07-13-2018, 10:56 PM
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She felt sticky, as though days' worth of sweat and tears stuck to every inch of her skin. Opening her eyes, she found herself confused as the black void gave way to yet another black void. Rubbing each of her three eyes, one at a time with her left hand, she slowly rose to a seated position using her other hand and limbs for support. Her bones popped with every movement, especially her back; if she heard the sound from another person, she might've gotten excited that someone damaged their vertebrae. As it was, she felt stiff down to her bones.
She remembered a mix of different sensations and memories; some of it felt uniquely placed in time, others as though it happened anywhere from years to eons ago. Recently, she remembered sensation after sensation of Latin chants intermingled with the touch of molten candle wax mixed into blood - what a uniquely sticky concoction that was, too. And she also knew that she lived within the cracks of space itself, feasting time and again on suffering born from the human condition. How fat the pickings were these days!
By now, her three eyes adjusted to the dark; as she looked around, so did her recent memories. With a chalk-etched pentagram below her feet and mutated animal sacrifices at each point, she certainly remembered participating. Swiping her tongue across her teeth, she wrinkled her nose as she remembered eating her own uterus - she hated the stale taste of blood, and immediately felt a lurching desire to replace it with fresh stuff. But, as she looked around, she saw nothing but rows upon rows of alcohol and pickled food. A sneer etched itself across her expression as she felt annoyance at those mortals; they dared to yank her from the fabric between realities, and they do not even prepare a sufficient first meal for their Frankenstein human-demon creation.
Dried blood crusted on her four horns, her fingernails picking at the scabs. She knew this bunker intimately well; she knew of every depraved act that went on in this place, but she did not know how to escape from inside. Indeed, as she studied and inquisitively poked her slender body, she supposed there wasn't a way out - it hadn't been designed for that purpose, with no handle on the inside and the door too wide for the opening. A one-way ticket to living comfortably in nuclear winter, at least until the supplies ran out. Until the cult killed the inhabitants and re-purposed it for their depraved uses.
She stood up, reaching her arms above her head and stretching like a cat. Well, she tried not to hold too much animosity towards those lunatics. After all, their Satanic ritual managed to work - quite a feat, given the high failure rate - and cause her to exist, a demon infused human... or whatever the kids called them, these days. Still, she found herself pissed that they didn't get a meal ready for her, didn't wait for her to wake up and then shower her with lavish gifts and more hedonistic wonders. Curiously turning her attention to the sacrifices - because, really, what worthy sacrifices for this ritual remained in this hellish world? - she grabbed one and heaved it up.
The purified gaze of a week-old corpse greeted her, free of insects and untouched thanks to the complete isolation of the bunker. "Ah, that explains that question," she mumbled, remembering that the five Satanists did sit on each corner for the ritual. Though she doubted they intended to end up dead, she appreciated their unwilling sacrifice nonetheless.
She remembered a mix of different sensations and memories; some of it felt uniquely placed in time, others as though it happened anywhere from years to eons ago. Recently, she remembered sensation after sensation of Latin chants intermingled with the touch of molten candle wax mixed into blood - what a uniquely sticky concoction that was, too. And she also knew that she lived within the cracks of space itself, feasting time and again on suffering born from the human condition. How fat the pickings were these days!
By now, her three eyes adjusted to the dark; as she looked around, so did her recent memories. With a chalk-etched pentagram below her feet and mutated animal sacrifices at each point, she certainly remembered participating. Swiping her tongue across her teeth, she wrinkled her nose as she remembered eating her own uterus - she hated the stale taste of blood, and immediately felt a lurching desire to replace it with fresh stuff. But, as she looked around, she saw nothing but rows upon rows of alcohol and pickled food. A sneer etched itself across her expression as she felt annoyance at those mortals; they dared to yank her from the fabric between realities, and they do not even prepare a sufficient first meal for their Frankenstein human-demon creation.
Dried blood crusted on her four horns, her fingernails picking at the scabs. She knew this bunker intimately well; she knew of every depraved act that went on in this place, but she did not know how to escape from inside. Indeed, as she studied and inquisitively poked her slender body, she supposed there wasn't a way out - it hadn't been designed for that purpose, with no handle on the inside and the door too wide for the opening. A one-way ticket to living comfortably in nuclear winter, at least until the supplies ran out. Until the cult killed the inhabitants and re-purposed it for their depraved uses.
She stood up, reaching her arms above her head and stretching like a cat. Well, she tried not to hold too much animosity towards those lunatics. After all, their Satanic ritual managed to work - quite a feat, given the high failure rate - and cause her to exist, a demon infused human... or whatever the kids called them, these days. Still, she found herself pissed that they didn't get a meal ready for her, didn't wait for her to wake up and then shower her with lavish gifts and more hedonistic wonders. Curiously turning her attention to the sacrifices - because, really, what worthy sacrifices for this ritual remained in this hellish world? - she grabbed one and heaved it up.
The purified gaze of a week-old corpse greeted her, free of insects and untouched thanks to the complete isolation of the bunker. "Ah, that explains that question," she mumbled, remembering that the five Satanists did sit on each corner for the ritual. Though she doubted they intended to end up dead, she appreciated their unwilling sacrifice nonetheless.