FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

THE TASTE OF TERROR

Chapter 4: Hopeless Case

The eyes.

Always the eyes.

Burning. Blazing. Twin orbs of molten cruelty, as golden as the sun and far more deadly. They watched him. They taunted him. They drank in his pain-

- and now he was fleeing, his breath the ragged gasps of a body pleading him to stop, collapse, give up, but he kept running. He knew what would happen if he stopped -

- and now he was frozen, helpless, trapped in that one eternity of a second when he sensed the creature behind him, and his once - happy life was broken, ripped apart, gone forever -

-and now he was shrieking as he felt his arm break: an organic, wet-twig sound, so quiet and insignificant... until the shuddering, searing waves of raw agony crashed into him, drowning him under a tsunami of pain -

- and those golden eyes watched him for every second of it. Intently. Hungrily. Laughing at him - a gentle chuckle that shook his soul with the bloodthirsty evil behind it.

And the endless flood of pain and terror did not stop, surging over him as he curled into a ball, tried to block it all out, tried to die.

But the eyes would not let him.

***

Consciousness came slowly, like a lone survivor, picking their way through the debris. Alex opened his eyes, tasting blood in his mouth. The new dawn blinded him, but he barely noticed the pain. It was nothing.

Slowly, still trembling slightly, he got out of bed. He ignored the tangled sheets - still sodden with sweat and tears from his sleep. It was the same every morning; the eyes came for him every night. Every damn night.

The rising sun flooded his apartment with dazzling light, blazing white-hot and incandescent. It seemed to be trying to explode with energy; to let loose some terrible pent-up agony trapped deep within it.

Alex stared out longingly as a tall building in the north district was illuminated. He knew how it felt.

Slumping against the wall, he wiped his eyes: stiff with the residue of his tears. He was utterly exhausted. Every...bloody... night... he tried to sleep, in the hope that he might get some rest, some peace from this waking nightmare. But when his eyes closed at last, all he got was more torment. Every single moment of his life was dominated by the all-consuming, mind -shattering grief.

The world seemed slightly out of focus, as if he was watching from behind a pane of glass. As if the gentlest tap would shatter it into a thousand pieces, and let the never-ending tide of terror and misery and pain (oh god, the pain, so much pain that he felt a low moan rise in his throat at the mere thought of it) pour over him again...

Alex took a deep, shuddering breath, clenching his fist so hard it hurt as the pounding of his heart - so fragile, it's every beat numbered as it carried him patiently towards his inevitable doom - rang in his ears. The despair began to recede...

...slightly. He could still sense it: lurking beneath his mind, waiting to engulf him again. This moment of relative calm was just the eye of the storm - he had learned that from bitter experience.

"Oh... god..."

Seven months. Seven damn months of this torture, of waking up expecting to die every single day, of spending every second dreading the merest flash of those dark feathers or those pitiless eyes of gold ... and nothing. Nothing at all.

And the true horror was, that was all it took. Slowly but inevitably, Alex was watching his life fall apart. His friends were drifting away, his marks dropping lower and lower; rumours abounded of secret drug addictions, chronic depressions, petty crime. And he could do nothing to explain the truth.

The low velvet voice of his murderer echoed again through his head:

"You do anything, anything at all, to try and bring someone else into this game of ours, then... and I swear this upon everything you hold dear, Alex... they will die. Screaming.

Right.

In front.

_ Of you."_

And that was all Dami-no don't speak the name don't say it don't say it- all that ... the gryphon (but still the word sent a white-hot surge of panic through his mind: oh christ no please no no no) had needed. A few simple words, spoken with the loving tenderness of a saint, and Alex's entire world was as good as dead.

He stared out at the city, still sleeping in the bright light of the new sun, and blinked back a fresh flood of tears. He wanted to live. He wanted it so badly the very thought made his breath quicken and a wave of hopeless longing rise in his chest. He'd spent so many hours of his younger life dreaming, preparing, studying, considering, imagining what he was going to do when he went out into the big wide world. He'd been so excited, so ready to be someone, so impatient to live his life. And it had all been for nothing.

"Please..." he implored the world outside, his voice a whisper, shaking with desperation. "Someone... help me..."

"I'm afraid not, little one."

