The devils speak to me, though these worms. Sssomething makess them... good conduits for the spirits that pray to me.
Now I have a fine subject. He comes to and glances around, tries to move and realizes his predicament.
He had visions of this, and even now, in the midst of his intense whirling fear, he senses his own disturbed hope that he might enjoy it.
But his fear commands his voice, and a gag smothers it.
His limbs and face are all to be morphed. And so very pained...
My scalpel starts slow... running down his inner thigh, before I scoop some fat and sew in an ice cube. Not just any ice, but some freeze-dried gas-turned-solid super ice. It won't be lethal or put him into cardiac arrest, but it'll hurt, a lot.
Not as bad as the fire I run down the other leg's thigh. Just a run of the mill lighter. On a restrained man.
No need to tend to these wounds, I stroll to glass boxes of maggots. In what order was it? They go in last, I remember that. Their home must be prepped. And he must taste himself.
I skin a piece of his arm, starting with only a small nick over his wrist, then 2 long shallow lines... I pull slowly. His muffled scream is long. I open the top of the glass box and scoop away half a handful, plopping it in his fresh wounds. Then I sew it shut with leather. Once he gets over it, or even if he doesn't, he'll at least look cool and know it.
I have a long surgery ahead of me...
I loved reading that i cant wait to read more