Better late than never, right?
All characters in sexual situations are over 18.
*****
Warm. Wet. Safe.
Once it had been something else. Something complicated. Needlessly so. Its mind had been shattered-pieces shiny, distracting glass. Not now. Not since the Taste. Now it need only float and dream pretty little dreams of things that could be eaten. So many things could be eaten. Things it had never considered eating before. So many things made of meat and fat. It emitted a little squeal of delight at the thought of bones crunching and grease tumbling down its lips, which registered only as bubbles in the fluid that surrounded it.
The Taste! It hadn't been enough. Needed more, much, much more.
It felt the sound's vibration as much it heard it, ripples carried through the fluid. A creature was making sounds from outside, from another world. No, more than one creature. The sounds it made had a purpose. Complex. Language. Familiar. Too muffled to understand.
The world shook and it felt itself pitched to and fro. Danger. Enemies. It willed itself to move a finger. No. Too soon. Not ready.
Panic. Fear. Death?
The world responded, sending the Warmth down the tendril leading between its legs as it had done several times before. Each time better. Each time less shattered. Less fear. It squirmed and kicked at the sensation, enjoying the sensation of brushing the fleshy membrane with its toes.
Calmer. Itchy back. Voices were gone.
Sleepy. Time to sleep.
**
Rachel sat in the darkness, staring at the empty bed across the dorm room. It was made, the sky blue comforter betraying not a single wrinkle. She'd always told Cindy she was crazy, the amount of time she'd spend carefully aligning bedspread as though she expected a drill sergeant to stop by at any moment and issue demerits.
Then one day, it all came out over the course of a quiet, post-hangover breakfast.
When Cindy was nine, her mother had found God. It wasn't a slow transition. Literally overnight, her mother had gone from nights of blackout drunkenness to an almost-military routine of exercise, dieting, discipline, and prayer. Though her mother had boasted a newfound appreciation for traditional gender roles, her passive father remained as withdrawn as ever and never voiced a concern or objection.
It had taken Rachel a couple months to break Cindy of the habit of asking her permission to make minor changes to their room. Her friend's cell phone was still on her desk
Should have told campus security. The fact that it had only just occurred to her now was puzzling. Even now the idea felt wrong somehow. Whatever had happened to Cindy, wherever she was, Rachel knew the authorities weren't going to be of help.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she said to herself, out loud. "She could be dead, and her parents don't even know she's missing."
Rachel picked her phone, punched in her security pin and held the device out in front of her face.
She caught a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. She looked up from the phone at the Cindy's bed.
It had to have been a trick of the light. The pillows on Cindy's bed, in the darkness, resembled a silhouette of a sleeping form. There was no way, no reasonable explanation for why it had shaken just a moment ago.
"Cindy?" she whispered, feeling as silly as she did nervous. Why, and how, would Cindy have slipped past her and into bed without saying anything?
Rachel thought about crossing the cold, tiled floor to check, to jostle the pillows that were inevitably situated beneath the blanket, and laughing in relief over the idea that she could have even entertained the thought that they were something else. No, she wouldn't give into the nerves. Not again.
She gave one last look to the lump across the room and closed her eyes.
**
Master had been lavishing a lot of attention on his newest monster, having entered her no fewer than four times since her creation several hours earlier. Corruption didn't understand. If not for her efforts, Master wouldn't even have his new bride; she'd be just another student on campus going about her day. There would be no Nightmare without Corruption. How could Master not recognize that?
Unlike the orgy that had brought her to rebirth as Nightmare, these matings were curiously slow and deliberate, with only the occasional slick, wet thrust or shudder betraying any indication that they were coitally engaged. Even stranger, they were both eerily silent, in marked contrast to the violent, primal manner in which he preferred to take Corruption. Every now and then, Corruption wondered if they were asleep.
At least until they reach climax. Then they would both snap out of their trances and fill the cave with a cacophony of demonic grunts and groans until Master's black seed would practically explode out of the pale monstrosity's cunt. The worst part was the sounds she'd make: a nearly supersonic screech that made Corruption want to tear out her throat.
And, after it had happened a fourth time, Master withdrew from his second bride.
Finally, he regarded his first.
"Tell me of your friend. This ... Rachel." Hearing her name on Master's lips was painful. The way his forked tongue lingered outside his mouth just a little too long, tasting. He wanted her. Of course he did. Why would this male, for all his monstrous power, be any different than the idiots back on campus?
"She's nothing, Master. Difficult. Willful," Corruption spat. "Master would find little pleasure in corrupting her. She's not pure. She's already tainted herself with many others..."
"Silence!" Master bellowed, triggering a primal fear within Corruption that left her cowering. He looked down upon his creature and his gaze softened, followed by his tone. "My little spawn, you have much to learn. I feast upon your innocence, it is true, but that is not the only sustenance I crave."
"Forgive me, Master!" she begged.
Master grinned down at her. That tiny voice in her head told her that this was a cruel, sadistic creature that delighted in her suffering, but yet that thought only served to arouse her defiled body. Yes, she was a thing. A thing to be used and shaped by her Master. Her clit lapped at the wetness welling up between her legs.
He bent down and, with a single claw placed under her chin, lifted Corruption's head. "Tell me of Rachel."
She stifled a hiss. "She's competitive. Mostly physically, but she somehow keeps up with her classes too."
"Classes?"
"Yes. We are ... she is a college student. She wants to get into sports medicine."
Master looked up at the ceiling, "Much has changed." He looked back down at her. "And yet the emotions are the same. She seeks prestige. But whose respect does she crave?"
"I ... I don't know, Master. Probably her own."
Master's slitted pupils gazed into her own, and she felt as though she were gazing into a bottomless pool of liquid darkness. "Then we should challenge her, shouldn't we?"
**
Rachel awoke to her alarm, heavy eyelids straining to let in the light creeping around the curtain of the room's only window. She'd have drifted right back to sleep if not for her mind suddenly registering just how stiff and sore her body was. As Cindy's bed came into focus, Rachel surmised that she hadn't tossed or turned at all that night.
In the light of day there was clearly was nothing out of the ordinary about Cindy's bed. It was unmade like she'd often left it. She have laughed if not for the dark cloud hanging over her affairs: her roommate was still missing.
