Sword = 1124 = Satan Has Returned
Sword = 1124 = Satan Has Returned
Traces of shouting murmured beneath the thunderous buzzing of locusts. It seemed nothing beyond a chord generated among the enormous wall of sound—dissonant choirs harmonizing by pure coincidence—but its tone was unmistakably humanoid.
I knew without deliberation that more flesh to carve and rape was a sufficient reward for another verminous onslaught, my sadism impervious to any number of rats. And so I returned blade-first to the festering jungle, trudging as quickly as Rape could slice in hopes of remaining the only thing inhabiting my armor. Yet as I breached the field I saw no peasants nor city-dwellers, instead finding myself at the edge of a gruesome war zone.
I had not known the city was under siege while I was frisking about its more infested quarters, yet before me was the gruesome spectacle of war across its farmland. Armored corpses lay scattered from my feet to the horizon, spilling blood from between scales—some whole while others lacked heads or limbs. Crows swarmed around bodies no different than locusts around crops, swooping down to tear bloodshot eyes from the faces of the dead.
And before me stood a crowd of several dozen soldiers, all impaled by each other’s spears as their shafts formed a blood-drenched plume. Some remained alive, others held in place by their living companions who sat on the same skewer, left to rot against walls of iron. The coagulation shifted and wobbled like a broken machine as each unit tried to push its spears further into the other, though it only led them deeper into chaos and farther down their enemy’s pikes. It seemed the inconceivable pain of war had been condensed into one twitching and groaning mass—faceless suits of armor vying to rape one another with sharpened steel to the gut.
A creature wrenched itself from a flurry of spears that had punctured its torso, tearing through muscle and tendon as it stumbled away from the crowd. A glistening web of clotted blood and connective tissue stretched from its wounds like hanging intestines as the beast charged me with a savage battlecry, its spearhead aimed for my midsection. My initial impulse was to step aside, but in the crimson steel I saw a world of agony, and I could not help but make it my own. And so I let all my tension slip away, accepting any amount of suffering that would grace me.
The spear punched through my armor, impregnating my midsection with a slender iron phallus. I recoiled and bit the air, reflexively gripping its shaft. Pain had charged me head-first, and I’d gripped its horns with enough resolve to force submission, a gasp of pleasure seeping between my teeth at the sensation of immense power. Jagged steel crystals spread across my innards with every twist of the apex—indistinct from waves of pleasure through my cock.
Every laceration and every bruise had pushed me towards the revelation that pain was not just desired but imperative—sustenance for the soul rather than the flesh—ingurgitated in all ways with and without teeth. I yearned to be embraced by pain whether I was the one in coitus or simply playing a voyeur—to let it wrap its bitter hands around my throat and rape me until I’m sick.
I finally withdrew the spear from my gut, entrails bulging out like labia behind a dribble of spermatic blood, and with the loss of such indulgence I narrowed my focus on the hot flesh before me. I shoved its point aside so that I may charge sawblade-first into the creature’s shoulder. Armor screamed with sapient agony as Rape’s teeth shredded it with ease, the detached limb showered by a crimson deluge as it struck the ground. The hog lay writhing in the dirt, screaming and clenching its fresh stump as blood painted a trail towards the gates of death. And into its throat I plunged my saw, unlocking them.
The corpse began to convulse, thrusting its pelvis with violent thrashes, the wound spouting thick torrents of blood as each spasm compressed its arteries. This tetanic twitching was no different from that of arousal—fornicating with an unseen whore—each stimulus prodding and branding its deceased mind in the exact same lobes.
Palingenesis began with an elongation of its torso, thorax impelled so far that the phallic structure became visible beneath its chestpale. Skin and muscle stretched with gruesome plasticity, growing jagged and flushed as they split vertically under tension. Each yawning rift unveiled the deepest star of coiled entrails, caged by an octahedron with a tangent loom of torn muscle, its vertices circumscribed by a sheath of skin.
Steel laminae abruptly snapped apart as the reconstruction became too violent for even solid metal to withstand, shouting with an explosive slam as spectral blades severed its nerves. The sloughing of its armor exposed abhorrent biology beneath—limbs germinating tumors that grew bloated with accelerated hyperplasia, birthing new appendages in a belated mitosis with no constraints nor budget for tissue. Neonate fingers groped the air, their inclination too alien to function with human flesh.
Bones shattered and veins crawled through apertures in the skin like maggots, slithering across the cluttered landscape of flesh. They wrapped their full length around torn chunks of iron, molesting every fragment with a thousand crimson phalanges. Each shred of gore and metal arranged itself with flawless symmetry as though steel were life and flesh were machine, mutating into something so transcendent that it bore resemblance to neither.
Between rigid plates and rubbery strands of offal was a writhing tempest, bubbling and smearing in all directions—a pelagic orgy of blood and iron without regard for euclidean space. Fragments of metal embellished this now unrecognizably opulent carcass, arranged with a floral symmetry that suggested such vehement tearing was more surgical than it once appeared.
Another series of throbs expanded in my chest—this time powerful and nauseating—squeezing my entrails and twisting my bones near the point of shattering. Menstrual cramps sunk their vicious teeth into my thorax as though I would give birth to my own ribcage. A heinously warm sludge began gushing from the countless lacerations in my body, trickling black down each of my scales. The heat ascended my throat in a sluggish bout of nausea, and I expectorated thick hatred that spilled over my jaw.