That voice, so low and smooth and gentle. The voice of a lover. The voice of a killer.

His killer.

His breath caught and choked in his throat. Slowly, every movement making his tortured nerves sing with terror, Alex turned round.

Damian sat, sphinx-like, and watched him.

Even while prone, his dark head rose above that of his prey, and Alex knew that when stood fully, the gryphon was almost twice his height. His vast wings, though tightly furled, seemed to almost fill the entire room. His forelegs ended in great scaled eagle claws, complete with cruel talons as long as Alex's finger and two grotesquely anthropomorphic opposable thumbs. His muscled hindquarters were of an enormous and savagely powerful lion. Almost every inch of his streamlined form was covered with a luxurious coat of silky, midnight-black feathers and fur, exuding a strange yet pleasant scent: musky, exotic, and utterly terrifying.

But Alex barely noticed. He was transfixed, almost impaled, by the golden gaze of the gryphon. His dreams had been nothing compared with the reality of Damian's eyes. Not even the sun blazing outside could have outshone the searing inferno of cruelty those terrible, burning orbs promised him.

A car horn whooped forlornly, far in the distance.

How had he thought those past months to be painful? The fear, the anguish, the hellish dreams... they were nothing; nothing at all. Not now. Not when those eyes were watching him. He heard the pounding of his heart: thrumming with adrenaline, the beats faster than he could count.

They stared at each other (he didn't dare blink, in case the blazing intensity of his murderer's eyes simply sheared off his eyelids) for almost a full minute, neither moving. Then Damian smiled.

"Oh, Alex. I've missed you so much."

***

He tries to run. Of course he does. Despite all the pain I've inflicted, despite the total, tortuous crushing of his spirit, I know that he will never stop trying. Maybe he can escape? Maybe I'll take pity on him at last? Maybe, just maybe, he might still be able to live?

And so he charges forwards towards the door, an unearthly shriek - half a howl and half a sob -tearing from his throat. I let the scream wash over me: a sound of pure, exquisite emotion and despair. It is as intense as cold water to a creature dying of thirst in some scorched desert. It is almost painfully pleasurable, a raw, desperate pleasure that I have longed for ever since I chanced to find this young, beautiful, innocent fox almost eight years ago. It is the sensation I live for.

I don't move an inch as he flees - indeed, I'm not sure if I could move at all through the blissful haze of cruel delight. Not until his paw actually brushes the handle of the door, until his shimmering mind glows bright with hope: ...oh god please yes... so close... please let me go...

That's when I move.

It's still somewhat unclear exactly how my body was affected when I Crossed Over, all those years ago. My mind, of course was shattered like a mirror, my soul fragmented and severed, but my physical form, if anything, seems to have benefited from the... experience... (No. I have locked those memories away in the cavernous recesses of my mind. They will not escape.) My body simply does what I want it to. If, for example, I want to turn around, leap almost five metres and grapple a struggling, squirming vulpine away from the door without hurting him in the slightest in marginally under two nineteenths of a second, it just happens.

I hit him, enfolding him, and roll smoothly to one side, folding my wings underneath me. I do not interfere with the elegant dance of weights and counterweights - that which we call physics -and simply allow it to bring us to a halt. I wouldn't be able to interfere anyway. Because when my sleek black pelt comes into contact with his soft fur, when I feel him at last in my arms, all conscious thought ceases.

He is perfection. And here, in that second of first contact, I understand that fully.

Could I describe the sensation of his warm, fragile, shivering form as I crush it against my chest? No. There are no words in any language I know. Suffice to say that I embrace him so passionately I feel his ribs creak under the pressure. A choked whimper escapes from his crushed lungs, but is lost amidst the snarling growl of ravenous ecstasy that rips through my chest and shakes him like a leaf. I sense tears of dark joy leak from the corners of my eyes.

Dear God. I have missed him.

***

"No... no, no, no... "

His voice was nothing more than a squeak, weak and pathetic . He couldn't breathe. The enfolding claws were crushing the life from him, choking him in the musky darkness of his predator's fur. His feeble, desperate whimpers of protest were snuffed out and starved of breath, his lungs on fire. He was dying. And to his horror, to a great welling of brutal, hateful shame, some small part of him wanted it. Just let it be over. Just let the torment end...