Rachel nearly jumped at the knock on her door. She shook her head to gather her wits, winced as her bare feet met the cold tile floor, and made her way to the door.
"Forget about our cram session?"
In point of fact, Rachel had forgotten that she and Imani were supposed to be cramming for their evening Spanish class. They'd worked out a system where they'd only speak to each other in Spanish over breakfast and lunch, before finally quizzing each other right before dinner. The two had been closer over the first semester, but both had been placed with high-maintenance roommates who seemed to demand a lot of their social time. Language practice was one of the few things that carried over. Rachel suspected it might actually have been for the best. She and Imani had a tendency to get competitive.
"Oh, wow. Sorry. I think I overslept," Rachel said, stifling a yawn. Though she wasn't generally too vain about her appearance, something about Imani catching her looking this haggard made her uncomfortable.
Imani's smirk, as she peered into the room, didn't help. "Rough night alone?"
Rachel prepared a retort, but let it slide. "Honestly, it's been a rough couple days. You haven't seen Cindy around have you?"
"No, but I don't run into her too often without you there. Why, is something wrong?"
"I'm starting to think so," Rachel drifted off. "Hey, I don't want to be a flake, but I think I have to bow out today."
Imani's disappointment was palpable, but she responded only with, "OK."
**
It was good to be out of the cave again and under the cover of night. Out here, away from the others, she was the hunter, the apex predator stalking her unsuspecting prey.
Corruption tore through the forest, occasionally dropping to all fours for a burst of speed. Master had told her to bring him more brides. It felt good to have a task again, but she wondered why he'd want to risk sending her out again given the curse that had been placed upon her. What if she couldn't make it back in time?
Maybe it would be best to look for low-hanging fruit? Corruption remembered Nightmare's friend from the previous night. She'd encased her in some kind of a shell and put her aside. With any luck she'd still be there. Certainly not as much fun as tracking down some new victims, but that could come later.
Though she had handled herself well enough the night before, Corruption still wasn't sure about the extent of her strength or vulnerabilities. As strong, fast and equipped with sharp protrusions as she was, would her body yield to steel, lead and shaped explosives? Even the most physically imposing animals were like gnats before humanity's deadliest tools. A terrifying thought occurred to her. Master likely had little concept of what the police or, god forbid, the military were capable of.
Though she craved blood, she was able to reign in her instincts enough to choose caution and stealth over recklessness. The weather seemed to be cooperating. Shortly before she reached town, the sky opened up and a heavy downpour started. The streets were quiet.
Corruption darted, behind cars and other obstructions, bounding so as to minimize the clicking of her claws on the pavement.
The crime scene was deserted. Whatever investigating had been done there appeared to be concluded. Had they found the egg? That would be very bad. Would the police have dug through the garbage? The dumpster was still there.
Corruption threw back the lid and found it nearly completely stacked with garbage. She tossed the stinking bags aside and was pleased to find her creation inside, still intact. She snatched it up, lifting it with ease, and deposited it on the ground nearby.
The cocoon had hardened since yesterday, though it was still warm to the touch. It was, if nothing else, a fairly convenient carrying case for its contents. Corruption hefted it over her shoulder and prepared to make the trek back to the cave.
The first time, she ignored it. Probably the "contents" just sloshing around. The third jolt, however, was followed by a spray of goo that caused Corruption to lose her grip and drop it to the forest floor.
She wiped the gel from her muzzle and squinted at the egg. A single, spiked protrusion had ruptured the chrysalis. It wiggled around a bit before sliding down the surface of the egg, slicing a slit in it.
A slimy mound pushed its way through the slit, the goo slowly taking the form of the head beneath it. The head pivoted, mouth opening as the girl ... no, whatever she had become, opened its mouth and let out a high-frequency screech.
The creature that emerged, flopping to the leaves in front of her, was small, no more than four-foot-five, and covered in a leathery red hide, which became visible when it shook the slime from itself. It's face still bore some of the features of Nightmare's friend, though her nose and chin had pushed out into a simian-like mound. Oddly, she retained her brown hair, though it was now coated in an oily sheen. The rest of the girl's body had changed significantly, however.
She'd lost two digits on each of her hands and feet, the finger of and toes of which ended in thick, white claws. Both her arms and legs had shortened relative to her torso. Her breasts had largely receded into her chest, with only the slightest hint of cleavage remaining. For a moment Corruption thought the girl had been stripped of her gender, but lurking between the legs of the beast was a familiar site, a toothy yanni that marked her as a child of Corruption. On her back were two tiny, leathery wings that twitched when the thing hopped about. Her tail was stubby and appeared fairly vestigial.
It's voice vacillated between nails-on-chalkboard shrill and conspiratorial whisper. "Master feed This One. Master command This One. Yes."
Corruption growled back, "Your Master is not here. He is still in his prison."
It giggled. "No. Master is here. Master feed This One. This One serve Master. No other Master."
She'd been acting on instinct when she'd pushed the girl's face into her cunt. Corruption was disappointed that she'd been given no conscious knowledge of the effects it would have on her victim, nor any sense of what this thing she'd created actually was. The word "imp" came to mind to describe it but, she was sure that was insufficient to describe any horror born of Master's power. Though it felt wrong to be called by her lord's title, the creature's servile demeanor pleased Corruption. She had mastered this girl, hadn't she? Corruption expected the voice in the back of her head to be horrified at what she'd done, but there was not a word of protest this time. Only ... fascination. Is this what it felt like to be the creature that corrupted her? Her own Master?
"Yes," It came out more awkwardly than Corruption intended. "Yes, you'll serve me."
It cackled. Loudly. Too loudly, as it hopped around in delight.
"Quiet!"
It gasped and covered its muzzle with both of its stubby-fingered hands.
Corruption squinted at its little wings. It could probably cover more ground than she could, and be less conspicuous—if it could control itself. She had made too much of a scene herself last time, and while she'd been able to control the situation things could have gone worse. She wondered again if she was she bulletproof? Immune to mortal weapons? Corruption got a sinking feeling that this little creature knew more about her "condition" than she did. Might as well make the most of it.
"Have you seen any threats to your Master?" she tried.
