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Symbiosis (*/F, */M, F/M)

Tsuchinoko

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Sep 19, 2021
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PREFACE: So the story's kind of rushed, admittedly. Relatively new to writing stories (as in, this is the second one I've written at all). The formatting's kind of weird (I type in Obsidian and just copy-paste) so I'll post the DA link up here for those who are bothered by the formatting. Here

Fair warning, the story's somewhat edgy.

---

"Put this on, and whatever you do, do NOT take it off for even a moment, is that clear?" Commander Hardt's speech came across with an underlying dread, as though the urgency transcended merely that of the mission's standard protocol. Nodding in affirmation, Riley began to undress himself.


As Hardt left the cabin, Riley watched impatiently. "Did they brief you?" He asked, posing the question towards the quietly undressing woman across the room. "Not really..." Shaking her head, she began to don the same hazmat suit that had been handed to Riley, letting out an anxious sigh as she did so.


"Are you a med student?" He continued, replacing his sleepwear with the provided pumpkin colored suit, zipping it as tight as it'd allow. "Huh? N-no... Why would I be?" Answering his question with another of her own, the woman snipped at the inquiry. Unlike Riley, she had seemed to don an extra accessory along her suit. A scarlet band coiled around the wrist, shimmering and radiating a light seemingly at sporadic intervals.


"Ah... I just figured it may be the sort they're after. What else are the suits for, you know?" Pulling the hood over his head, and quietly sighing to himself as he divided the world from his gaze through a rectangular window. "Ready up, we're getting read to dock." Hardt interrupted before the woman could respond once more. Crossing into the cabin, he withdrew a thin card and slid it through the rear-facing door of the room. Following a mechanical chirping sound accompanied by a flashing green light, the three entered an airlock chamber.


"Sir, if you don't mind. Wha-" "You'll be informed of what's necessary, Private." Hardt interrupted, shutting down Riley's attempt at gathering any more information. This was the last thing he'd really expected when signing up for a 'revolutionary' project to help the world expand into the stars. By the way the news spoke, the colony here was striving. Yet, they had to don hazmat suits? They recruited a pathologist? Some random woman seemingly off the street?


Looking over the lithe woman behind Hardt, she appeared no older than her early twenties. Caramel skin, soft icy colored eyes which perpetually glowed akin to a deer's in headlights, constantly shaking. She either knew more than she let on, or had been plucked from some innocuous role and thrust into a potentially damning endeavor.


Hardt himself seemed to defend the nature of this 'visit' heavily. Prior to departure, no questions were allowed regarding the actual nature of the mission. Riley held himself with a faux confidence demanded by his superior, as he'd known these missions to be secretive, but the suits seemed to instill fear in all three.


As the chamber opened, the trio stepped into the brightly lit fields of green. Hardt ushered the two into an impromptu constructed shelter, a tent comparable to one you'd see at a local fair, not a military operation to assess a planet's survivability. Before entering the tent, Riley caught a glimpse of something dashing across the savanna's endless expanse. A rabbit? Disregarding it, they entered into the darkened circus-colored tent, only to find a macabre exhibit.


A surgeon, wearing the same orange suit as the three, had been elbow-deep into a deer. Or rather, what remained of a deer. The cervine's body appeared to be several times that of an earthly deer. Where antlers once resided, fragmented chunks pierced the air, shattered fragments lodged into the skull.


Its head was malformed, concave dips in seemingly random points, with holes lodged into it. The holes themselves, seemed perfectly circular, no imperfections or cracks extending beyond the presumed incision point. The most damning piece, however, was that of the creature's abdomen. Pulling out clumps of a viscous, cherry coated fluid, it seemed to twitch and shudder as it was expelled from the flesh.


The woman proceeded, upon locking eyes onto the corpse, to turn away as retching sounds escaped her lips. Though the suits did protect somewhat, the smell was undeniable, unforgettable. It was not of rot, not of decay, but of a formaldehyde mixture. Horrifyingly, the deer's neck jerked up abruptly, shrieking; much to the surprise of the two recruits.


"WHAT T-The-" "Quiet, please." The surgeon requested, interrupting Riley's outburst as he stepped a few feet back in horror of the creature still seemingly breathing. "This is why you're here." Hardt stated bluntly. "The stuff Adams is removing from the deer is what we're here to assess." Ending his statement with no further elaboration, Hardt proceeded to hand Riley a scoop and bucket. "Help him clean it up."


