. And with creeping sadism its black-scorched fingers wrapped around her neck—long enough to cross at her nape—pinching the flesh until she gasped at the sharp pain. But this gasp turned into a tremor—and a shriek of fear—and a twisting parasite within her gut as the demon shoved his phallus inside her, stretching flesh to accommodate its size. She gripped the attacker’s arm with strength borne of terror before disgust swamped her like blood in the back of a corpse’s throat, hands nearly turning numb.
He raped her with inhuman flux—a kinesiology impossible for earthly joints—sharp twitches like a spider molesting its prey. Perversion obscured any semblance of empathy as he used her flesh like a toy without regard for the tearing at the back of her womb, the liquid fetus in her chamber only lubricating each stab. Dark, electric bolts ascended her viscera with every slam—a blend of pain and pleasure reserved only for love—now twisted into nauseating disgust.
He finished with cardiac pulsations, ejaculating masses of thick, black semen. The liquid sloshed around her torn pelvic cavity before crawling towards her uterus, clinging to its beaten walls like black spider webs, saturated with filth beyond all substance.
The seed filled her with unwavering malignity, digging its claws into the threads of time as they dangled from the abstract like loose skin, pulling them towards an infinite abyss. The darkness creaked and folded on itself, becoming blacker than black—denser than cold steel—until causality had no choice but to fall limp and accept eternal suffering.
Without warning he dug his claws between her ribs and yanked her from his cock like a layer of skin, her womb leaking a stream of obsidian cum. And even beyond penetration she lay sapped and screaming—all of her pains bellowing from her raw throat whether they existed in body or mind.
In her womb the horde of spermatozoa conjoined as a viscid scarlet thrombus, pulsing with every sinful permutation of hunger and lust. And with an impetuous burst the disease unwound into a formless, arachnoid web of screaming nerves, glowing scarlet with encapsulated fury. Each lissom axon bored through entrails, muscle, and fascia, teeth-grinding convulsions ripping through her body.
…A vessel,
Sodomized by my claws,
Compelled by depravity
Kindred with my own.
From the remaining matter came thick skewers of bone, impaling flesh as they entrenched themselves in foreign blood. Without regard for the frailty of her skin, the cancerous scaffolding prodded its surface, their crimson erections boring through integuments. Around each bone sprouted a grotesque musculature, burly enough to overwhelm its predecessor.
To scorch the world
With embers from below—
To propagate filth
Across distant strata.
Viscera bulged and entrails unspooled, shoving precursory offal into narrow crevices. The mass extruded a misshapen jaw, malformed bits of a new skull emerging. And the woman remained a swollen marriage of human and cancer—double her original mass—obscuring which flesh was human and which was malignancy.
Remnants of hell
Lingering in its flesh,
Baptized with a name
That tastes of blood and purulence—
Azazel.
Reality squirmed and convulsed—fitting no label other than “reality” as I had no knowledge beyond the elementary fact of existence. A hot wet substance began sliding, rippling past the outline of whatever structure had been relaying information to my consciousness. My sentience was void without form—capable of discerning and reasoning, yet I clawed frantically at its emptiness, suffocated by darkness. Pressing outward were shadows without objects to cast them, beating my unseen walls until they shattered.
Reality twisted into another vascular throb, pinning my outline in place for a moment, generating a deep squelch that pierced the infinite quiet preceding my creation. The viscid walls slid farther this time, a jagged rhythm of sputters and vibrations indicating that they had torn. Solid chunks of matter forced themselves around me as their matrix succumbed to a ravaging turbulence.
A thin membrane snapped, and for the first time in my existence I gained a new form of perception. I stared at a dark stone ceiling above and lowered my gaze onto equally drab walls, unable to imagine the endless configurations that were outside this space. I lifted my hand, realizing that my eyes were not the only movable parts, seeing that I was stained with fresh blood.
A tangible moisture hung in the air, its rancid droplets corroding bits of skin as they condensed. As though falling down the path of least resistance, my chest expanded to siphon a noxious torrent of these vapors through my nostrils, and I wondered if this was an implicit essence of reality or simply a localized stench.
I reached an arm across my chest, twisting at the waist until I lay face-down. With both elbows I shifted the weight of my torso onto my knees, crawling my hands backwards until I finally came to an unsteady perch atop my bare feet.
Suffering lusts
Much like its host.
Its rapes your flesh
And bloats you with seed.