Its orange eyes went wide and it seemed to adopt a caricature of a serious expression. "See? No see. Busy changing for Master. But danger. Yes. Danger all around. Must eat. Get stronger. Serve better."
It certainly had a one-track mind. It gingerly reached toward her groin with pleading eyes. Corruption swatted its hand away. "Prove that you deserve it."
It fell to its knees before her and shrieked. "What shall This One do? You teach me!"
"My Master requires more brides. Find suitable... no, wait," a thought occurred to her. "I'll handle that. I have another task for you."
**
Nightmare drifted through the darkness, listening to the echoes. This was her domain now and, though she sensed and savored Corruption's jealousy, she knew that it was largely irrelevant. That base creature had her realm, and Nightmare had hers, even if Corruption was too primitive to realize that they weren't mere concubines, but vassals in a rapidly growing empire. Still, she felt a sense of affection for the monster. If not for her, Nightmare wouldn't be what she was now. She hoped they could be intimate again soon, perhaps taste some of Corruption's savage frustrations. The waking world did, unfortunately, still exist, so might as well make the best of those moments in which her consciousness had to inhabit it.
An image took form in the darkness in front of her: a boy running through a corn field, pursued by ... something. Nightmare cackled softly. Such imaginations the little ones had. So prone they were to conjuring monsters out of shapes and shadows. She watched as he tripped, chin striking the unyielding ground. She wondered if he felt it. She could make him feel it. She reached out a long, clawed finger to the image. It resisted her touch, bending inward at the point of contact.
Kari had suffered from night terrors most of her life, and Nightmare had not forgotten anything about who she had been. She just wasn't in denial anymore about how she had come to cope with them over the years. They'd taken on a kind of masochistic fetishism, and she'd often woken up wet after being "killed" by a crazed, cleaver wielding maniac or devoured by some thing that was formless aside from its gnashing maws. This was simply who she was meant to be.
She gifted the boy with pain, pain he would remember when he awoke. She slipped inside his little pocket universe, taking the place of the nothing that was chasing him. She could have taken any form she wanted, but she wanted him to see her. She crept after him, twisting her long limbs, revealing just a tiny bit of her visage beneath her veil of black, serpentine hair.
He screamed, a muffled sound as though through a pillow, struggling to his feet. She let him drink in the sight of her, to imprint it in his young impressionable mind. Then, with a swipe of her claws, she tore his dream to pieces. He would wake up moments later, his conscious mind only possessing the vaguest sense of what he'd seen.
A gift to a developing mind.
Master joined her.
That part of her mind that was aware of the waking world knew that he had penetrated her there, beginning yet another delicious bout of their slow, methodical love-making. But here, in this dimension, the joining was much more literal.
Nightmare cupped her breasts with her bony hands, gritting her fangs as she felt copious lubrication drip down her pale legs. Her muscles seemed to crawl under her skin as her spidery limbs took on lean mass. She hunched over, grunting as the new musculature in her back forced her into that position. The outline of scales formed on her albino skin and her mouth pushed forward in the slightest hint of a muzzle. She felt the base of her spine elongate as well.
She could feel so much of him. His massive power flowing through her limbs. His thoughts, so alien and ancient as to nearly be incomprehensible. Nightmare doubted Corruption had any idea just how much of an anathema their Master was to this world, his spoken words barely hinting at the unfathomable malice within, his powerful, fiendish body a mere avatar for a presence so much more powerful and corrupting. If he filled her completely, she would simply cease to exist as an independent entity. And though the thought excited her, the fact that he didn't, that on some level he needed or wanted Kari to continue existing rather than merely being an extension of him, confused her and filled her with a deep affection for him. Or maybe that was just his power telling her to love him.
She didn't care.
The alien thing that was riding in her body whispered pleasant words into the deep recesses of her being, praising her for her submission. It told her that it learned things through her. Important things.
She could feel its hunger. Bottomless. It craved something. Someone. She didn't fully understand why.
"Your prey," Nightmare suggested carefully. It was a thought, though she spoke it with her... their...mouth. "I was close to her last night, Master. So close."
"Yes," it replied with her mouth. "Yes, we touched her."
"We could... unnnnggh ... take care ... aaaahh ... take her together," she was feeling the sensations from the real world, his slow but relentless thrusts.
"No ... my creature, I must have her alone. But ... aaah ... in the meantime, we will make our world hers."
**
Rachel drifted in and out of sleep for most of the day. She'd never been depressed before, but she knew enough people who suffered from the condition to wonder if she was experiencing it now.
She certainly hadn't seen the letter slipped under her door that evening.
It didn't look like the dorm correspondence that the RA occasionally delivered this way, but simply a sloppily folded up piece of paper. It had all the symptoms of a stupid prank, so she left it where it was for several minutes trying to focus her mind on what to do about Cindy.
After her thoughts drifted to what a shit friend she was for leaving Cindy alone in a strange cave, Rachel called that strategy a wash. She grudgingly snatched up the letter and unfolded it half expecting to see extracted magazine letters glued to the page.
She stifled a gasp.
Rachel,
Sorry I disappeared on you. Something was in cave. I'm OK but can't come back to dorm. Be careful. He's after you too. Cops will only make it worse. Be in touch soon.
-Cind
It was Cindy's handwriting. The cursive lettering—her roommate had insisted that its diminishing usage was a modern tragedy—was distinctly Cindy's, although there was something a bit off about it. It didn't have the same precise, anal-retentive loops as what Rachel had seen in her notebooks; there was a clumsiness to it somehow, possibly stress or injury-related.
Rachel let out a sigh of relief that her friend was alive, but her elation was undercut with a twinge of dread.
Why the drama? Did she lose her phone, why hadn't she just sent a text? Maybe it was dead? Her charger was still here. Why hadn't she come in and gotten it? Or better yet, actually talked to Rachel. Had someone taken her and made her write this against her will?
The cops. She should call the cops.
But what if this was just some crazy prank? What if Cindy was orchestrating some kind of revenge for making her go in that cave? This would certainly be beyond anything she'd done to date, but if Cindy were properly motivated, she could be quite creative.
Rachel needed a drink.
**
Imani wasn't sure why, but these marathon study sessions were getting harder each semester. Maybe the brain could only take so much. She and Rachel were pretty different, but having someone to study with was kind of like having a spotter in the gym; it helped you push just a little bit farther.
