Dranon's delight VIII

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“What!?” He snarled petulantly.

“Watch your tongues sweet thing”, The almost feminine voice teased, “they are long enough to form a noose.”

The marine sighed a low reverberating grumble and glared with glossy black orbs at the sinuous creature's silhouette playfully writhing in the opalescent cloud before him.

“Don't give me that look, love. I don't like it” the voice this time was more predatory.

“ I'm not in the mood for games”

“You never are”

“No, I'm not”

“Why did you even join the ranks of Slaanesh?”

“If you have complaints why do you favor me daemon?”

“Aha? I favor you? Oh please”

“If you didn't some one else would be standing here before you”

“Maybe I desire you to fail but you have the indecency to succeed over and over”

“Ugh, can we not do this AGAIN? What do you want?What ever it is I will do it, if it will shut your damned holes”

Regaining it's daemonic composure the silhouette regally proclaimed “I am working on a masterpiece and I require you to retrieve something, Irrumator ”

Bolter shells exploded around him, the roar would be defining if his warp enhanced senses could not selectively tune it out. Dislodged masonry shards pattered on his armor as he took cover behind a laboratory's massive cognator. “That fucking cunt!” Irrumator cursed in frustration. His men were dead, his ammo was nearly spent and worst of all he fumed, his armor was blemished by the fighting. All for some stupid pointless errand. “That god damned cock gargling motherfucking WHOOORRRRRRE!” The impact of his frustrated scream hit the Iron warriors firing upon him like a physical force, knocking their suppressive fire off target. He burst out of cover, selectively firing upon his shell shocked targets. Placing rounds as artfully as a florist arranging flowers in a vase.

Click-Click-Click

Silence.

“Damn, I am just that good” he said to himself as he surveyed his artful work. The Iron Warriors were crumpled and broken before him. He cockily swaggered towards the nearest downed marine with the intention to loot the dying bastard for it's bolter rounds. As he bent down close to the marine he became enthralled with his artistry. The ceramite armor on the marine's abdomen was shattered exposing ropes of intestines and mangled flesh and offal. Irrumator worked his fingers delicately along the edge of the wound as if he was pleasuring a woman. He pulled his face closer and breathed in deep, savoring the warm humid smell of internal organs exposed to atmosphere.

With a sudden jerking motion he pulled away from the corpse, and crammed a pilfered magazine in his bolter. His hind brain had detected movement. He scanned the area tentatively, bolter at the ready. He quickly found what had startled him. A petite female form dragged herself along, clawing for traction on the smooth black tiled floor. One leg ended abruptly in a mass of tangled pulp just below the hip. Clearly the result of a bolter shell impact. He didn't recall shooting her so it must have been of her own that had struck her with an errant round he mused.

Irrumator walked towards her, allowing his footfalls to echo with menacing intent upon the floor. She picked up the pace of her crawl and whimpered with exertion. Playfully he matched her speed as she struggled across the room. He carefully placed his feet to avoid the trail of blood she was leaving behind herself like a slug. He pulled closer to her, so close at times he was practically walking upon her. Her whimpers morphed into the hysterical noises of fear but she did not give up like so many others might. She kept on crawling. He liked her.

With a sudden spastic burst she drove her elbow hard into the floor and scampered forward with surprising speed. She was going for a fucking dropped bolt pistol! He kicked out at her landing a solid blow to her torso just before her fingers closed solidly around the bolt pistol's grip. She flew backwards across the room and impacted upon a wall with a sickening crack and slumped over.

He marched across the room to where she had fallen, his gate revealing that the foul mood of earlier had returned. He squatted to examine her. He noted she was still alive as her body was stirring and straining slightly. He grabbed her by the chin and forced her to lock eyes with him. “Good, you are still alive. I was a bit concerned” he said with sickeningly convincing feigned empathy. She said nothing in return, her eyes glared at him in defiant protest. Irrumator studied her face. It was like a beautiful doll that had been Pieced back together. Deep doe eyes took in the world and delicately stitched corners of the mouth made it seem as if she had a bright cheshire grin even now at her worst. Bolts had been driven into the side of her head. For what purpose he couldn't deduce. A single bright crimson drop of blood ran out her nose like a tear. He thought it contrasted beautifully with her smooth Ivory skin.

