THE LADY OF TERRRA

Thietmarus watched through the red quadratic prism as the creature did its gruesome work. A strange, fleshy bulbous mass almost akin to a caterpillar moved erratically with several pairs of spindly arms. Long fingers belying insidious dexterity flicked to and fro with a calculated precision. If he had the ability to, he’d have felt bile rise up into his mouth when it reared its face in his direction.

A vertical slit dominated the creature’s facial structure as twin pairs of black marbles blinked, the nictitating membranes moisturizing them. The monster paused, as if in thought, a worm-like tongue wetly sliding out of its facial slit as it inspected the subject on the stone dais.

“Pelvic bone structure leaves much to be desired. Mistress will be displeased if new plaything breaks. Will reinforce with essence of Ushi-Oni.”

One of the skeletal hands reached up and backwards, its bones snapping sickly as it wandered towards a shelf decorated with a myriad of fric-a-frac such as skulls, horns, and bottles of unsavory liquids. Thietmarus could barely watch as a bottle filled with a chipped horn and a putrid dark green fluid was brought back to the flesh-shaper’s front.

“Applying essence to subject. Will have to reconsider use of normal human musculature for reconstruction. Must remember subject is only human in concept.”

It rubbed the poultice onto the bones of the skeleton, the strange fluid seeping into the bones, their color and shape maintained.

It turned towards the shelf from which the man’s soul was trapped within the crimson stone and gave a cruel semblance of a grin. Veins pulsed on the temples of its fleshy, melon head. Thietmarus could hear its grating voice scratching at the inside of his consciousness.

‘Do not fear, little mortal. We will re-make you. You will be stronger. You will thank us.’ It said, turning back towards its work.

Two arms reached into its facial slit, pulling out thick ropes of a substance that had the consistency of phlegm. Its arms were a blur as it worked the disgusting fluid onto the bones, forming nerve endings and the basic structure of the musculature for the body. White and blue. It hadn’t been lying. It was remaking him, but into what?

“More musculature required. Will need… Ah. Yes. Very good.”

Longer arms formed from the fleshy mass of its abdomen, now equipped with a myriad clusters of tentacles on each of its fingers. Sewing at a frantic pace, he could see the body on the table taking its new shape. It was him, minus the skin, but with thick blue muscles and a pale white skeleton rather than that of his birth body. Thietmarus couldn’t help but notice the lack of any form of reproductive organs.

The flesh-shaper turned to face his prison again.

“We are almost finished with your improvements, Mortal.”

“Go to Hell, demon!”

A bubbling, marshy chuckle.

“It commands us to go to where we already are. This one is amusing.”

More of the phlegmy substance was heaved from the inside of the facial slit of the monstrosity. It molded and shaped the stuff in the palms of its hands, forming a fleshy shaft with a flared almost mushroom like head. Two balls of the mass followed. It would pause and consider the shape and size as it worked, looking back occasionally to the man’s trapped soul.

“Must remember Mistress’ explicit instruction. Size of the genitalia must be… proportionate.” A rumbling groan. “Consideration for additions. Given Mistress’… penchant for the more physical sensations.”

It waved one of its hands, the others attaching the genitals to the seemingly cadaver body.

“No, no. Must not anger the Mistress.”

A film of skin descended from the ceiling, stretched taut across the body as it enveloped it completey. The caterpillar-demon made to shift the body’s positions so that no inch of its masterpiece was left bare. For all intents and purposes, it was a complete body double for Thietmarus, albeit bald.

With great care, the demon grabbed the ruby, caressing it, arcane energies playing along its finger tips. The force called to Thietmarus, and his soul wisped around the creature’s digits like gossamer strands, coiling around them, but never touching.

“Do not worry little soul. This will only bring great agony, and a new awakening. The Mistress awaits.”

Searing red hot agony engulfed Thietmarus’ being as he was forced into the new body made for him, the pain of living. Of the need to breathe, of sight and sound and of touch. All of them sending off fireworks into his mind as forgotten electrical signals coursed through newly formed muscles, his mouth opening.

Thietmarus screamed, long and hoarsely, until the darkness took him completely.

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