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Ronin had toiled through the superstructure for hours now, though they had seemed like centuries to the muscle-strained, agonizing slugsune. At multiple stops across the green spark-lit alcoves in which the slugcat took a moment to gather his spirits, he had to clutch the makeshift talisman tied around his paw, emblazoned by the glyph of Tenacity. At each pull upwards, the holy glyph returned to his field of view, urging him to press on no matter what. Still, no amount of willpower could quench the burning hunger in his stomach, and the radiating rumbles his begging body were now disturbing him with. He needed a meal - quickly. Fate smiles to the talented warrior as he pokes his furred head out of a large sized grate, spotting the familiar pointed tip of a slugcat's tail. Bright green in its radiance, it was not without similarity to the tasty meal he had consumed before entering the tower. Had his prey been struck with the misfortune of being placed on his path yet again? It did not matter, for a meal was a meal - and it was this careless little animal's fault to have not heeded his lesson from his previous incarnation. Here that green-furred critter was again, standing out in the open, begging with every single breath "Please skewer my body onto a spear."

How strange that after such a memorable death, his prey did not care in the slightest about awareness of one's surroundings. Its fuzzy head was tilted downwards, examining a strange fabric contraption - continuously expanding it with the ever-repeating tinkle of needles striking against each other. A ball of tangled strands to his side shrunk at a continuous pace, the critter continuing to knit while remaining utterly oblivious to his undoing standing right behind him.

How pathetic. Ronin silently prays that the weak such as this creature one day find the inner strength to walk a path as noble as his own, readies his spear, and thrusts it forward.

Instead of the satisfying visceral crunch announcing announcing the annihilation of another life, Ronin only feels... wet. Warm, too. His heartbeat echoes through his body at increased strength, while liquid slowly drips across his belly...

What?

Then, it begins. Omnipresent, overpowering pain. In between his cry of both surprise and agony, Ronin wonders: had there been a second assassin standing behind him as he was focused on his hunt? Had he failed to follow his own lessons?

He looks down. He understands.

Across an expanse of green fur, Ronin sees the tip of a vicious rebar spear pierce his body, splattering gore all the way down to his little, underdeveloped paws and his weak muscles. The weapon quickly retracts, leaving the bewildered predator-become-prey to collapse onto the strange fabric contraption his adversary had been working on before metal had struck flesh.

"You've scattered your guts all over the gift I had prepared for you," Ronin's own voice coos to him. "I attempt generosity, and you answer by soiling my hard work with the vile essence of life."

Ronin's survival instinct barges into his mind, slaughtering reason to instead take inventory of all available offensive options. The slugcat's first discovery is a comically long, powerful fleshy whip coiled in his muzzle. Without hesitation, he unleashes his natural weapon, hoping to perhaps strangle this mysterious body snatcher and demand an explanation. The appendage wraps around the slugsune now towering over his frail shape, but his binding remains loose and betraying of Ronin's inexperience with such an unnatural weapon.

"As stealing the clothes of a monk will not grant you his piety, your attempt will only be met by failure." "Ronin"'s voice sounds deep, yet floaty, in a perfect replica of the tone the slugsune would have used to address one of his future meals.

"Ronin" effortlessly unwraps the tongue around his body with his muscular paws, then pounces onto the green critter to instead tightly attach the flesh-rope around his neck. The little slugcat thrashes across the ground as he taps desperately at the collar with his tiny claws, helpless to undo the knot of a beast as strong as ten clones of himself.

"Since you clearly have no concept of cleanliness and proper manners, allow me to teach you the basics. You can thank Terminal for this lesson should you ever have to put it to use in a distinguished soirée."

The slugsune hauls up the Vessel's body onto his shoulder, grabbing him by both scruff and tongue, and ensuring to sink his cyan claws deep into the creature's fur. A trail of blood follows the "Ronin" as he approaches the room's sewage duct. The helpless slug writhes, only managing to shake the glowing spikes in his wounds, augmenting the intensity of his torment threefold.

"We normally use hydroiodic acid to unclog the tower's waste system. However, as the latest delivery has taken some time to arrive, you will have to do for now. My sincere apologies if there are some leftovers from the last maintenance session."

"...as...wicked...as..." the green slugcat stammers between two breaths blocked by the tight tongue-binding.

"Hmm?~" Terminal purrs, raising his prisoner to the highest point, letting gravity apply maximum pressure to his neck. Ronin's thick green tail slams back and forth as all oxygen drains out of his lungs, letting reality flash in and out of existence through his weakening eyelids.

"I thought I heard something. I must have been mistaken. Just in case it was some kind of half-hearted protest, let me grant you some motivation."

The slugsune wraps his entire paw against the Vessel's head, and slams it into his torso, smashing the slugcat's head against his ribs. Terminal pins his former body as to ensure its eyes are placed directly onto one of his glowing cyan rings. The "Ronin" lets out a droning, affectionate hum as he feels his diminutive pray release tension in its muscles, thoughts of rebellion and panic drowning under an ocean of calming, enthralling bioluminescence. When he finally releases Ronin from his trance, the slugsune finds himself with a curled up little slugcat, eyes closed and assuming a serene visage - in utter contrast to the gushing wound still apparent a little ways across his fur.

