Helob x Narinder (Bad Ending)
Narinder gets caught by the local "food" merchant, who decides he won’t be put up for sale, prize that he is…
CONTENT WARNINGS: Non-con, Oral Vore, Graphic Digestion, Blood, Biting, Venom, frequent mentions of Death, Implied Perma
I will try to fit these into the tags as well, it's... extreme.
Copyright of Massive Monster, since these characters are literally just from Cult of the Lamb.
Ache. Everything… hazy. Swimming. Feels like floating… feels like ichor, in his blood. Feels like his form won't obey him…
Can't move. Not just from that sluggish feeling, but… arms, bound in place… not chains. Not a memory? Soft… soft, but stronger even then those accursed chains.
Eyes blink open slowly, one and then a second and a third… He's in the woods. He was in camp, eating. He can still taste faint traces of the stew he was offered. The flavor's gone rancid against his teeth, like… like he's been sleeping, but for days… He spits into the grass- no, mouth doesn't move enough. It just… dribbles down his chin, onto the silk.
...Silk?
Eyes open wider. Yes, spider's silk. Shamura?…
Trees all around. No path in sight, little as his head can turn. No telling where he's even been taken… Why would they have taken him…?
Something moves. His ears swivel to the sound, his head turns far as it can, but the figure approaches from behind. Lips pull back in a snarl, a growl rumbling in his chest.
The figure snickers. “Feisty snack. I like the ones that have fight in them still…"
Not Shamura. Of course not. They'd settled their differences. They wouldn't do this to him.
A hand traces up his side, through the web he's bound to. He tries to pull away, and fails.
“Who are you?"
“None of your concern, Old Blood. I can smell the Lamb on you. That… hunter-smell. But it's faint… You're not a hunter anymore, Old Blood. Something's different… You are... weaker, now." The figure's hands trace up his sides as they speak, lifting up that tattered tunic. His struggling doesn't stop.
“Strong enough to send you to the Hereafter, you pathetic parasite. Release me!"
The figure laughs again, so close behind him. “Bound again… I do know that smell. The One Who Waits… Almost funny, watching you squirm. Watching you fight to avoid the inevitable… As so many have before… Do you know how many squirming crawling pleading things I've sent to you, my lord?"
Those memories are long since faded. Before his capture, before that millennium of waiting, he'd know this killer by its numbers. He'd already know its face, its name. But in that time… and since his defeat at the hands of that damned Lamb, his senses had dulled… A new death was merely a fleeting moment, to him, not the feast of pain and fear it once was.
“Some hundreds, my lord. Some unknowable number of helpless, weak, delicious critters… Used by something stronger. Is that not the way of the world, He That Waits Beneath?"
Something sharp presses into his back. For a moment, he freezes… But the blade doesn't pierce him. It merely slides through his tunic, cleaving the ratty thing cleanly… letting the fabric drop to the floor. His torso now bare, now so clearly exposed to the cold air… Those hands hold under his arms, as a face leans closer to his neck. “Is that not the way of the world? The strong devour the weak… Death comes for us all, in time. Even… to you…"
More hands, grabbing at his hips… This shocks him, more than anything; such an obscene touch, especially for a former god. “Unhand me, filthy thing, the Lamb will-"
Another hand, over his mouth, leaving silk in its wake. Binding his lips shut before he can react…
“No one is coming for you, Old Blood. No one could. I saw you, by the trees… I smelled you so clearly, such a delectable treat. Something a hunter like me could never taste again…"
The former god knows this feeling. This cold feeling in his chest, this rapid thumping of his heart, this burn in his muscles where they strain against his binds. He knows it only as a bystander, but he knows it well. He's going to die here. Alone in the woods with this beast, this “hunter". If this thing is a hunter, that makes him…
He pulls harder. Silk strains and stretches just a little. Not enough to free him.
The hands at his waist dig in, claws drawing blood, red streaks through black fur… “Oh no. You will not be pulling away, Old Blood. You will be holding still, and I will be taking my prize. Like any hunter should. Accept your end, End Of All Things."
The feline cries out into his binds, teeth unable to find purchase on the webbing sealing his lips. Something is prodding against his back… and he has a guess as to what. The hands under his arms shift to his shoulders, the hands at his hips still holding on by those fresh wounds… as the spider crudely crams his fat, tapered cock into the former god.
Black tears stream down his face, stark against white silk. He tries so desperately to pull away as those hands keep pulling him back, as that thick taper presses into his guts. Those grunts against his neck feel hot, sickly, animalistic as the spider uses him. That dark purple, matted fur is coarse against his back, filthy as it is with bones and scattered fur from former meals…
This is no end for the god of Death. Beaten and usurped by a sacrificial lamb, forced to serve them… then grabbed, used for this depraved thing's enjoyment, only to… what? Be devoured?…
The frame Narinder was bound to creaks with each thrust, threatening to come apart. Not nearly so strong as the web it contained, not able to withstand that feral mating… It finally shatters, and they both fall hard. Narinder onto his front, Helob onto and into him…
Hands shift. Now, one of them has him by the scruff, roughly pulling him back. “Hahh… Better position, I thinks. Letsss me enjoy you better~" The beast huffs against his neck. “Letsss me… get a better taste~"
The god tries again to pull away, as he feels those looming fangs… as they set against his throat, and begin to sink into skin. It aches, at first, not nearly so painful as those claws before, as they sink deeper, and the spider's jaws clamp around his neck.