Just as I confirmed that I would not fall and smash my skull against the floor, a sea of blades emerged from every surface, their tips piercing and protruding through rigid stone as though it were only wax. Vicious inorganic teeth jutted out with chaotic lengths and orientations—nails, knife edges, and spearheads among shards of broken glass—so dense that their gums were no longer discernible. As my feet learned the existence of pain I fell to my knees, rusted nails puncturing ligaments, and with my jaw painfully tight I asked myself why—out of all possible realities—my own had to include such torment.
Its issue transfigures
Into writhing maggots,
Begging for dispersion.
An incorporeal force shoved me prostrate against this killing floor as though gravity had multiplied itself tenfold. Blades pierced my skin from thighs to chest before my head slammed into a cluster of glass, leaving me concussed as they skewered my face. Suffering occluded all the dead space in my mind, expanding into every crevice of my skull like a toxic gas before I could comprehend the destruction.
They gnaw through your entrails,
Twisting your flesh,
And you become a maggot yourself.
A long fragment of glass impaled my right eye, corrupting one hemisphere of reality into a scarlet blur, emanating sharp throbs of pain through my head. Iron skewered my lips, impaling gums and dislodging teeth. An agonizing moan escaped between my torn lips as my throat seized up in shock. A metallic pungence coated my tongue, its origin obscured as though nails were blood and my blood was nails, my heart becoming an effigy gored by a hundred spears as they coagulated. Saliva trickled down the glass, mixing with blood as my palate tried to expel the foul taste.
Come with me.
Let’s be sick together.
The apparitional force yanked me by my head, nearly severing it from my torso. Blades ripped through my skin in sopping trails of agony until the shards only slid between chunks of torn flesh, leaving a dark crimson trail.
Pain sizzled through my body and squeezed my viscera between callous fingers, reverberating outward again until nausea crept up my throat. I lost all bodily control as the torment paralyzed me, muscles unable to comprehend stimulus beyond endless pain. My mind regressed as far as my brief existence allowed, serrated glass shearing through brain matter.
I bared my teeth and let my tongue unfurl, struggling against the pain like a rabid animal—ribs visible, eyes bloodshot, fur caked with dirt and infected wounds. My skull slammed into the wall with an impact so thunderous that my own teeth sliced my tongue off. A sea of blood pooled behind my incisors, gushing over my lips like vomit as I parted them.
And even after the impact the walls continued their incessant shoving. I rolled my face sideways against the friction of a dozen blades and saw the walls contracting like a womb preparing for birth, pulsing and throbbing nearer with every movement. Glass shattered and steel whistled as it snapped apart, fragments of matter raining from the ceiling until the walls finally reached my body on all sides.
My limbs bent in erroneous ways, forcing my knee into my sternum and my elbow to the opposite scapula. Bones splintered like wood, pinned together by thousands of jagged thorns. The walls chewed my flesh and scraped my skin raw until every harrowing breath was laced with serrated dust and the odor of my own blood.
My flesh had reached its limit of perceivable agony—its orgasm of pleasure’s inverse. My nerves howled until their throats burned, leaving them unable to scream any louder. The tearing of skin seemed to occur in limbs that were disjointed from my brain, its excision causing no more suffering than if it had been left on.
And just as quickly as the world had shrunk, it dilated once more, allowing me to lay on my back with agony pooled just above my nostrils. I glanced at my arm, even a slight flicker of my eyes feeling abrasive against thorns of agony. Scarlet rivers ran from my palm to my shoulder, still spilling over their banks.
Sapped and delirious, I rubbed my finger down a shard of glass that my hand had fallen beside. The scaffolding of my brain twisted into its shape as the exact outline seared itself into my broken consciousness. I prodded my index at its tip—unsure if I was trying to ward off unconsciousness or simply distract myself from the pain—and pushed down until it broke the skin, imagining the slick point carving through epidermis.
I smiled against the sharp pains in my torn lips, finding humor in how small this agony was—hardly a drop of blood in a boundless ocean. I lifted my finger, commanding the pain to cease, its magnitude blending into the ambience. And I waited, knowing it was now at my whim—before gripping with all my strength and letting it take me. Its edge dug through skin and muscle until it pressed against my bones, and I stroked my hand up and down, vibrations rattling through my skeleton as I exhaled in pleasure. I pulled the shard sideways and snapped it free of its foundation, clutching my tiny shred of power.
A lithic rumble groaned behind my head, and I scraped my hair against a now smooth floor as I realized that its teeth had descended. A frame of incisions in the wall depressed against its permiterer, digging a canal through the stone until the edges glistened with moonlight and a zephyr frosted my dripping wounds. The inset tilted back, striking the ground with a deep slam and a swirling haze of dust.
What a sick mockery of an existence—my flesh carved into ribbons before the world guides me forth as though I would take my first steps with exuberance.