Her brother had always said that calculus had made him forget how to do arithmetic, but he wasn't nearly as interested in the subject and, to be fair, his job didn't really involve much math at the end of the day. For Imani, math was something more; a way of making sense of a world that, on its surface, was pure chaos. Math could give it form and order.
And, unfortunately, it just wasn't sticking today.
Imani yawned and stretched, looking around the library. Another student, a young red-headed guy, appeared to have already fallen asleep. She wasn't going to go out like that.
Though it drove her family nuts when she was a kid, she usually was able to recenter herself by pacing back and forth. Luckily the nearby stacks were long and plentiful enough to make the behavior look more purposeful and less compulsive.
She willed herself to her feet, stifling another yawn, and proceeded to make her rounds. She'd gotten into the habit of counting along with the reference numbers on the stacks. If math didn't work out, there was always library science.
Imani was passing the .500s when she caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, pale woman on the far side of the aisle, passing it at the same time she did. She thought nothing of it, until she passed .799. Her counterpart seemed to be walking at the exact same pace. She sped up a little, looking down the aisles intently now. The other woman never returned the gaze, seemingly intent on where she was going.
She was still there every time. Imani practically broke into a jog when she drew close to the end of the stacks. When she reached the final aisle, she turned into it sharply.
No one there.
She whipped backward toward the previous stack to see if she somehow hadn't seen the woman turn down. That aisle was empty as well.
Imani shook her head. Maybe she really was that tired.
Her return trip was far less exciting. Though she did hold her breath for the first few stacks, there was no sign of the other woman.
There was, however, someone sitting at her table across from her seat. He was a large man with a broad chest and thick arms. Imani's own family branched out into a number of different directions, but she wasn't sure she'd ever seen someone quite so racially-ambiguous looking. His skin was caramel and hairless, much like his head, but his stubble was vaguely red and his eyes a vibrant brown that bordered on yellow.
"I've never seen this much knowledge gathered in one place," he grinned, gesturing toward the stacks.
Imani returned his smile with a sardonic one. "You've never been in a library before?"
"Not like this."
"You one of those people who does all their research online?"
He hesitated for a moment, seeming to look inward before answering. "Yes, online. It's a lot easier."
"You know you shouldn't use Wikipedia as a source, right?"
Again that hesitation before answering, "So I hear. I usually just come here to read my book."
She didn't see a book. There was something about the way he looked at her ... or maybe even through her, that was unsettling.
This dude's creep factor was rising quickly. "You know the library's closed to townies this time of night, right?"
"How careless of me," he took his time standing. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss ..."
"Goodnight," she supplied. He seemed to get the hint, offering only a toothy smile in exchange.
Imani watched him leave, following his broad back as he exited the building, thankfully without looking back.
She tried to get back to studying, but it just wasn't happening. Several more times she found herself nodding off. After the third time she decided to call it a night.
As she packed up her things, she saw it: an enormous, dusty tome sitting on the table directly across from her. On closer inspection, it seemed to be bound in cracked leather and sealed shut with an ornate clasp. If it belonged to the college, it didn't seem like the kind of book that would be allowed into a clumsy student's hands without a librarian hovering over them.
Curious, she slid the massive book over to her side and spun it around. The faded title, which seemed to be carved into the cover, read 'Book of the Harbinger.' The clasp was purely ornamental and came off with barely any effort.
Gingerly, she flipped it open, surprised by how sturdy it was despite its appearance.
It wasn't in English, or even in any alphabet she recognized, but the patterns were fascinating, as though they were slashed, wildly, into the page. Looking at it made her eyes heavy and tired.
Her eyes glued to the strange book, she watched as the letters swelled and morphed, rearranging them into the strange symbols that she could understand—not like she understood English—but on a primal level, like she understood breathing. Her pupils dilated as the pages flipped under their own power. Somehow she read every page, saw every meticulously sketched diagram, every long-forgotten word. Oh, the ideas it gave her!
In seconds, Imani performed a lifetime of unspeakable acts, each more depraved and gruesome than the last. She did them, not in service of a philosophy of evil or malice, but merely because they could be done and she was capable of doing them and all things that were possible needed to be done. When it was no longer enough to kill, she tortured, when it was no longer enough to hear their screams, she tasted them. And when she tasted them, she learned. Memories. Hopes. Knowledge. With each act, her hunger grew. The method of consumption was too slow, too ponderous. Necessity was the mother of invention.
Imani lifted her arms above her head and stretched as high as she could. When she did, she felt herself split at the bellybutton, a horizontal seam opening up in her flesh. Without hesitation, she shoveled her victims into it, and it wasn't long before the new orifice began to aid her in the task. A set of giant fangs tore and grinded the meat, coating her in arterial sprays and ichorichor, until her skin seemed to absorb the color.
Still, she could be faster. She knew she could. Gnashing both sets of her teeth and straining, she pushed four sets of nubs out of her ribs. As they grew longer, she willed the tips into forms suited for their tasks. The first set of arms ended in long, clawed fingers, all the better to pull new "information" into her ravenous maw. The second set ended in sharp, insectile hooks for tearing and dragging meat. She left her original set of arms mostly unaltered so she could manipulate things carefully when she needed to.
No, still not making enough use of this biomass. She was bigger than them now. Much bigger. The tall ones were just high enough to stare directly into her maw right before they fell into it. She pushed some of the spare matter to her rear, her butt growing backward until she was as long as she was tall. This threw her off-balance for just a moment until she groaned... no, roared this time, growing a second set of legs at the far end, while she curved the bottom of her spine backward to help stabilize. But while settle only for land movement when she could...
Harbinger lifted her head from the desk. The librarian was saying something to her. Something insignificant. Harbinger instead gazed at her one pair of normal human hands, her normal ebony skin tone. She ran her normal fingertips over her familiar human belly. The book, that wonderful book, was nowhere to be found.
All things in due time. She had the body she needed now, and would have the body she needed—the true self that had been revealed to her-when the time came. She could almost taste the flavor of the little man before her. She smiled widely at him as she gathered up her belongings. There was only one being in the universe who could make her vision a reality. And before that could happen, there was much work to do.
