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Mancubus Encounter

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Mancubus Encounter

It was clear that dwelling in this state of shock was going to be of no use. As if his mouth wished to mimick this thought, Taylor uttered, "I've got to get going. Maybe I can get out of here -- maybe I can find an outpost something, someone." Over and over he told himself this, as though hearing a human voice could be enough to open a floodgate of relief over his stricken heart. With fear so tangible, he could hardly rouse himself to action. This trepidation was manifest in the environment that seemed so hostile, so inhuman...the screams were inhuman, the scent inhuman, even the very sight of this place was inhuman. As his vision cleared, he began picking up minute details, as he stood upon shaking, weary legs.

The crimson outcrops, plateaus, mountains, the lances of fiery marble that jutted out all around him were bleeding.

His mind was transfixed, his brain itself mesmerized by the ungodly marriage of flesh and stone. In the cracks and crags of the truculent stone, blood bubbled forth, a tenebrous hue of blackish-red spurting forth as if emerging from an arterial wound. To his left, about ten feet away, he heard an odd noise of moist flesh...As he stepped to the place of the emergent sound, the picture became clearer and he saw viscid, fetid-smelling intestines...bowels...emerging from a cleft in the vast promontory.

All of this, this abhorrent sight and swell that consumed his senses grasped him and flung Taylor into the throes of illness yet again. Collapsing to his knees, he dry-heaved over and over, but his stomach would not yield. His mind, his body rejected this vile place and it's impure nature. However, when he had regained control of his legs, this episode had proven enough to rouse him to move, to leave.

Taylor's feet shuffled slowly, kicking up plumes of flesh-colored dust and small rocks, which remained suspended in the air longer than they should of, obeying laws of physics unlike any on earth. Hypnotized by the simple back-and-forth motion of one foot following the other, his eyes glazed over and his mind drifted away from the present, recalling that moment which seemed so long ago, the first time he was driven to the unspeakable act...driven, he was sure, only by the contents of the hypodermic needle he felt was entirely necessary to use at the time.

He shook his head violently, almost as if by doing so, he could free himself of the memories. Before his mind had entirely shifted back, his attention was seized by an unusual gurgling noise, a sound reminiscent of thick fluids bubbling through a small crevice. Taylor staggered cautiously toward the origin of the sound -- it appeared to be coming from an area around the jagged, blood colored crag to his left.

His vision, disrupted by the red dust blowing in the hot, stifling zephyrs of Hell, he could only perceive what appeared to be a massive sac of flesh. As he drew closer, the vague image transformed into something far more horrific than anything he had seen yet. More horrific than the mutilated corpses back at the base, more gruesome than the stinking bodies of the demons, perforated with bullet holes. More loathsome than...than that incident, that encounter he had what seemed to be days ago...

The sound persisted, as thick in the atmosphere around him as the crise of the suffering and damned souls flitting around him. Taylor raised his forearm to wipe the debris from his eyes. His vision was clear.

It was covered in stitch marks where a myriad of pieces of flesh were sewn together, like a grotesque living patchwork quilt. The frame of the deplorable creature was swathed in thick rolls of blubber. Its skin was similar to a human being's except it was covered in chancres and pustules which looked ready to burst. Some patches of flesh were scaly and rough, hanging off in shingles, while in others it shined with a preternatural gloss where it was extraordinarily oily. Its left and right arms were only arms to the elbow, where immense metal gun barrels were fused to the flesh. Tubes ran from the metal constructs to somewhere behind its back, which Taylor was unable to see.

Mounted atop this pathetic creature was a strikingly minute head. Within it glowed two pale green orbs for eyes, which looked not unlike stagnating pools of grease. The small, human-sized mouth was wide open and agog at times, then closing, like a fish stranded on land.

Perhaps even more overpowering than its appearance, Taylor noted, was the smell which issued forth from it. The folds and flaps of fat concealed rotting flesh, consumed by what apeared to be gangrene of some sort. It appeared that this...thing had been in this spot for some time. Because of its inability to move, the creature sat upon its own waste, which had seeped out from underneath it, as it lay prostrate. Glancing down, he noticed that its left leg, stump like and similar to an elephant's, was broken. Whatever it was, it's on the verge of death, Taylor thought.