Only when bright spots had begun to appear in Alex's vision did his captor's lethal embrace loosen, and even then only enough for him to take a ragged, panting breath. He felt it sear into his ravaged lungs with tongues of flame, and every gasp filled him with the exotic scent of the gryphon, but he took another breath. That was the misery. He took another breath. No matter how much torture he knew was coming, no matter how much terror, he'd always take another breath. Another few seconds of life, even if they held nothing but anguish and agony.

He raised his head, resisting the urge to just break down and cry, and looked his murderer in the eyes.

"Please... Not... not again." His voice trembled, cracked, broke into a shuddering moan of pure grief. He clenched his jaw, biting back the tide of despair. "I don't... I don't want to..."

"Say it." Damian murmured softly, tracing a razor-sharp talon around his right ear with exquisite care. "Come on, little one. Show me your pain."

Alex tried to speak, but the sob welled out from inside him, ripping away his words. Another followed, and another. Choking and crying, he buried himself in the warm silkiness of his tormentor's fur. The smooth-scaled claws enfolded him, but this was gentler, less frenzied and passionate. It didn't matter. Every touch made him cringe, whimpering with fear: a base, animalistic terror that was utterly instinctual. He was prey, cornered and trapped.

"Sssh..." He felt the gryphon's warm, sweet breath on his head, ruffling his snowy fur. "Save your tears, Alex."

But he couldn't.

***

I'm unsure how long we stay like this. I don't really care. He cries softly into my fur, and I hold him against me - not speaking, not moving, just holding him there in my embrace. It's enough. His form just feels so... so right in my arms: warm and trembling, the quiet sobs harmonizing with the constant low growl of pleasure I sense emanating from my chest, reverberating through his body. Time passes. I let it. Here, in the gentle ecstasy of this moment, every second is an infinity.

That is, until the phone rings.

I have always hated technology.

***

Alex had never bothered to change his ringtone since he'd bought the mobile. At first, it had seemed quite amusing, and then, after he'd... died... it didn't seem to matter anymore. So it was that they were both treated to a (badly) synthesised version of "The Sun Has Got His Hat On", horribly loud in the silence that had descended.

For a long moment, predator and prey stared at it together: lying inert on his bookshelf, while fifteen feet away he'd been about to die. Then Damian grinned.

"Well, little one? Aren't you going to answer it?"

Alex blinked. "What?"

His world spun around him, and he smacked into the wall with a painful thud, knocking all the breath out of him. His tormentor stood now, eyes narrowed with mild irritation.

"My dear Alex. Courtesy is the highest of virtues, and you will observe it. Answer the call. Now."

"But - I..."

Damian's eyes flickered, and a knife of white-hot agony shredded through his consciousness, ripping him apart in an explosion of pain. He screamed, his legs buckling from underneath him. The gryphon hadn't moved an inch.

He smiled playfully at his prey, gasping and panting, and lazily inclined his head towards the phone. Shuddering, biting back tears, Alex took it.

"H... Hello?"

"Hey! How've you been, Alex?"

It was Tanya. A pretty young tigress, studying History of Art, he had always privately believed her to be one of the cleverest, most cheerful , and above all one of the kindest people he'd ever known. They'd met on the day he'd arrived, and ever since, she'd been one of his best friends - nothing romantic, just the happiness of two people who never tired of each other's company. Even now, with his world falling to pieces around his triangular ears, she'd stayed with him. She'd accepted that he couldn't talk about it, but she'd tried to help him. She'd even paid for a course of therapy sessions for him (even though he'd cancelled them after the first appointment: a half hour of awkward silences and repetitive questioning that had left him so emotionally drained that he'd returned to his flat, locked the door, and cried for almost five hours straight) But she'd tried to help him. She'd never stopped trying.

And he'd never even thanked her.

The sound of her voice sent a jolt of hopeless longing through his chest. He staggered back, slumping against the chest of the gryphon. He felt his killer's strong claws enfold him, talons tracing through his fur.

"Hey. I'm... "he felt his tongue protest at the blatant lie, but plunged on regardless, "...fine, thanks."

"Great... Listen, there's this exhibition later today, with some works by that surrealist artist. You know...Something Harper. It looks pretty interesting, so I thought...?"