All characters in sexual situations are over 18.
*****
Warm. Wet. Safe.
Once it had been something else. Something complicated. Needlessly so. Its mind had been shattered-pieces shiny, distracting glass. Not now. Not since the Taste. Now it need only float and dream pretty little dreams of things that could be eaten. So many things could be eaten. Things it had never considered eating before. So many things made of meat and fat. It emitted a little squeal of delight at the thought of bones crunching and grease tumbling down its lips, which registered only as bubbles in the fluid that surrounded it.
The Taste! It hadn't been enough. Needed more, much, much more.
It felt the sound's vibration as much it heard it, ripples carried through the fluid. A creature was making sounds from outside, from another world. No, more than one creature. The sounds it made had a purpose. Complex. Language. Familiar. Too muffled to understand.
The world shook and it felt itself pitched to and fro. Danger. Enemies. It willed itself to move a finger. No. Too soon. Not ready.
Panic. Fear. Death?
The world responded, sending the Warmth down the tendril leading between its legs as it had done several times before. Each time better. Each time less shattered. Less fear. It squirmed and kicked at the sensation, enjoying the sensation of brushing the fleshy membrane with its toes.
Calmer. Itchy back. Voices were gone.
Sleepy. Time to sleep.
**
Rachel sat in the darkness, staring at the empty bed across the dorm room. It was made, the sky blue comforter betraying not a single wrinkle. She'd always told Cindy she was crazy, the amount of time she'd spend carefully aligning bedspread as though she expected a drill sergeant to stop by at any moment and issue demerits.
Then one day, it all came out over the course of a quiet, post-hangover breakfast.
When Cindy was nine, her mother had found God. It wasn't a slow transition. Literally overnight, her mother had gone from nights of blackout drunkenness to an almost-military routine of exercise, dieting, discipline, and prayer. Though her mother had boasted a newfound appreciation for traditional gender roles, her passive father remained as withdrawn as ever and never voiced a concern or objection.
It had taken Rachel a couple months to break Cindy of the habit of asking her permission to make minor changes to their room. Her friend's cell phone was still on her desk
Should have told campus security. The fact that it had only just occurred to her now was puzzling. Even now the idea felt wrong somehow. Whatever had happened to Cindy, wherever she was, Rachel knew the authorities weren't going to be of help.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" she said to herself, out loud. "She could be dead, and her parents don't even know she's missing."
Rachel picked her phone, punched in her security pin and held the device out in front of her face.
She caught a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. She looked up from the phone at the Cindy's bed.
It had to have been a trick of the light. The pillows on Cindy's bed, in the darkness, resembled a silhouette of a sleeping form. There was no way, no reasonable explanation for why it had shaken just a moment ago.
"Cindy?" she whispered, feeling as silly as she did nervous. Why, and how, would Cindy have slipped past her and into bed without saying anything?
Rachel thought about crossing the cold, tiled floor to check, to jostle the pillows that were inevitably situated beneath the blanket, and laughing in relief over the idea that she could have even entertained the thought that they were something else. No, she wouldn't give into the nerves. Not again.
She gave one last look to the lump across the room and closed her eyes.
**
Master had been lavishing a lot of attention on his newest monster, having entered her no fewer than four times since her creation several hours earlier. Corruption didn't understand. If not for her efforts, Master wouldn't even have his new bride; she'd be just another student on campus going about her day. There would be no Nightmare without Corruption. How could Master not recognize that?
Unlike the orgy that had brought her to rebirth as Nightmare, these matings were curiously slow and deliberate, with only the occasional slick, wet thrust or shudder betraying any indication that they were coitally engaged. Even stranger, they were both eerily silent, in marked contrast to the violent, primal manner in which he preferred to take Corruption. Every now and then, Corruption wondered if they were asleep.
At least until they reach climax. Then they would both snap out of their trances and fill the cave with a cacophony of demonic grunts and groans until Master's black seed would practically explode out of the pale monstrosity's cunt. The worst part was the sounds she'd make: a nearly supersonic screech that made Corruption want to tear out her throat.
And, after it had happened a fourth time, Master withdrew from his second bride.
Finally, he regarded his first.
"Tell me of your friend. This ... Rachel." Hearing her name on Master's lips was painful. The way his forked tongue lingered outside his mouth just a little too long, tasting. He wanted her. Of course he did. Why would this male, for all his monstrous power, be any different than the idiots back on campus?
"She's nothing, Master. Difficult. Willful," Corruption spat. "Master would find little pleasure in corrupting her. She's not pure. She's already tainted herself with many others..."
"Silence!" Master bellowed, triggering a primal fear within Corruption that left her cowering. He looked down upon his creature and his gaze softened, followed by his tone. "My little spawn, you have much to learn. I feast upon your innocence, it is true, but that is not the only sustenance I crave."
"Forgive me, Master!" she begged.
Master grinned down at her. That tiny voice in her head told her that this was a cruel, sadistic creature that delighted in her suffering, but yet that thought only served to arouse her defiled body. Yes, she was a thing. A thing to be used and shaped by her Master. Her clit lapped at the wetness welling up between her legs.
He bent down and, with a single claw placed under her chin, lifted Corruption's head. "Tell me of Rachel."
She stifled a hiss. "She's competitive. Mostly physically, but she somehow keeps up with her classes too."
"Classes?"
"Yes. We are ... she is a college student. She wants to get into sports medicine."
Master looked up at the ceiling, "Much has changed." He looked back down at her. "And yet the emotions are the same. She seeks prestige. But whose respect does she crave?"
"I ... I don't know, Master. Probably her own."
Master's slitted pupils gazed into her own, and she felt as though she were gazing into a bottomless pool of liquid darkness. "Then we should challenge her, shouldn't we?"
**
Rachel awoke to her alarm, heavy eyelids straining to let in the light creeping around the curtain of the room's only window. She'd have drifted right back to sleep if not for her mind suddenly registering just how stiff and sore her body was. As Cindy's bed came into focus, Rachel surmised that she hadn't tossed or turned at all that night.
In the light of day there was clearly was nothing out of the ordinary about Cindy's bed. It was unmade like she'd often left it. She have laughed if not for the dark cloud hanging over her affairs: her roommate was still missing.