He stepped back away from her and reached for his combat knife. He positioned it between his legs and gripped it tight with his thighs. He reached for the small pale woman, wrapping his large hands around her waist just above the hipbone and pulled her towards him. The marine positioned her and with a powerful thrust of his hips he drove the cold blade deep inside of her. She broke her defiant silence. He worked her over long past the point where she had stopped screaming. She had really pissed him off.

Feeling energized, Irrumator skipped along, fecal matter, bone shards and chunks of womb clung to him. It looked as if he had been pelted with snowballs made of hamburger. He had gotten distracted, but now he was back on task. He cautiously worked his way towards where his mistresses prize was stored. He believed all of the Iron warriors in this out post had been terminated but he didn't live this long by making assumptions. He had never made a mistake and he wasn't going to make on now, not in pursuit of this.

There she was, what he had came all this way for. A small sallow skinned woman was chained to an examination table. The first thing he noticed was she was grotesquely swollen. “Daemonculaba” he chuckled to himself.

A distended abdomen large enough to fit a marine inside grew out of her frail and weedy frame. The swollen bulk pushed up on her rib cage making her breath noticeably short and painful even from his vantage. Pipes ferrying fluids to and fro were crammed in every orifice stretching them taught. The skin on the poor woman's stomach was stretched taught valiantly holding her innards in. Thick veins snaked under the growth scarred skin pumping nutrients to her surrogate child. The thing inside her would spasm and shudder, clearly causing her unfathomable pain.

As the marine drew closer he noted the girl was covered in bed stores and he detected the pungent sweet smell of rotten flesh. Greasy unwashed purple hair clung to her face and thick crusty grime ringed her tired and worn eyes like sulfurous mascara.

Irrumator walked around her forcibly tearing out the tubing and restraints that enslaved her with out concern for her comfort. With the tubing gone from her throat the girl produce a thick stream of vomit with a molasses like consistency as her body equalized pressure with the room. The marine gently turned her on her side so she was not to drown in her own fluid.

She fought to speak, her short panting breaths made it difficult and her throat was horse from the tubing.

“Whee.. Khnew... Drahnohn... Whood... Sehnd... hhalp.”

“What? Who the fuck is Drahnon?”

Her dreams of heroic rescue shattered she fell silent finding no reason to fight to speak The little spark of life that had momentarily grown in her eyes faded away. The marine puzzled at how he would carry her out. He was strong enough, sure but he feared she might tear open under the slightest strain and he really didn't want to be bitched at when he got home if he fucked this up. He cautiously tested several ways he might heft her but each one felt as precarious as the last.

He realized what he had to do. The marine positioned himself at the end of the examination table and pushed her atrophied legs apart to make room to maneuver. He worked his massive genetically altered hand up inside her. As stretched out as she was it was still a tight fit, her tissue squeezed down around his hand like a small latex glove. She moaned in what was probably pain, he didn't really take notice, what appeared to be piss ran down his arm in a stream. He came to her cervix and tried to find a way to work it open. “Fuck that shit” he said as he balled his hand into a fist and just rammed his hand past. She screeched in pain as he did so and her anus puckered and spewed a continuous log of foul smelling black fecal mater all over him and the table. He started gagging out of disgust, something he thought was long since past him. But he stayed focused and drove his hand deep inside her womb,well past his elbow.

He grabbed a hold of something solid inside her and twisted for grip. He pulled hoping that it was the fetal marine and not some vital organ that lacked redundancy. Even with his superhuman strength it was a struggle. The woman's body did not want to let go. Irrumator dragged the skinless marine out inch by inch. The woman's constant screams were the soundtrack to the procedure. He didn't really like the screams of women, too shrill and pathetic to enjoy, usually. The woman's cunt stretched horrendously as the seven foot man was worked out. He assumed it would be impossible if her pelvis had not been previously been broken in expectation of exactly this.

At the half way point, he didn't have to fight any more the fetus-man-thing was coming out of it's own accord. It squeezed out of her with a sicking plop and fell to the ground in a puddle of amniotic fluid where it spasmed and convulsed having been born too early. He crushed its head with a boot strike and kicked it across the floor out of annoyance.

The long suffering girl looked even more frail and exhausted than before. She painted for breath and fluids and filth dripped out of her wrecked vaginal cavity. Her once taught stomach was now deflated. It reminded him of a trash bag he had once seen dancing in the wind.

He threw the pathetic creature over his shoulder and opened a channel on his com bead. “ I have what I came for, I am ready for extraction”

To be continued...

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