"I... I don't think I'll be able to." Oh, how he wanted to. To imagine the warm, faintly stuffy atmosphere of the Sir Maxwell gallery over in Chancer Street, making fun of the stony- faced security guards, trying to scrounge money off each other for something from the tea rooms... living. A life which had hope.

"Oh." She sounded slightly disappointed, and it made him feel like his heart was tearing in half. "Okay... feeling a bit down, are you?"

Alex looked up at his tormentor. Damian's eyes were closed, his large, tufted ears gracefully inclined towards his captive. He had no doubt the gryphon could hear every word Tanya spoke.

"Yeah... " he mumbled into the phone. "I guess so."

A low, thrumming growl was coming from deep inside his killer's chest, making his whole body shake with the vibrations.

"Okay. Pity, but I guess ...Hang on. What's that noise?" she demanded.

"What? It's... um..." frantically, Alex tried to think of something believable, and grasped at the first thing that came into his head.

"...washing machines. I'm at the dry cleaners."

The growling changed slightly in pitch. He could almost sense the hideous amusement his tormentor was feeling.

"Really? The one next to the coffee shop? Hey, I'm passing that place. Want me to come in and -"

"NO!"

His shout ran through the room, echoing into the silence. Damian smiled gently, his eyes still closed. His long sinuous tail, wrapped tidily around his massive hind legs, twitched slightly with delight.

"Alright..."Surprise and hurt hummed in her voice. "You're there at half six in the morning?" She knew he was lying. Alex felt sick with longing to drop the charade, to beg her to help him, to come save him. But -

(...and I swear this on everything you hold dear Alex... they will die)

-he couldn't. So:

"Early service." Alex gabbled. "Look, I... I...

(can barely listen to your voice without bursting into tears)

(am so, so sorry I've done this. I can't tell you how much it's hurting me)

(just want this pain to end... please help me)

"...I have to go."

"Okay... Bye, then."

...no... don't leave me to die alone...

"Goodbye." he whispered.

The call ended. He stared at his phone, tears running silently down his face.

"That was beautiful." Damian murmured quietly, stroking his chestfur. "Utterly beautiful."

"You... you murderer..."

"Sssh. Little one." He felt his arm lifted up, felt the slick warmth of the gryphon's long tongue as he was tasted - gently, oh so gently, barely more than the lightest of caresses - felt the shiver of pleasure run through his captor's body.

Felt the sudden snarl of bloodlust that slammed into his trembling ears like a thunderbolt from a blue sky - totally unexpected and totally lethal.

Felt the world whirl until he smashed into the ground so hard that he thought he heard something crack, and he didn't know if it was him or the floor.

Damian had stopped being gentle.

***

One taste. One second of contact between my tongue and his flesh. One short moment of the impossible, soul - shattering ecstasy that is my prey is all it takes.

It's all my feral instincts need.

He's so gloriously small and fragile - like a doll, a little piece of perfection. Picking him is effortless, and my muscles barely register the strain. But when I throw him back down, straight onto the floor, every ounce of my frenzied passion that can be used without actually killing him is behind the throw.

But even as he smashes into the floor, a shriek of delicious, exquisite agony tearing loose from his lips, I am calculating. Assessing the damage. Ensuring that my dark pleasure is not about to end.

Not every ounce of my strength, because that would most likely end up with the entire building imploding. Not enough to seriously injure him, either. But certainly enough to hurt.

His abused lungs spasm into life at last. A raw, choking sob of pain and terror erupts from his chest, and the mere sound is a symphony of glorious misery. His eyes are screwed shut, trying to stop the flood of tears escaping. But I want to watch him as he dies. I want to see those beautiful eyes of crystal blue glaze over with sheer hopelessness.

Alex won't open his eyes. So I open them for him.

I dive into the galaxy of his consciousness once more, twirling through the silent explosions of torment blossoming - like flowers with petals of searing flame - in his mind. A terrible beauty is incarnate in this place, but for once I have no time for it. I flicker across the stars, ignoring any concept of physics as I search his ravaged soul for what I want.

And here it is. Playfully, I pull the metaphorical lever inside his head, and return to my own body just in time to see his eyes slam open. His weeping breaks off in a stunned whimper.