Rachel nearly jumped at the knock on her door. She shook her head to gather her wits, winced as her bare feet met the cold tile floor, and made her way to the door.
"Forget about our cram session?"
In point of fact, Rachel had forgotten that she and Imani were supposed to be cramming for their evening Spanish class. They'd worked out a system where they'd only speak to each other in Spanish over breakfast and lunch, before finally quizzing each other right before dinner. The two had been closer over the first semester, but both had been placed with high-maintenance roommates who seemed to demand a lot of their social time. Language practice was one of the few things that carried over. Rachel suspected it might actually have been for the best. She and Imani had a tendency to get competitive.
"Oh, wow. Sorry. I think I overslept," Rachel said, stifling a yawn. Though she wasn't generally too vain about her appearance, something about Imani catching her looking this haggard made her uncomfortable.
Imani's smirk, as she peered into the room, didn't help. "Rough night alone?"
Rachel prepared a retort, but let it slide. "Honestly, it's been a rough couple days. You haven't seen Cindy around have you?"
"No, but I don't run into her too often without you there. Why, is something wrong?"
"I'm starting to think so," Rachel drifted off. "Hey, I don't want to be a flake, but I think I have to bow out today."
Imani's disappointment was palpable, but she responded only with, "OK."
**
It was good to be out of the cave again and under the cover of night. Out here, away from the others, she was the hunter, the apex predator stalking her unsuspecting prey.
Corruption tore through the forest, occasionally dropping to all fours for a burst of speed. Master had told her to bring him more brides. It felt good to have a task again, but she wondered why he'd want to risk sending her out again given the curse that had been placed upon her. What if she couldn't make it back in time?
Maybe it would be best to look for low-hanging fruit? Corruption remembered Nightmare's friend from the previous night. She'd encased her in some kind of a shell and put her aside. With any luck she'd still be there. Certainly not as much fun as tracking down some new victims, but that could come later.
Though she had handled herself well enough the night before, Corruption still wasn't sure about the extent of her strength or vulnerabilities. As strong, fast and equipped with sharp protrusions as she was, would her body yield to steel, lead and shaped explosives? Even the most physically imposing animals were like gnats before humanity's deadliest tools. A terrifying thought occurred to her. Master likely had little concept of what the police or, god forbid, the military were capable of.
Though she craved blood, she was able to reign in her instincts enough to choose caution and stealth over recklessness. The weather seemed to be cooperating. Shortly before she reached town, the sky opened up and a heavy downpour started. The streets were quiet.
Corruption darted, behind cars and other obstructions, bounding so as to minimize the clicking of her claws on the pavement.
The crime scene was deserted. Whatever investigating had been done there appeared to be concluded. Had they found the egg? That would be very bad. Would the police have dug through the garbage? The dumpster was still there.
Corruption threw back the lid and found it nearly completely stacked with garbage. She tossed the stinking bags aside and was pleased to find her creation inside, still intact. She snatched it up, lifting it with ease, and deposited it on the ground nearby.
The cocoon had hardened since yesterday, though it was still warm to the touch. It was, if nothing else, a fairly convenient carrying case for its contents. Corruption hefted it over her shoulder and prepared to make the trek back to the cave.
The first time, she ignored it. Probably the "contents" just sloshing around. The third jolt, however, was followed by a spray of goo that caused Corruption to lose her grip and drop it to the forest floor.
She wiped the gel from her muzzle and squinted at the egg. A single, spiked protrusion had ruptured the chrysalis. It wiggled around a bit before sliding down the surface of the egg, slicing a slit in it.
A slimy mound pushed its way through the slit, the goo slowly taking the form of the head beneath it. The head pivoted, mouth opening as the girl ... no, whatever she had become, opened its mouth and let out a high-frequency screech.
The creature that emerged, flopping to the leaves in front of her, was small, no more than four-foot-five, and covered in a leathery red hide, which became visible when it shook the slime from itself. It's face still bore some of the features of Nightmare's friend, though her nose and chin had pushed out into a simian-like mound. Oddly, she retained her brown hair, though it was now coated in an oily sheen. The rest of the girl's body had changed significantly, however.
She'd lost two digits on each of her hands and feet, the finger of and toes of which ended in thick, white claws. Both her arms and legs had shortened relative to her torso. Her breasts had largely receded into her chest, with only the slightest hint of cleavage remaining. For a moment Corruption thought the girl had been stripped of her gender, but lurking between the legs of the beast was a familiar site, a toothy yanni that marked her as a child of Corruption. On her back were two tiny, leathery wings that twitched when the thing hopped about. Her tail was stubby and appeared fairly vestigial.
It's voice vacillated between nails-on-chalkboard shrill and conspiratorial whisper. "Master feed This One. Master command This One. Yes."
Corruption growled back, "Your Master is not here. He is still in his prison."
It giggled. "No. Master is here. Master feed This One. This One serve Master. No other Master."
She'd been acting on instinct when she'd pushed the girl's face into her cunt. Corruption was disappointed that she'd been given no conscious knowledge of the effects it would have on her victim, nor any sense of what this thing she'd created actually was. The word "imp" came to mind to describe it but, she was sure that was insufficient to describe any horror born of Master's power. Though it felt wrong to be called by her lord's title, the creature's servile demeanor pleased Corruption. She had mastered this girl, hadn't she? Corruption expected the voice in the back of her head to be horrified at what she'd done, but there was not a word of protest this time. Only ... fascination. Is this what it felt like to be the creature that corrupted her? Her own Master?
"Yes," It came out more awkwardly than Corruption intended. "Yes, you'll serve me."
It cackled. Loudly. Too loudly, as it hopped around in delight.
"Quiet!"
It gasped and covered its muzzle with both of its stubby-fingered hands.
Corruption squinted at its little wings. It could probably cover more ground than she could, and be less conspicuous—if it could control itself. She had made too much of a scene herself last time, and while she'd been able to control the situation things could have gone worse. She wondered again if she was she bulletproof? Immune to mortal weapons? Corruption got a sinking feeling that this little creature knew more about her "condition" than she did. Might as well make the most of it.
"Have you seen any threats to your Master?" she tried.