Following the delivery of his objective, Hardt took the woman outside the tent, supportively patting her on the back. Riley, cautiously, began to stammer towards the still violently jolting deer. He hadn't paid mind to the legs, but they were hardly recognizable as such. They'd been devoured, dissolved as though bathed in an acidic mixture which behaved more akin to magma.


That's to say, among the peppered welt and holes burned into the tissue, there seemed to stand a solidified mass of the cherry substance, pulsing periodically, as if feeding or reacting to the exposed nerve-endings' convulsions or emissions. "W-What the fuck is this..." Riley asked the surgeon, before being snapped at with the man's hand pointing towards the nearest leg to Riley. "Scoop."


No further instructions. Thus, Riley had no alternative available. Hesitantly, his shaky hands began to push the scoop into the almost gelatin like substance, ripping into the bottom, grating tattered fur and flesh as it unhinged the proverbial jaws from the nerves and muscles. As it was withdrawn, it seemed to dissolve in the scoop's curvature.


"It is the byproduct of a predator." "A... predator?" Riley interjected, continually trying to scoop the abhorrent matter from the animal, only to find it constantly withering into an ashy paste once detached from flesh. "As some animals have venom, something on this world has... this."


The surgeon relinquished his grip on the waking corpse, before withdrawing a small caliber pistol. "What are -" A deafening blast swallowed the room as the surgeon fired a shot into the hind quarters of the deer. However, no twitch, no convulsion, nothing resembling pain emerged.


"JESUS CHRIST!" Riley shouted, stumbling hastily backwards before crashing into the floor. "Calm yourself down. Look at that. It felt nothing, this thing is only alive in a technical sense. What's really living, is that grotesque bile latching onto the body." The man explained, but Riley struggled to believe anything he was saying, given that he watched as... wait.


No blood came from the bullet's entry wound. In fact, it was encased in the thick, almost milky matter in a few moments. The wound, while still visible, seemed to have no inherent effect on the body itself. "What... No no, that's not how venom works, the fuck are you talking about!?" Riley burst out, even if it was, this wasn't his area of expertise! He was in school to be a pathologist, not a veterinarian, or virologist, or any sort of infectious matter expert.


"Well, that's why you're here. This stuff, we're analyzing it. I'd be careful, by the way." His hand rose, pointing next to Riley. As Riley looked to where the surgeon pointed, he noticed a small petri dish, filled to the brim with the same matter that oozed from the deer's body. It seemed to entirely converge on a singular apple, coated thickly in whatever the hell that goo was.


"What the fuck am I supposed to do!? I don't know anything about this shit!" Approaching the deer once more, he glanced into the opened stomach, watching what he initially thought to be blood, organs, turn out to be the matter. "I-Is there even anything left of it?" He asked, beginning to hyperventilate as the gravity of this situation finally settled in.


"Technically." The man nonchalantly responded. "No idea how to kill it, though. The thing's just stuck until it's run its course." Setting aside his scalpel, the surgeon came around and led Riley out of the tent. Pointing over to a nearby Arcadia tree, he identified a small rodent like creature laying in what seemed to be a dormitory state.


"That's another one." The man continued, "It's incapacitated, can't move. It'll be dead by nightfall, I estimate." Riley stared at the man in disbelief. "Why the fuck are we here? What the hell value does this world have!?" Furrowing his brows, the surgeon smirked before patting Riley on the back. "Kid, you'd better not be that dumb."


Without elaboration, he waved his hands towards Riley. "Piss off, go back to Hardt and tell'm you've been briefed. Kid, don't forget to think, alright? You get this shit on you... there's no undoing it." Expressionless, Riley stood before the tent, watching the man return to the futile attempts at excavating the matter from the periodically mobile body.


Shambling backwards, only to begin a dead sprint towards the path that once housed the ship which brought them here, Riley found nothing of the sort. The ship had left, the docking port was empty. "Private, over here!" Hardt shouted, choking on his own stomach, Riley held himself together for the time being, approaching wearily.


What he saw, was Hardt with a few bruises on his face, instilling a sense of unspeakable dread into Riley. "Just in time. I trust you've been caught up?" Coldly inquiring, Hardt's glare suggested if he answered anything incorrectly, whatever happened to inflict those bruises would find itself to Riley. Thus, he affirmatively nodded, sheepishly responding. "Yes sir."