"Are you beginning to understand?" I growl softly, slashing a talon across Alex's chest and leaving a line of bright crimson. He howls, trying to clutch at the wound, but the same talon, still dripping blood - his blood - snaps it out of the air like a chameleon snaring a fly. "There is nothing, Alex, nothing that I cannot do to you. No dark pleasure that I cannot use you for. No pain so great that I cannot inflict it upon y-"

No. That's wrong. I can't show him what made me what I am. That is beyond pain. That is something I will never, ever come into contact with again.

(the memories stir again, but I slam the iron door in my head, banishing them to the deepest realms of my consciousness again.)

(for now)

(NO!) - back to the present, and all its delights. I realise my momentary hesitation has given the little fox a tiny spark of wild, insane, desperate hope. He speaks, his voice trembling with the strain of not sobbing.

"Look...Please. You... you don't have to do this."

He's pleading. It's just... glorious. He still thinks I might have even the tiniest spark of mercy, of kindness for another sentient being.

And yet...

And yet something about that frustrates me. For I have none.

"O-Okay?" He's still shaking convulsively, holding back the tide of misery through sheer, desperate force of will. "I-I'll do anything. Just don't... please... don't k-ki..."

The word catches in his throat, stuttering and choking. Even after all this, even after all his deaths, the dread still burns incandescent in his head at the mere word. Alex just wants so badly to live.

I tut playfully at him, teasing him.

"Little one... do you really still think there's any hope at all?"

***

Oh no. He knew that tone of voice. He'd heard it before, at his last... his last death, and then -

(shrieking as he felt his arm break: an organic, wet-twig sound, so quiet and insignificant... until the shuddering, searing waves of raw agony crashed into him...)

"Oh no." He knew that tone of voice, all right. Playful, casual, innocent. Who, me? Think nothing of it, my dear Alex. I'm just toying with you.

Except, of course, I'm not.

"No...oh Christ... please, no..."

Damian smiled tenderly, lovingly. "You can plead forever, Alex. Until the end of everything and beyond. You can offer me the entire world. You can try to give me anything... but all I want is your pain. Nothing else. Nothing at all."

His claw gently massaged the torn wound across the vulpine's shoulder, making it sting with pain. Alex felt his eyes roll up in his skull as he whimpered.

It hurts, oh fuck, it hurts so much...

"No, it doesn't." the gryphon murmured calmly, still stroking the scarlet opening in his snowy fur. "This is nothing, Alex. This time, you're going to beg me for death.". The caresses weren't so gentle now. Kneading the muscle and flesh of his shoulder, making him moan with pain, and still harder, until the groan choked off and a sob shuddered through him.

And still harder. Alex began to feel a terrible pressure building inside him, deep below the crushing claws.

And still harder. Damian hadn't even blinked, still watching him with an unholy fascination, his eyes aflame with bloodlust.

And still harder. His crying stopped abruptly, his lungs unable to expand as he felt stars explode behind his eyes. His chest strained, his heart itself seeming to become sluggish under the squeezing grasp of those cruel talons: every beat an effort.

And still harde-

CRACK.

He screamed then, screamed until he felt sure his throat would bleed from it, and then he kept screaming, because nothing, nothing in the whole world, could possibly be this painful. And yes, that was it, he was dead, dead at long last, and he was in the terrible fires of Hell itself, and he was going to scream forever.

But even as another surge of white-hot agony tore through his chest, he could hear that voice.

Gentle, loving, velvet-smooth.

"Hell? Little one, I've seen it. It has nothing on what I can do while you're still living."

Alex tried to scream again, but a dark clot of blood clogged his throat, and he choked and coughed and spat the vile glob onto the floor. It wasn't alone. Slowly, the dark wood of his apartment floor was turning red, submerged under an ocean of sanguine fluids.

Every breath sent a brutal stab into his ribcage, but he just couldn't stop the wracking howls of excruciation. He sobbed because it was pure agony, and he sobbed because every sob made it hurt even more, and he sobbed because he knew his crying was ecstasy to his cruel murderer.

Damian leaned over his prone, shuddering form, and took a long breath, taking in his scent. Drinking in his pain. A low growl of total pleasure vibrated from his chest.