When he drew closer to the demon, which he concluded it was, the helpless creature attempted to move, but could not and only succeeded in wedging itself further into a crevice behind it. Its mouth kept opening and closing, and finally it got enough strength to make a deep bellow which ended in a strange, pathetic moan that sounded like it had come from a human being.

What a sick joke, Taylor thought. This thing is a part of the army that wiped out my friends, family...my whole life. And it has the courage to make the sound of a person? He remembered the last moments he had with his wife before the evacuation of the base. He loved her, he had wanted to tell her that he did, but there was no chance. He thought that he would have had the chance when the met back on earth.

But she wasn't there.

Rage bubbled inside of Taylor. It seeped into his miserable, grief-stricken heart and manifested itself into a nearly palpable viscous entity, thick and unstoppable and consuming. He looked back at the creature, which, for all its fear, gazed back at him defiantly. All of his impotent rage focused itself on the thing in front of him.

Taylor snapped.

He dropped his chaingun and hefted the backpack, laden with ammunitions, off of himself. His battle fatigue washed away and with a renewed vigor, leapt at the fear-stricken mound of flesh in front of him. It couldn't fight back...it was exhausted and starving...it couldn't get Taylor off.

"Kill her? You'll fucking pay! Since you took her away, you piece of shit, you can take her place!" Taylor shouted as quickly tore off his fatigues but didn't even bother to remove his shirt.

He didn't care.

He didn't mind the smell or the look or the feel of this thing. He was going to show the creature that it meant nothing and it was nothing. Taylor's hands searched through the seemingly-endless waves of fat to find an entrance of some sort...something to assert his power through. After several moments, he found what he was looking for. The creature's face, not intended to express emotion, was twisted in a sickening grimace of terror. Its cries fell on deaf ears.

Taylor grabbed his chaingun which was only several feet away and used it to prop up the folds of flesh so he could reach the demon's hole without distraction or worry of tiring. He placed the chaingun barrel upward and after having done so, wasted no time feeding himself into the foul cavity. He summoned all of his strength into the singular goal of destroying this creature. Every thrust was a victory, every cry coming from the monster was music to his ears.

His hands clutched the monster, finding easy grasping holds on the rolls of fat. Taylor's teeth were clenched and griding, he thrust as hard as he could over and over. His stamina seemed endless. Mid-thrust, the demon struggled to toss him off, but Taylor, blazing with anger, freed his right and and picked up a nearby stone and hit the creature several times with it. The demon fell unconscious, its tiny head slumped over with its tongue hanging out, lolling.

After several more minutes, Taylor had finished, and made one final parting thrust. Blood crept out from the torn, abused cleft.

He put his uniform back on and walked quietly over to the beast, his chaingun still upright under its flabby recesses.

"I hate you. I hate you for what you did, and I hate you for what you made me do," Taylor seethed, as if he were talking to the whole demon horde in unison.

With the gun still propped up under the creature, he pulled the trigger. The muffled gunshots rippled the sheets of fat, shot after shot after shot...the smell of singed flesh mingled with carbonite and the creature cried out one final time before falling limp. Its intestines cascaded around it through the gaping hole in its abdomen, wreathing the monster in a grotesque garland.

Taylor picked up his chaingun and looked at the monster. One last paroxysm of animosity washed through him as he crushed in the demon's skull with the butt of the gun. Looking down at the mass of mashed brains and skull fragments, he spit on the creature in parting, picked up his backpack and staggered off, consumed in the red haze.

Happy 11th Birthday, Doom!

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I approve.

But I will consider this story apocryphal and non-canon leading up to Imp Encounter 2.

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Taylor said:

Imp Encounter 2.

yes. Yes. YES!

Anyways, nice one Job. Anybody up to making an animated mancubuse .gif anytime soon?

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Wow. Well done. Chaingun rape was never so poetic. Really great, visceral description.

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