Turning, the Commander led Riley into a metal shack, embedded into the mountains. Upon entering the necessary combination into the padlock, the Commander welcomed Riley into the 'mortuary' as he called it. "This'll be your home, private. Subjects will be delivered routinely. Doctor Melville will be your superior from hereon. Godspeed."


The doctor, turning briefly around, signaled for Riley to come over. Weirdly, the Doctor seemed underdressed. Only a labcoat, and latex gloves with a surgical mask over his face. "Document this." He issued his order in tandem to handing Riley a clipboard with a pen socketed into its side.


Standing around a bed, he leaned over to see the actual inhabitant. What he found, he knew he would. Some part of him knew what awaited him on the other side of the doctor's body. The inhabitant, bucking and thrashing wildly, was the very same woman he'd come in with.


She was gagged, a red ball protruding from her opened maw. Eyes watering as tears flowed down her flushed, crimson stained cheeks. Her stomach was perpetually spasming. The muscles constricting and releasing themselves at a rate which nearly replicated a seizure, except it clearly was nothing close to such a horrible convulsion.


As her stomach sank into itself, swallowed by the toned, flattened physique, her chest heaved with every drawn breath. She was hyperventilating, except there wasn't any screaming of anguish, or shortness of breath in the traditional sense.


"Is she..." "Laughing? Yes." The doctor finished his question for him, removing the gag from her mouth temporarily. "What do you feel, Fräulein?" Sardonically asking, the distasteful question was met by a sincerely distressed response.


"PLEAYAHAESE! MAHAYAEKE IhiYIYGHT STAHAYAUGHP! HEYEHEAHAGHLP ME-HMHMGMHPH!" Reinserting the gag, Melville looked back to Riley with a smile. "It's so hard to get a good response from them when they're like this. She'll tucker herself out in time, my boy. Look at that." Pointing his finger over her left side, he laid the gloved digit onto the surface of her skin, swirling the latex across the contorting muscle.


"It's feeding on her nerves." He explained, pinching at the doughy tissue. "Weakening her, so that the source may feed." Riley, jaw agape, simply silently watched this women's helpless descent into madness. "It's... tickling her?" Letting out a flurry of tisking sounds, the doctor wagged his finger in a negative fashion.


"Don't be silly, it doesn't 'tickle' her. It is eating her ability to respond. It is occupying her. She just processes that as tickling. It debilitates without injuring the prey, as that is its express purpose."


"I-If you know all this... w-why do you need me?" Riley's question seemed to puzzle the doctor. Glancing over at the mid twenties boy, the older man shook his head. "Data will be gathered, Riley. We are here on a mission, we can harness this. Watch this."


Pushing Riley aside, he withdrew a hammer with a chisel in tow within the opposing hand. "NO NO! NO!" Riley interjected, forcefully pushing the man from the would-be incision into her right knee. "Calm yourself, Dammit!" The doctor shouted, slamming his fists into Riley's chest. "That thing cannot feel pain. She can't die, or be hur-"


"I don't care! This shit isn't right!? Why the fuck would you WANT this!?" Riley interjected. He had believed the mission, in the last few stations he found himself in, to be a beneficial, even benevolent system. This, however, was morbid. It was a macabre weaponization of a horrific byproduct of predation. How could he consciously allow this?


In a fit of panic, as the doctor seemed to grow fed up with his protest, straying towards the door, Riley began to release the woman from her bindings. To which, the doctor immediately began running towards him. However, while the man attempted to tackle Riley, the woman's convulsing and thrashing landed her wrist, the very same which housed the bracelet, against his neck.


Riley jumped back, watching the cherry liquid solidify against the doctor's throat, only to disappear into the pores as it began to pulse, expanding gradually. "CH-CHRIST! KILL ME! NOW! N-NAHGYAHAGHOW!" Desperate, the doctor tried to claw his own throat, reaching for the hammer and chisel only to collapse in paralysis. Riley knew what happened, yet still was mortified to watch the pulsing matter scurrying up the back of his neck, his skull, and expanding south towards enveloping the body.


"Oh fuck... fuck fuck FUCK!" Sprinting out the door, Riley scoured the landscape for the Commander. He found the ship landing, two new recruits being wheeled in. Both had the exact same wristbands as the woman. Turning around, it was too late; the commander shouted as he spotted the boy running unsupervised. "PRIVATE! GET THE FUCK OVER HERE!" He demanded, to an empty audience as Riley had begun to venture towards the Arcadia tree he'd been shown earlier.