"That's more like it."

Without hesitation, Terminal unsheathes a spear from his back, jams it into the Vessel's maw, and presses on him against the cold steel until the slugsune feels his weapon come out the other end of his new cleaning apparatus. Ronin's cry of fear is snuffed out under ten centimetres of steel as he is stuffed into the pipe network. One strong push from his former body slams him down the chimney, collecting viscous nutrient festering with infectious bacteria, bits of rotten scavenger corpses, and, most importantly - a thick coating of potent acid turning fur into skin, then finally wound. Blood meshes with chemical, the solution entering the Vessel's circulatory system and burning him from the inside. Once the unholy mixture has finally found its way into Ronin's little rapidly beating heart, every pulse sends out dissolving agony across his every muscle, his fear in turn accelerating his beat rate in a vicious cycle.

No matter how loud his prey mewls, the slugsune never ceases to rake his mangled toy across the shaft at an ever accelerating rate. Soon, Ronin is being grinded against the rough metal itself, adding more cuts to his already unrecognizable body, and more entryways for illness and acid to corrupt his body further.

Ronin pushes against the steel with his tiny paws. He only manages to break one of his fragile hindlegs under the pressure.

Ronin bangs his skull anywhere he can in an attempt to die faster, violating his own doctrine of tenacity to die faster. In conjunction with the acid, he already feels his soul detach itself slightly from his broken body... Until one final push of willpower lets him at last float upwards, leaving the pain behind.

"There, that should be plenty to wash away your disrespect."

Terminal hauls up his used-to-be-living brush out of the shaft by the spear, immediately disposing of the distorted, vaguely green flesh pile into a biohazard waste container. The corpse falls from the side of the tower, striking the garbage dump's waters fall below.

Ronin's soul levitates serenely among the green sparks lighting the pressurized air of the chamber. Time itself seems to slow down, the ground departing away from the ghost's vision - and with it, the suffering of the material plane. This life may have ended in failure, but there will be many more to come... and many opportunities to learn who this strange green critter truly is. Until then, all that Ronin now had to do was to navigate the cold night air towards his next incarnation. Passing through the metal ceiling, he sees the tower's outside - he had only a few dozen metres left to climb. How unfortunate. In the other direction stands an expanse of lit up neon signs across streets only animated by some tiny coloured spots. Ronin could easily imagine all these reptiles in search of a meal, completely unaware of the reality-defying scene that had just unfolded five hundred metres in the air... Peace now flowed through the warrior-soul's flux, while a bright white light welcomes him into the sky to wake back up at the shrine in the complex's ground-level lobby.

Until a surge of pressurized air interrupts his passage from bewilderment to acceptance. Ronin has only a split second to turn around, and spot a wide-open green maw collapse on his ethereal body. The world tumbles as his predator falls back onto the maintenance room's roof, rolling perfectly for two metres before landing right back up on his paws.

"Your body has quite the capacity for impressive feats. No wonder you would start foolishly believing that material existence has some redeeming factor. But the worms, the scarabs, the ants? Do you believe their time on this land to be worthwhile? You hadn't even considered it. You only think about yourself." Terminal pauses, sinking his fangs into the helpless soul-critter stuck between his teeth. To further strengthen this fleshy prison, the Reality Anchor unrolls his (disappointingly short) glowing green tongue, and wraps it around the ghostly morsel in his muzzle.

"Perhaps an immersive simulation session will help you develop basic empathy."

As that last syllable is pronounced, Terminal clamps down his powerful maw on his prey, shooting out puffs of soul-flux to dissipate in the atmosphere. One contraction of his tongue allows the slugsune to pull Ronin's soul into the deep reaches of his throat, sealing shut the exterior world to the fallen warrior's vision.

"You speak of suffering, yet you inflict all this to me - not to quench your hunger, not to defend your life - but to assert dominance over your kin," Ronin's voice echoes telepathically through his stolen body, still not silenced by the glowing green drool coating his every patch of soul-fur. "You are no better than-"

Terminal force-jams the slugsune soul deep into his throat, until only Ronin's translucent double-tails poke out. The spirit's head, crushed between viscous green walls, is forced to stop speaking to instead take a deep breath of stomach acid-scented air. Ronin gags at the awful taste, and his still active survival instinct cannot repress a terrified mewl echoing throughout his predator's body.

"Do not fret. Swallowing you would violate the precepts of my faith."

