InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ Hedonism ❯ Flesh of My Flesh ( Chapter 10 )

"Flesh of My Flesh" by Abraxas (2008-07-09)

Throughout that crypt the air attained a heavy metallic odor. It was not unpleasant, given the nature of the environment, yet its intrusion was unexpected and sudden. It was a fresh kind of odor, vivid and full of life, that betrayed the encroachment of life -- however fleeting its presence was -- into that eternal chamber of death.

A tongue flickered, darted in and out of a mouth, then stroked ravenously between lips.

It was Naraku. Those parts of the demon that retained the proportions of a man emerged into view: head, torso, and hands. All the while twitchy, spider-like appendages remained enshadowed.

The creature savored the flavor of the air, its odor, which ebbed out of the realm of the senses just like the weak and fragile life that produced it.

Silence descended -- unbroken -- utterly contrasting the shriek that echoed still, like howls of ecstasy, inside the demon's thoughts.

Was it only that last breath past when the dungeon resounded with the vocalization of fear? Cursing. Screaming. Cries of help to the gods.

He scoffed at the futility! What god could have intervened? In the middle of hell there could be no divine intervention.

Oh, yet, how it ended -- the frenzy of the torment -- swiftly as if a blind shut and day turned to night. How pathetic was the nature of the living that its existence could be snuffed without resistance? And if a creation reflected the genius of its creator, what was revealed of gods by the weakness of life?

Still it fascinated Naraku. It was the curiosity of the predator which lurked behind distant and cold eyes. And like a cat to a rat it was time to play!

Naraku twisted and folded his legs into a web. The limbs, wet and dripping with flesh, tucked neatly under a waist that showed to be inhumanly thin. Thin like a spider's. He lowered his torso almost onto the floor, stopping only when the legs of the woman brushed against the skin of his face. With his hands he spread the female's legs and sniffed the air. A scent exuded out of what he intended to use as playground.

He gazed at it as if it were a prize to be conquered.

The sight of it was alien. Nightmare could not have induced such a mixture of light and dark. Hair, curled and black, blurred into the onyx void of dungeon beyond seamlessly. The slit, vertical within that forest, echoed the shade of the abyss and added its own peculiar mystery. What lay silent behind those lips? What if they could be made to scream -- he wondered -- what would be the sound of it?

The flesh was virginal and begged to be examined.

He inched toward it and noticed the effect.

A droplet of red -- the only color to be seen -- formed at that corner of the slit where lips kissed thighs. It grew moment by moment like a flower emerging out of a bud. As it expanded it quivered and he fancied that it shook though terrified. It extended beyond the crack. Freed. It fell onto the ground.

Another tear formed and he licked it. He smeared it about the woman's outward display of sex. And with that tip of the tongue he probed into the folds of the slit. Digging. Penetrating. Simulating a ravaging.

Urges swelling within his own engorged sex overwhelmed his icy and calm demeanor. Betrayed by his very own flesh he went from licking to engulfing. He grinded his face into her genital. With his lips and nose and eyes his senses devoured everything the woman offered.

That lapse of passion was a flicker and when it passed he withdrew the attention of his face -- gazing, again, his features were red not with shame but with blood.

Droplets trickled into a stream -- a line of red like a strand of web, thin yet unbroken, straddled the space between the mouth-like crack and the stones of the floor.

He cut the stream with his hands -- its blood pooled into his palm then overflowed.

The demon brought its hand to its lips then sipped the fluid as if it were tea and complimented its warm, inviting aroma, its taste like that of steel.

Was the no depth to depravity? If wickedness took shape, if evil condensed into man, would it not be Naraku?

Reveling the beauty of his work, again, he gazed into the realm between the legs of the woman. He lapped the folds of its flesh. He probed the slit amazed at its taught and silky softness. At last he bit into it. It was not a nip of love -- because it was not love -- rather, it was the expression of a very different kind of hunger altogether.

He bit and shook and tore away a chunk of skin. It ripped off the body like a fabric with a sloppy, wet sound. The wound that remained glistened with beads of blood. He watched it ooze while he devoured the flesh. A sly kind of smile, complete with red and dirty teeth, greeted the prey.

A few frenzied bites followed and the character of the sex transformed.

The lips of the slit formed into a blood-stained and grotesque gesture. Gone was the innocence. The mystery was overturned. The virginity was destroyed. Even its dignity was obliterated. Now only a ragged and jagged hole it aped a frozen, silent scream.

A pool of blood took shape between the woman's legs starting at a trickle and spreading away.

Naraku stood. Bits and pieces of flesh fell like crumbs and floated atop a sea of red. Ripples formed along its surface. The reflection of the beast shattered like a mirror broken.

The demon inhaled with its eyes the essence of the scene. From wall to wall the rocks of the cell were splattered with blood. It dried and lost its luster. A pity, he thought, for when it was fresh and new it glimmered like starlight.

Then a new yet familiar scent fill the air of the dungeon.

It was that unmistakable sign of death!

"Aren't you the gift that keeps giving?" mocked Naraku. "Kagura! What do you say?"

But there was no answer and there would be no answer. Ever. Only silence, profound and unfathomable, blanketed that underworld. That hell. And for a moment, an instant, he grew alarmed at that vast universe of solitude that awaited.

"Now -- now -- look at the spectacle you make of yourself!"

Kagura's eyes, frozen with shock, pierced its gaze like arrows aimed at the demon. A perfect reflection of death. The head was detached at the neck and rested askew between the shoulders. The chest, exposed and naked, was split into segments as if were the body of an insect -- each slice of flesh thorough and clean as though it were hacked by a butcher. The arms, too, were split at the elbows. Only the legs and area between them escaped intact.

She had been sliced by his web as it wrapped and tightened.

"Flesh of my flesh, I devour you back into me, Kagura!"

(1200)