Its orange eyes went wide and it seemed to adopt a caricature of a serious expression. "See? No see. Busy changing for Master. But danger. Yes. Danger all around. Must eat. Get stronger. Serve better."
It certainly had a one-track mind. It gingerly reached toward her groin with pleading eyes. Corruption swatted its hand away. "Prove that you deserve it."
It fell to its knees before her and shrieked. "What shall This One do? You teach me!"
"My Master requires more brides. Find suitable... no, wait," a thought occurred to her. "I'll handle that. I have another task for you."
**
Nightmare drifted through the darkness, listening to the echoes. This was her domain now and, though she sensed and savored Corruption's jealousy, she knew that it was largely irrelevant. That base creature had her realm, and Nightmare had hers, even if Corruption was too primitive to realize that they weren't mere concubines, but vassals in a rapidly growing empire. Still, she felt a sense of affection for the monster. If not for her, Nightmare wouldn't be what she was now. She hoped they could be intimate again soon, perhaps taste some of Corruption's savage frustrations. The waking world did, unfortunately, still exist, so might as well make the best of those moments in which her consciousness had to inhabit it.
An image took form in the darkness in front of her: a boy running through a corn field, pursued by ... something. Nightmare cackled softly. Such imaginations the little ones had. So prone they were to conjuring monsters out of shapes and shadows. She watched as he tripped, chin striking the unyielding ground. She wondered if he felt it. She could make him feel it. She reached out a long, clawed finger to the image. It resisted her touch, bending inward at the point of contact.
Kari had suffered from night terrors most of her life, and Nightmare had not forgotten anything about who she had been. She just wasn't in denial anymore about how she had come to cope with them over the years. They'd taken on a kind of masochistic fetishism, and she'd often woken up wet after being "killed" by a crazed, cleaver wielding maniac or devoured by some thing that was formless aside from its gnashing maws. This was simply who she was meant to be.
She gifted the boy with pain, pain he would remember when he awoke. She slipped inside his little pocket universe, taking the place of the nothing that was chasing him. She could have taken any form she wanted, but she wanted him to see her. She crept after him, twisting her long limbs, revealing just a tiny bit of her visage beneath her veil of black, serpentine hair.
He screamed, a muffled sound as though through a pillow, struggling to his feet. She let him drink in the sight of her, to imprint it in his young impressionable mind. Then, with a swipe of her claws, she tore his dream to pieces. He would wake up moments later, his conscious mind only possessing the vaguest sense of what he'd seen.
A gift to a developing mind.
Master joined her.
That part of her mind that was aware of the waking world knew that he had penetrated her there, beginning yet another delicious bout of their slow, methodical love-making. But here, in this dimension, the joining was much more literal.
Nightmare cupped her breasts with her bony hands, gritting her fangs as she felt copious lubrication drip down her pale legs. Her muscles seemed to crawl under her skin as her spidery limbs took on lean mass. She hunched over, grunting as the new musculature in her back forced her into that position. The outline of scales formed on her albino skin and her mouth pushed forward in the slightest hint of a muzzle. She felt the base of her spine elongate as well.
She could feel so much of him. His massive power flowing through her limbs. His thoughts, so alien and ancient as to nearly be incomprehensible. Nightmare doubted Corruption had any idea just how much of an anathema their Master was to this world, his spoken words barely hinting at the unfathomable malice within, his powerful, fiendish body a mere avatar for a presence so much more powerful and corrupting. If he filled her completely, she would simply cease to exist as an independent entity. And though the thought excited her, the fact that he didn't, that on some level he needed or wanted Kari to continue existing rather than merely being an extension of him, confused her and filled her with a deep affection for him. Or maybe that was just his power telling her to love him.
She didn't care.
The alien thing that was riding in her body whispered pleasant words into the deep recesses of her being, praising her for her submission. It told her that it learned things through her. Important things.
She could feel its hunger. Bottomless. It craved something. Someone. She didn't fully understand why.
"Your prey," Nightmare suggested carefully. It was a thought, though she spoke it with her... their...mouth. "I was close to her last night, Master. So close."
"Yes," it replied with her mouth. "Yes, we touched her."
"We could... unnnnggh ... take care ... aaaahh ... take her together," she was feeling the sensations from the real world, his slow but relentless thrusts.
"No ... my creature, I must have her alone. But ... aaah ... in the meantime, we will make our world hers."
**
Rachel drifted in and out of sleep for most of the day. She'd never been depressed before, but she knew enough people who suffered from the condition to wonder if she was experiencing it now.
She certainly hadn't seen the letter slipped under her door that evening.
It didn't look like the dorm correspondence that the RA occasionally delivered this way, but simply a sloppily folded up piece of paper. It had all the symptoms of a stupid prank, so she left it where it was for several minutes trying to focus her mind on what to do about Cindy.
After her thoughts drifted to what a shit friend she was for leaving Cindy alone in a strange cave, Rachel called that strategy a wash. She grudgingly snatched up the letter and unfolded it half expecting to see extracted magazine letters glued to the page.
She stifled a gasp.
Rachel,
Sorry I disappeared on you. Something was in cave. I'm OK but can't come back to dorm. Be careful. He's after you too. Cops will only make it worse. Be in touch soon.
-Cind
It was Cindy's handwriting. The cursive lettering—her roommate had insisted that its diminishing usage was a modern tragedy—was distinctly Cindy's, although there was something a bit off about it. It didn't have the same precise, anal-retentive loops as what Rachel had seen in her notebooks; there was a clumsiness to it somehow, possibly stress or injury-related.
Rachel let out a sigh of relief that her friend was alive, but her elation was undercut with a twinge of dread.
Why the drama? Did she lose her phone, why hadn't she just sent a text? Maybe it was dead? Her charger was still here. Why hadn't she come in and gotten it? Or better yet, actually talked to Rachel. Had someone taken her and made her write this against her will?
The cops. She should call the cops.
But what if this was just some crazy prank? What if Cindy was orchestrating some kind of revenge for making her go in that cave? This would certainly be beyond anything she'd done to date, but if Cindy were properly motivated, she could be quite creative.
Rachel needed a drink.
**
Imani wasn't sure why, but these marathon study sessions were getting harder each semester. Maybe the brain could only take so much. She and Rachel were pretty different, but having someone to study with was kind of like having a spotter in the gym; it helped you push just a little bit farther.
