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wastrelust
By : HarlequindeRustre
Category: -Misc Video Games/RPGs > General
Views: 2099 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own Agony. Whatever hilarious inconsistencies with the as-of-yet unknown canon, that could be construed as attempts at original content, are just me writing blind. In addition, I make no profit off this work, for good or ill. - Chapter List
Lost in half-thought, half-desecration as he was, the foolish survivor-`til-then noticed the return of the murdering beast… The satyr entered the room with a long, heavy stride, stopping to stand in the mouth of the tunnel behind it. It was then that the wastrel noticed the fiend’s more human aspects
...Namely, the sinewy human torso that connected to its hairy haunches, bedecked with ornate, vulgar jewelry. The perverse ornaments, paired with its sleek, pale belly, helped to accentuate the heaving of its chest. Hanging weightily from its breast were twin teats that were uncannily human in form.
Milk white and pendulous, either one tipped with a large, protuberant nipple. The wastrel found himself watching the twin movements of the beast’s breasts, half-conscious of the rest of the beast. Perhaps his mind had come fully undone in recent happenings, but this had held his attention, even as his fingers scrambled to get the torch fully in hand.
Like all beasts, this one was pure predator, lunging toward the wastrel-
His wrist threw up out of instinct- however, the fool moved too quickly, and the flambeau slipped from his clumsy grip. The beast batted the hand away, bearing down on the human in a rage. Its clawed palm impacted the wastrel’s chest, eliciting a stuttering lightning-web of pain. His ribcage dented in an instant with a crumbling pop. The wastrel could only sob once, his throat rasping, the sound barely escaping his mouth.
The human tried to escape by slipping through the fiend’s legs. Yet, with his breath robbed from him, it was impossible for him to muster the impetus. He squirmed sluggishly, one arm raised in meek defense. The other arm had been pulverized against the wall when it was knocked aside...the wastrel couldn’t even feel it. Couldn’t move it.
It grasped his throat with its jagged nails. He felt them lance through his flesh, their points sharp as they were filthy. He felt the talons’ cold touch, as they displaced the hot blood that poured out over them. His neck slickened quickly, even though the fiend paused for but a second as if making a decision.
The next instant, the beast hauled his head up by his gouged neck. Time marched almost sluggishly in the moment, or so it seemed...the fall back down, slammed down hard into the bone floor, seemed almost funereal in its passing. On impact, the fiend’s nails sank deeper into flesh, near filleting his spine on two separate sides.
The fiend took hold of the wastrel’s head with its other claw, its fingers clamping down like calipers on his temples. Creaking sounds welled in the feckless survivor’s ears. His head was hoisted again, then the beast seemed to push his head away. He wasn’t sure, for then his experience of the present moment distorted. He recalled a bump and his pate feeling to come away from itself, but he wasn’t sure.
His vision was turning green and red. Flicker, flicker.
Its bony face clapped. It’s open. Red came out.
Slippery on his face. Snaking into numb gaps…
Slick slurp. Slump slick.
As the beast takes its meal, its prey fades away. His eyes settle dully on its shaking breasts, the light beginning to dim as pink and filmy grey ooze slips down onto them.
~xxx
When concussed, time and life stops making sense. It’ll make even less sense when your head’s being treated like a pudding cup.
This piece goes out to all the readers who found the original post too optimistic. I had my doubts, too. I like to dream, tho.
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