How long did he weep for, no thought daring to enter his head through the firestorm of pain? How long did the flames last? He heard an old quote from some half-forgotten textbook twirl madly through his brain: If you are going through hell, keep going, but hell would never, ever end, because this agony went beyond time, beyond eternity itself.

He felt the gryphon's tender embrace enfold him, and clung to it blindly, a cub again, seeking any comfort he could, snuggling up to his mother while she hugged him back and he cried at his skinned knee, only three then and such a brave little boy, and promising himself he'd never feel that pain again, he'd lead a life of happiness and hope, he would, he was Alexander Joseph Williams and he was going to do so many things, and have such a wonderful life, and -

"What?"

Alex froze in the gryphon's claws, the sob catching and dying in his throat. His broken ribs flared up: pain lancing through him, impaling him. He moaned through clenched lips, tears leaking from his aching eyes.

"Quiet, Alex." Damian spoke softly, holding his trembling captive against him. "Don't spoil it. That memory is utterly beautiful. Those dreams... a life without pain..."He laughed gently, caressing the bloody ruin of his victim's chest. "Isn't the irony just exquisite?"

"You basta-" Alex's chest caught fire again, and his voice transformed halfway through into a yell of absolute torture. Gasping with agony, he buried himself in the thick warmth of the gryphon's silky fur.

"So much pain..." his murderer whispered into his trembling ears, every word as tender as a lover's caresses. "Shall I give you peace at last? Shall I give you oblivion?"

"N...no..." he whimpered, not daring to speak above a near-inaudible mumble; every breath sending a knife of agony into his chest. "Please..."

But Alex knew that in time he would want death. He would beg for it.

"That's right. You will." Damian had heard his shame, had pried loose all his innermost secrets. "But..." his tongue lapped up the fox's tears, one by one, creating a growl, vicious and hungry with desperate need. "...I'm afraid I can't wait that long."

Gently, he pushed his prisoner away from the silky warmth of his chestfur, ignoring the vulpine's gasp as cold air struck the wound. Alex fell back, the pain spiking again as he hit the ground. He began to sob once more as the gryphon stepped forward, still watching him. Damian loomed right over his prey, his burning eyes never leaving Alex's face. He waited until the crying had died down, until they were simply staring at each other, crystal blue to blazing gold. Then he spoke.

"Die beautifully, little one. For me."

And that cruel beak opened and gently, lovingly, embraced the fox's head.

Instantly, that long slick tongue attacked him, lashing across Alex's face with all the brutality of a slavemaster's whip. He howled in desperate rage, trying to twist away from it, but he was trapped, cornered, doomed. Everywhere was hot wet darkness, the gryphon's musky scent impossibly strong now. Surrounding him. Claiming him.

"NO!" He wasn't going to die. He couldn't. He had so much to give. He couldn't die now, in this pitch blackness, struggling hopelessly, the snarls of his killer's pleasure shaking him all over.

And yet, the killer himself crooned inside his head, making his skull feel like it was about to split in two_, you are going to die, my dear Alex. But keep squirming, I beg you. Squirm inside me. Die screaming for me._ Damian swallowed once, casually, pulling his prey inside so that Alex's head was crushed into the rippling walls of his throat. The growls of ecstasy peaked.

Yes. Mine at last. I've missed you so much, little one. So much. Another swallow dragged the top of his broken ribcage into the gryphon's beak, crushing it between strong muscle until he screamed again, so hard he thought he might have cracked another rib. But even his shrieks could not drown out that mocking laugh.

Aw... does it hurt? Don't worry, Alex. It'll be over soon. Too soon. Damian seemed to be purring with raw pleasure. I suppose I'll have to savour every second I can. He gulped once more, crushing Alex's chest again, sending spike after spike of brutal agony through him. Oh yes...your pain...so sweet...

"No...please no..."Alex felt his blue eyes leaking, but every tear was snatched up and tasted by that snakelike, ever-probing tongue. " I don...I don't..."

You don't what? The slick appendage darted away and stroked his wounds, tasting his blood and seeming to quiver with delight. You don't want this agony? You want an end to it all?

"No..." Alex began to cry again, weak little sobs that nevertheless set his cracked ribcage on fire. "I don't want to die..."