In the distance, he recognized the alarm. It was blaring, and he knew that'd be followed by assuredly armed drones hunting for him. He'd seen it several times on previous projects. Red-band wristband wearers would frequently bid for escape from projects. Riley never understood it, but he certainly wish he had sooner.


As he arrived at the tree, the small rodent he saw was convulsing in rapid bursts, just as the others had. Looking into its eyes, they appeared milky. "Jesus fucking christ..." He murmured, freaking out at the thought of it 'eating' the optical nerves, flooding the eyes themselves, or whatever it must've done to blind the creature.


Sprinting into the setting sun's horizon, Riley glanced back to spot two miniature figures back at the base. Recall drones, he knew them well enough. He'd been guarded by them before. Every new recruit learns what they're capable of. It seemed just like it was a show of good faith, assurance of safety... it wasn't. It was a threat, a looming condemnation which now signaled his damnation.


As Riley slid into a small decline, he crashed into the murky waters below. His suit had torn on the tumble, and Riley couldn't help but notice there was a glowing, quietly chirping indicator sewn into the breast of the suit. Abandoning it, the boy was in all of a military standard t-shirt, and medium length boxers. No socks, shoes, gloves; nothing.


Sprinting, sloshing through the swampy waste, he hid himself behind a thick tree. As he stared over towards the looming figures, who had surrounded the tattered suit, he overheard their chatting.


"C1, The recruit is awol without suit -- how should we proceed?" Monotone, frigid, devoid of any life behind the words. It sent chills up his spine to think what they may do, what they can do. They looked human, but were nothing even close. "Leave it." Hardt's voice responded over the radio, "He's not going to make it. We'll recover the corpse in the morning for autopsy." "Affirmative."


Following their departure, Riley sighed. However, he agreed with the Commander's harsh remarks. He wasn't going to make this. There was no way he COULD make this. This world... it was assuredly hell if that was a mere 'venomous byproduct' as the doctor suggested. In his less than astute observational state, he didn't think as to why they'd want the venom's properties, but he did assume it was the least of the threats around this world.


The fact would, admittedly prove somewhat true. For when he focused his gaze back forwards, and away from the retreating machines, he locked eyes with what looked to be an alligator. Though, to call it such would be a disservice to the titan before him. Whereas an alligator may be relatively large, this thing was a minivan in reptilian skin.


Despite the fact that it was staring him down, and his brain was beginning him to run, he couldn't move a muscle. Silence, both literally and figuratively swallowed the air around the two. When, without warning, the enormous gator-like predator... swam away, with no threatening behavior.


"What... Wh-" Confused, and terrified for his life, Riley couldn't help but burst into laughter. "WhAhAught? Y-you're kidding me? HoHoHoly ShihiyAhaght!" In a situation that assuredly was to lead to his death or imprisonment for treason, to be stood up by a behemoth of an otherwise apex predator, it had to be a positive.


He would certainly fall to depression if he didn't cherish this fortunate outcome. Though, the unhinged outburst led to him falling back into the tree properly. Where, he found himself now wedged. Sinking into the tree, it was revealed as to why the gator left him alone. The plant was very much not merely a tree.


"S-Shit... god DAMMIT! C-Come on, come on!" Ripping his arm away, he noticed something. His heart sank, his stomach churned in a second which lasted forever. A small incision, a thorn. It was lodged into the soft portion of tissue just below the elbow. Its appearance? Not unlike that of any other splinter... except for its coloration.


"N-No... NO! NONONO! NO!" He refused, it couldn't be a fucking tree. There was... no way, right? Except, as he plucked the splinter from his arm, it melted to blackened ash. The staining of the skin, however, hadn't. It was a venom after all, and that was merely an arm. He checked himself, but found no other spikes that he was aware of.


Giving a cursory glance to the tree itself, he observed the innumerable spines protruding out. He had narrowly avoided them when he hid behind the tree initially, but somehow collected at least one this time around. "Please... No... NO NO! NO!" He screamed, violently slamming his fist into the more flattened portions of the tree, only for them to abruptly manifest splinters following the pounding. Narrowly avoiding those, his eyes widened. "H-Ha... F-FUCK YOU! FUCK Y-"


His wrathful outburst had gotten interrupted. Not by any tickling sensation, but by the limpness his arm fell into. The arm wouldn't bend. There was no dealing with this. Not without amputation, but he couldn't. He didn't have the heart to lose an arm, and sure has hell couldn't sterilize it in the swamp. The savanna was militarized, and would be assured death...