Terminal yanks back his tongue towards his teeth, pulling Ronin's soul out of its fetid prison. The slugsune spirit struggles against the coil - his strength and size diminished now that Terminal has absorbed a fraction of his essence. The flesh-snake prods at his muzzle, before punching his nose with thumping force. Ronin's head smacks against what used to be his gums, shrieking with surprise. The soul-prey throws up his little paws in a mockery of defence, instantly blasted by a flurry of tongue-punches. Bloodied in soul-flux, one tenth hit suffices to smash open Ronin's maw, and for the sticky green tongue to intrude his mouth, blocking out all access to air. While a soul cannot suffocate, the sensation remains - and Ronin can only gasp with his eyes wide open in horror as the appendage pulsates in his throat, worming its way further down. When Ronin becomes half-soul and half-tongue, Terminal judges pertinent to jam his prey back into his throat, to the same depth as he used to. Rapidly, the slugsune alternates between motions of pulling and pushing, throat-fucking himself with the unfortunate soul's body. Every single time, a little bit of the ghost's essence gets absorbed, renewing Terminal's strength and inciting him to accelerate his self-penetration. Ronin's rapidly diminishing size only manages to make the tongue inside him even more intrusive, until he becomes only a thin mantle of soul-flux surrounding a pulsating, drooling member.

Ironic. Ronin had been wishing to reclaim his body. In a way, he has succeeded.

Right before the slug-soul has been slurped to a grain of sand, he decides to shout out a cry of surrender - even though a part of him had always desired the eternal oblivion Terminal was about to provide to him, in the heat of the moment, to be dissolved forever was truly a terrifying prospect.

At the very least, it couldn't be in such a dishonourable, so unfitting end for a slugcat of his caliber. With every speck of strength he can muster, Ronin screams out a call of surrender, hoping the draining of his life force would stop before Terminal's surprise mercy.

And, it does. Reduced to the size of a pebble, Ronin's soul stops being ground against the thick flesh walls, and is released to bask in the bioluminescence of the slugsune's maw.

"I grant you the respite you seek, and offer you an end to suffering, and you squander this gift too? Very well. Since my generosity is falling on deaf ears, I propose an alternative."

Once that Terminal's telepathic message has concluded, his maw slowly opens, revealing to the tiny Ronin a slugcat head-sized plushie version of him. Two fabric tails dangle at the bottom as Terminal swishes the toy around. Phosphorescent thread serves to replicate the luminous rings adorning the slugsune's body. Cute, wide green eyes stand atop a tiny plastic button nose. The plushie appears proud of itself - one could even imagine little sparkles flying around its head were it the main protagonist of a children's picture book.

Ronin's calmness before this adorable replica collapses into terrible apprehension as he spots two deep holes on the plushie's rear, partially hidden by the swaying thick cotton tails.

"I made it for you, before your arrival. You soiled it with some of my old body's gore, but I cleaned it off while you were rudely departing my company through the stratosphere. You will see how nice it feels to have a cozy, clean home."

Ronin can only utter a half-yowl, half-word of protest before the goop-coated green tongue slingshots him into the toy, sealing his soul inside this new vessel.

Within, sight, sound and smell are all smothered out under thick cotton. Still, the plushie can still touch... an omnipresent fluffiness, and a very uncomfortable feeling gnawing at him. What is that?

Emptiness. That sensation of being only half of a whole, of needing to be filled by something extremely specific.

As if a god had been listening to the toy's prayers, a thick pillar of solid bliss rampages through Ronin's folds in two locations at once. Double, glorious slugsune knots, completing him at last, and echoing unbound serenity throughout Ronin's soft, squishy fabric body.

Far above, in a world that remains beyond a mere plushie's senses, Terminal pushes hard the cotton replica of his own body onto his glowing cyan cocks. His arousal increases at every thrust of his muscles, aided by the superior strength of this new form.

"All this... vile seed. This... curse of life. Banished into a sterile vessel, never to... ngmff... infect a womb," the slugsune growls between his increasingly rapid contractions.

As Terminal's faith disallows sexual pleasure, he quickly lets himself reach orgasm, preventing further self-indulgence. A burning sensation swells up in the slugsune's nether regions, before ropes of extremely thick, viscous seed are released one after the other, the flow seemingly refusing to stop. The glistening green goo vibrates with virile activity, betraying the swarm of slugkits that would have been unleashed should this load have touched the shafts of a living member of his kin. Terminal compliments his precaution, his eyes firmly closed as the climax lengthens beyond the ten second mark. The plushie has now been filled to the brim with tarry seed, causing the plushie itself to mentally howl in the overpowering joy of having been finally completed, dominated by the true version of his self which he was only a pitiful replica of.

The toy now having completed its purpose, Terminal dismissively throws it onto the roof overlooking the city ruins, a droplet of extremely viscous sperm managing to seep out of the bottommost hole. Even then, it would take weeks for a sizeable stream to appear on the metal. The plushie rolls over a few centimetres before stopping, its trapped soul enjoying its filling like a baby would savour a meal prepared by its loving mother.

The slugsune descends the tower, now able to continue preaching the Cross-Glyph's release further with such an improved form. He would not have to worry about a rival stepping in to steal back his body for a very long time - that opponent was now a plushie leaking cum on a forgotten tower, high up in the sky, hypnotized by how great it feels to be filled by slugsune seed.

Yes. Terminal had time.