Oh? Damian swallowed again, muscular walls crushing his prey on all sides. The sharp point of his beak pricked the fox's stomach, drawing blood. Would you rather feel this agony forever? Is this life of pain and misery what you want, little one?

"No!" He felt hot, sickening shame rise up inside him. "I just... I don't..."

What do you want? The gryphon spoke gently, turning everything upside down as he raised his head and swallowed his prey up to his hips. A star of bright, sharp pain burst behind Alex's eyes as his full weight was crushed into his broken chest. Tell me, little foxie.

"I DON'T WANT THIS!" he howled, feeling his legs start to slide into the predator's hungry maw. "I... I HATE YOU!" Rage swelled up within him, hot and burning. Burning. Yes. Make him burn, make him hurt, make him die!

Alex screamed wordless hate, fury lending him a wild, insane strength as he writhed, scratched and tore at the muscled flesh that embraced him,. His muscles creaked with exhaustion, his delicate mind buckled under the strain of emotion, but he kept roaring, slamming his fists again

(MAKE HIM HURT!)

and again into the slick gullet, clawing at anything.. Anything. Anything at all that he could do to hurt this monster. Anything he could grasp at for one tiny scrap of revenge for what had happened to him. Blind rage? Truly it was, for the sheer force of hatred was so great any sights or sounds were ignored entirely: he was totally unaware of the little gulps that slowly fed him further into the gryphon's engorged throat.

"I WANT TO LIVE!" He screamed until blood choked his words off and pain split his torso in half.

Wrong answer, whispered his predator, and swallowed again.

***

There is something almost... divine about true anger, I find. Pure, white-hot anger, which consumes you utterly and sets your entire being alight with the lust for vengeance. It is this magnificent rage which takes Alex now. His entire mind blazes incandescent with pure hatred. Every last star in the galaxy of his thoughts is a supernova of total fury.

The beauty of it almost blinds me.

And as for his struggles, his squirming and clawing inside me? I cannot describe the sheer ecstasy of it. My starved throat has been aching for the feel of his soft fur, slicked by my dripping saliva and so, so impossibly delicious. And at last, my desires are granted. He is mine, all mine.

I swallow again, feeling him stretch my throat (oh, that is perfection. at last scratching an agonising itch that has lurked there for months. at last, mine at last)... and it breaks him. The fury drains away like water through a sieve, leaving only the most acute - the most exquisite - misery that poor Alex could ever imagine. He starts to weep again, every sob an anthem to the cruelty of my torments. My strong tongue flicks out at his tail - still so blissfully fluffy - and it cringes away, curling around his legs: a child hiding behind their beloved parent. Scared of strangers - and what is stranger, after all, than this slick monstrosity, a brutal tentacle that ensnares him and winds around him, constricting his tail and legs until he whimpers through his sobs, trying to escape.

But there is no escape. And there never will be.

"Please." It's a whisper, soft as a caress. It's everything. It's his very last hope.

I feel his mind throwing up all the terrifying memories of what I've done, of every pain he's suffered. Trying to show me: "Please. You...you don't have to do this. You don't have to ki... to kill me"(the thought alone sends another shudder running through him, rubbing against the hot flesh of my gullet) "You can't be this cruel. You... you just can't..."

I wait patiently until Alex's pleas trail off into silence, until there is nothing left he can say, simply savouring his taste, his glorious weight in my throat. Then I speak, gently, lovingly. Finally.

Wrong, little one. I can be.

And I swallow, for the last time.

***

Alex didn't struggle any more. He just wept, quiet sobs of utter hopelessness as he slid into Damian's hot stomach. It stretched around him (at last, at long last, gloated his murderer, groaning with a terrifying and ravenous pleasure_),_squeezing him into a tight ball. His ruined chest was crushed against his knees , sending waves of dull, slow-burning agony all over him, but he didn't care any more. He was beyond pain now.

The air was thin and starved, and despite all his struggles, all his begging, all he could have done, life and death came down to this: a dwindling supply of oxygen, trapped in the dark belly of an impossible creature. He felt his lungs grow dull and weak, his heart start to flutter like a caged bird. He felt himself die.

"No..."

But yes.

_ _