"THE SUIT!" He screamed, sprinting through the sludge and mire as he scrambled to rip the suit apart. Wrapping the malleable material around his joint, he tightly strung a tourniquet. The hand itself was lost, it was glowing a soft ruby shade from beneath the sun-tanned skin.


From the fingertips, to the elbow itself, was an ocean of pink beneath the flesh. The hand began to erratically spasm, fingers twitched, shutting tightly and opening in a flash. "God dammit, Fuck this stupid fucking world! I'M NOT A FUCKING VIROLOGIST! THIS SHIT IS NO FUCKING VENOM, YOU HEAR ME YOU BASTARDS!?" Screaming as loudly as he could, he slammed himself into the murky waters.


He contemplated going back. The tourniquet was holding... but how long could it last? How long could it really defend him from the onslaught that would devour his flesh, and imprison him in his own body. Was this a venomous discharge? No... it was an infection, it had to be. Some contagion, some parasitic aberration, a crooked seed from a cursed tree.


He convinced himself he had the answer, only for his hand to return to communicating with his brain. "G-G-GHAWD DAMMIT. FUCK OFF!" Shouting at his hand, he rose a relatively large rock in consideration. It was tickling. It was tingling every nerve in his arm, as though it'd been asleep for years. He was grateful it was an insignificant location, but still wanted none of this spreading around his bloodstream.


Tightening the wrapping, he abandoned the idea of bludgeoning his limb loose. Shambling back up the incline, he found himself unable with only one hand. The infected limb, sure... it was talking to the brain, but it wasn't listening to the brain talk to it.


Resigned to the swamp, he began to wander aimlessly in the direction he initially fled. After what seemed like days, but in truth was only an hour, he stumbled across a deserted outpost within a stretch of plains. The grassy overgrowth took most of the old, wooden structures. Hesitant to touch any of the wood, for obvious reasons, he found the 'remains' of several soldiers donning attire he recognized.


"Jesus... in the fucking eighties? Really!? HOW FUCKING LONG HAVE YOU PEOPLE BEEN HERE!?" The 2080's era uniform, prior to the mission's official adoption by the world as a whole, and he was staring at fully preserved bodies.


What mortified him, however, was the twitching. It didn't stop... these people, they must have been around for how long, decades? Then, the eyes, they were milky, yet still reacted to changes in light. "H-Ha...HAHA! HOHOHoo FUCKING GREAT!" It wasn't theoretically possible, right?


They couldn't still be alive. He peeled, carefully, the jacket of the nearest man, and watched as his abs twitched. The muscles still constricted, his chest still faintly sank and expanded. Shambling back, Riley crashed onto the grassy flooring.


"Kill me" the doctor's plead now made sense. "This... doesn't make any sense. It's not fucking possible." "It is, actually." A female's voice interjected. As Riley turned, he found the butt of a rifle pummel his face. After which, no consciousness remained.


Waking, he found himself restrained on an operating table. Arms stretch to a T, legs flatly lain along the table, clothes completely missing. "PLEASE!" He begged, though with his head strapped to the table, he couldn't discern if anyone was even there.


"Smart to do this." The same voice praised, sharp nails running along Riley's cheeks. "Most people just cut the limbs off once they knew what was happening. Of course, it can jump. Did you know it smells the air with hair-like tongues? It's as if nature just combined all the best traits to feed some fucking trees and rabbits."


"R-rabbits?" Riley asked, confused now just as much as he was panicked. "Oh. You haven't seen'm. Sucks for you. They could've cured ya." She stated everything very matter-of-factly. Crossing around Riley, she straddled his body. No more than in her forties, the woman's hair stretched down to her ankles. She'd been here as long as the bodies.


"You know, it's really a marvel if you think about it." Nails began to sink themselves into Rilery's flattened chest, swiveling around the nipples as she continued. "A biological weapon which preserves the body so that the tree can absorb it into its roots, only for rabbits to have perfect teeth for piercing it, and saliva with just the right dissolving chemicals to invalidate it. Nature's a weird weapons race."


Following her admiration, her palms planted against Riley's chest directly. Thumbs lingering above the pectorals, before tilting downwards. As the plush fingertips began to til the underlying muscle, the sharpened, spear-like nails began to swivel, to twist and turn with erratically painted strides. All while the eight remaining knives sank into the shallows of his risen pits.