Her brother had always said that calculus had made him forget how to do arithmetic, but he wasn't nearly as interested in the subject and, to be fair, his job didn't really involve much math at the end of the day. For Imani, math was something more; a way of making sense of a world that, on its surface, was pure chaos. Math could give it form and order.
And, unfortunately, it just wasn't sticking today.
Imani yawned and stretched, looking around the library. Another student, a young red-headed guy, appeared to have already fallen asleep. She wasn't going to go out like that.
Though it drove her family nuts when she was a kid, she usually was able to recenter herself by pacing back and forth. Luckily the nearby stacks were long and plentiful enough to make the behavior look more purposeful and less compulsive.
She willed herself to her feet, stifling another yawn, and proceeded to make her rounds. She'd gotten into the habit of counting along with the reference numbers on the stacks. If math didn't work out, there was always library science.
Imani was passing the .500s when she caught a glimpse of a dark-haired, pale woman on the far side of the aisle, passing it at the same time she did. She thought nothing of it, until she passed .799. Her counterpart seemed to be walking at the exact same pace. She sped up a little, looking down the aisles intently now. The other woman never returned the gaze, seemingly intent on where she was going.
She was still there every time. Imani practically broke into a jog when she drew close to the end of the stacks. When she reached the final aisle, she turned into it sharply.
No one there.
She whipped backward toward the previous stack to see if she somehow hadn't seen the woman turn down. That aisle was empty as well.
Imani shook her head. Maybe she really was that tired.
Her return trip was far less exciting. Though she did hold her breath for the first few stacks, there was no sign of the other woman.
There was, however, someone sitting at her table across from her seat. He was a large man with a broad chest and thick arms. Imani's own family branched out into a number of different directions, but she wasn't sure she'd ever seen someone quite so racially-ambiguous looking. His skin was caramel and hairless, much like his head, but his stubble was vaguely red and his eyes a vibrant brown that bordered on yellow.
"I've never seen this much knowledge gathered in one place," he grinned, gesturing toward the stacks.
Imani returned his smile with a sardonic one. "You've never been in a library before?"
"Not like this."
"You one of those people who does all their research online?"
He hesitated for a moment, seeming to look inward before answering. "Yes, online. It's a lot easier."
"You know you shouldn't use Wikipedia as a source, right?"
Again that hesitation before answering, "So I hear. I usually just come here to read my book."
She didn't see a book. There was something about the way he looked at her ... or maybe even through her, that was unsettling.
This dude's creep factor was rising quickly. "You know the library's closed to townies this time of night, right?"
"How careless of me," he took his time standing. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Miss ..."
"Goodnight," she supplied. He seemed to get the hint, offering only a toothy smile in exchange.
Imani watched him leave, following his broad back as he exited the building, thankfully without looking back.
She tried to get back to studying, but it just wasn't happening. Several more times she found herself nodding off. After the third time she decided to call it a night.
As she packed up her things, she saw it: an enormous, dusty tome sitting on the table directly across from her. On closer inspection, it seemed to be bound in cracked leather and sealed shut with an ornate clasp. If it belonged to the college, it didn't seem like the kind of book that would be allowed into a clumsy student's hands without a librarian hovering over them.
Curious, she slid the massive book over to her side and spun it around. The faded title, which seemed to be carved into the cover, read 'Book of the Harbinger.' The clasp was purely ornamental and came off with barely any effort.
Gingerly, she flipped it open, surprised by how sturdy it was despite its appearance.
It wasn't in English, or even in any alphabet she recognized, but the patterns were fascinating, as though they were slashed, wildly, into the page. Looking at it made her eyes heavy and tired.
Her eyes glued to the strange book, she watched as the letters swelled and morphed, rearranging them into the strange symbols that she could understand—not like she understood English—but on a primal level, like she understood breathing. Her pupils dilated as the pages flipped under their own power. Somehow she read every page, saw every meticulously sketched diagram, every long-forgotten word. Oh, the ideas it gave her!
In seconds, Imani performed a lifetime of unspeakable acts, each more depraved and gruesome than the last. She did them, not in service of a philosophy of evil or malice, but merely because they could be done and she was capable of doing them and all things that were possible needed to be done. When it was no longer enough to kill, she tortured, when it was no longer enough to hear their screams, she tasted them. And when she tasted them, she learned. Memories. Hopes. Knowledge. With each act, her hunger grew. The method of consumption was too slow, too ponderous. Necessity was the mother of invention.
Imani lifted her arms above her head and stretched as high as she could. When she did, she felt herself split at the bellybutton, a horizontal seam opening up in her flesh. Without hesitation, she shoveled her victims into it, and it wasn't long before the new orifice began to aid her in the task. A set of giant fangs tore and grinded the meat, coating her in arterial sprays and ichorichor, until her skin seemed to absorb the color.
Still, she could be faster. She knew she could. Gnashing both sets of her teeth and straining, she pushed four sets of nubs out of her ribs. As they grew longer, she willed the tips into forms suited for their tasks. The first set of arms ended in long, clawed fingers, all the better to pull new "information" into her ravenous maw. The second set ended in sharp, insectile hooks for tearing and dragging meat. She left her original set of arms mostly unaltered so she could manipulate things carefully when she needed to.
No, still not making enough use of this biomass. She was bigger than them now. Much bigger. The tall ones were just high enough to stare directly into her maw right before they fell into it. She pushed some of the spare matter to her rear, her butt growing backward until she was as long as she was tall. This threw her off-balance for just a moment until she groaned... no, roared this time, growing a second set of legs at the far end, while she curved the bottom of her spine backward to help stabilize. But while settle only for land movement when she could...
Harbinger lifted her head from the desk. The librarian was saying something to her. Something insignificant. Harbinger instead gazed at her one pair of normal human hands, her normal ebony skin tone. She ran her normal fingertips over her familiar human belly. The book, that wonderful book, was nowhere to be found.
All things in due time. She had the body she needed now, and would have the body she needed—the true self that had been revealed to her-when the time came. She could almost taste the flavor of the little man before her. She smiled widely at him as she gathered up her belongings. There was only one being in the universe who could make her vision a reality. And before that could happen, there was much work to do.