This is how he was caught. From behind, those fangs catching him before he even noticed, his awareness fading… That isn't what happens this time. Not fading into black… not even numbness… But that sluggish, slow feeling, his limbs no longer responding. Left to feel as his ass is used, feel every throb and thrust of that short, fat taper, every breath hot against his neck, every faint pulse of venom from those fangs…
It feels like hours. Sweaty, painful, aching hours, unable to move, slowly bleeding into the grass… before the spider pulls away one more time, slams his hips into the feline again, floods his guts with cum… and finally pulls his fangs away.
“Yesss… I liked that muchly. Oh, what a shame to takes you away…"
He's too delirious to move. Everything swims… He can barely understand the sadistic bastard. The spider takes only a moment, to catch his breath. It takes nothing for him to lift the shaking, limp lump that he's left of the cat into the air…
“...But I can't just let you go. You taste… so good…"
Those jaws open so impossibly wide, right in front of his face. And he's forced to simply watch it approach… Feel that sickly hot breath waft over him, feel that tongue under his chin… His muzzle slides easily into that eagerly grabby gullet, tongue sliding up his cheek to catch an inky tear…
A swallow pulls his head almost completely into that tight gullet. This creature is so much stronger than him, and it wastes no time crushing him down its neck, except to grope one sharp hand at his ass again… Its head tilts back, tossing him into the air like a piece of meat in order to keep swallowing.
With all the nasty thing talks of the sound of crunching bones, Narinder really thought his suffering would end between its teeth. But it seems to want his feeble struggles, as well… He hisses into that silken gag as he feels its tongue prodding at the wounds at his waist. Tasting his blood, savoring it eagerly…
Another swallow stuffs his hindquarters down its gullet. Another series of short, heavy gulps pulls his paws in as well… And he feels it stop again. Just his toes, peeking out the back of its throat… It holds there, a hand rubbing at its neck, two more pressing against its fat middle… and closes its mouth. Fully sealing him inside, but not swallowing again, for a moment…
Through the haze of venom, and breathlessness, Narinder curses this creature. Curses him in a dozen long-dead tongues, for playing with its meal and not just tearing his throat out… Still bound, curled up in its disgusting, hot belly, insulated by all that matted fur… Simply waiting to die.
He's almost startled out of it by that final swallow, sending the last of him down, down into the dark…
The spider almost moans, once it has wind back in its lungs. “Mmh… By the Old Faith, my lord… You really are a prize… I am so very lucky to have grabbed you before something else! That taste… Maybe I should try to capture that sweet little lamb…"
He can feel it stand, slowly. Not as if it didn't have the strength to get to its feet, with him hanging from its front… More like it was savoring the sloshing movement of its prey. Two hands still hefting that bulged belly up, two others pressing down on it.
The air's so thin… He can only imagine this is… what dying always feels like. Hungering, oppressive darkness… It's so ironic. Brought low by some greedy predator, not even… not even a fight.
One of the hands under him isn't supporting him anymore. It takes him a moment to realize the sadistic predator is pleasuring itself, under him. Furiously stroking its cock to the feeling of his body curled up inside of it, to the weight of a hot and heavy meal…
He kicks out against the stomach wall as much as he can. It barely does anything, in his weakened state… But he can tell it's making his predator even more aroused.
“Yesss… fight, kick, struggle! My meals never do, meek and feeble as they are!"
He can't even muster a snarl. How long has he been gone? Did the Lamb even notice?
Helob gets back onto his knees, heavy gut resting on the ground in front of him. That firm taper pressed into Narinder's form… Gripping his belly like he had the cat's shoulders, he begins to hump into that curled, shaking form… and Narinder begins to properly sob. Not scream. He was still too weak to scream… Not enough air to scream…
His consciousness faded to that rhythm. His body going numb, as it's used one final time… It does take hours, this time, for the spider to exhaust itself, making even more a mess of that matted and nasty fur. His own fur slowly melts, and starts to come free of his skin… his skin melting from his muscle… meat separating from bone… It takes hours for the former god of Death to come apart fully. It takes more than a day for him to finally disappear. Another few days before that fat, sloshing belly even started to shrink and flatten… Even with its constant pawing and kneading at that mush, it processes slowly, as food does…
“It is a shame you have lost one of your morsels, my friend. Can not say I know where it went… I can offer you another! For a price~"