For a moment, his teeth managed to gnaw his lips harshly enough to still his treacherous tongue. However, it capitulated the moment the eight began to mine into the central shallows of each arm. "WHGHAYAHAGHT A-Are YoHoHUGh DahAYAhgHing!?" Barking for an answer, Riley's rather effeminate frame tried to buck her off. However, his body was more so prey than predator. The muscle he had was negligible, and the shackles holding his limbs to the table offered no help.


"Oh wow, you're actually ticklish? None of these guys were, and they still weep like babies. This should actually be a nice show, huh?" Excitedly, her tone twisted into a sadistic giddiness, as though she were a little girl getting promised a horse for christmas. Her claws stopped their tickling, and sank into his hips instead.


"Kind of soft for a soldier, though. Aren't you?" Puzzled, she waited for no response before all five pierced the pockets. Encircling the bones, the five daggers all swooped onto the wafer-thin protective layer of tissue. With furious clasps and clashing digits all clambering to chew on the bone first, there erupted a frenzied kneading across both of Riley's delicate hips.


His stomach had begun to sink, heaving with each breath as he loathed the nature of the act, much less the context in which it was currently being used. Despite that, however, her weight pressing on his groin, whilst paws nipped at the hips, didn't tell the rest of him about his disdain.


"PLEYAEHAGHSE! I-I C-CAhAYAghn H-HEyEAHGLP! I SWEARI'LL HE-HEAYEAGHLP!" Leaning in, the woman's pointed jaw nestled against Riley's softer face, lips pursing as she whispered directly into his right ear. "You really don't get it. This IS help."


Once more, the assault abruptly ended. With her attention diving towards his erect member standing in attention. "That's very unbecoming of you. Soldiers should be much more respectful, don't you think?" Whereas ordinarily, Riley would be redder than a fire in this situation, the dire lethality of it demanded he fight at every opportunity.


"FUCK YOU! I'M NOT THE ONE MURDERING PE-" Without warning, his lips were stuffed, not with a gag, not with a sock, but with the woman's toes. She had adjusted herself as to sit directly on his chest, and plant her sized 11 foot right over his jaw. With the big toe wrestling his tongue for dominance over the dominion, she sharply spoke.


"Kid, I have never murdered a soul. YOUR kind are who killed US." Pointing out the red wristband on her right arm, she rubbed it across Riley's forehead. "YOU GUYS, fucking inject this shit into us at a whim! YET YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY... THE GALL TO CALL ME A MURDERER?"


Riley had zero idea what she was talking about, but he gradually began to piece together the obvious. There was much less 'voluntary' recruitment for the redbands compared to Riley's willing work on the project. Granted, he had no involvement with the actual project's operating procedures, he still realized it was futile to attempt to reason.


"MMnHGH NGHt NGHNVLGHD!" He tried to protest his innocence, yet already knew the outcome was all but decided. The woman released her toes from his lips, and walked to retrieve something Riley couldn't see. Coming back only a moment later, he heard a snipping, and suddenly felt his heart nearly seize up into arrest.


"N-NO! N NNGH-" Her hand cloaked his lips, as her teeth sank into his neck for the briefest of moments. "Shhh, there there. It's alright, you're alright. Just let it work. Everything's fine." From the neck, she proceeded to chew along towards the jaw, before locking her lips with his own. Her eyes, wandering towards the arm as the floodgates were released.


Within half a minute, Riley felt it. Coiling around the infected arm's pit, were an incalculable number of sharp tines. As though someone had formed a comb which could spin and race as a brush would. Within a matter of seconds thereafter, they'd begun to whir in circular loops around the rim of the armpit. Immediately, Riley began to shriek into the woman's mouth.


"MMGHGHGAEYAEHARCY! KIHYAHALL MEYEAHAEH, PLEAYAEHESE!" He cried, released from her kiss as she began to chortle in response to his plea. "Rehelease you~? Why? It wouldn't do anything. You're already dead." Sitting on top of him again, she merely rested her chin against his ribs, watching in mild amusement as his mouth was forcefully locked in despair inducing mirth.


"PLEAHYAEYASE, STAHAYAGHWPPIT, EHEHEYEND MEYEHE! IHIHI DAHAHAN'T WAHAYAGHNT THIS! I DIDN'T DO- AHEAYAGHNYTHING!" Briefly having regained composure, it was permanently removed as the ribs became tangled in a web of sharp tines, each spinning as though attached to a drill-head, racing and grating against the bones. Of course, there was no pain. As the cooling gel seeped through the pores overlaying the muscle and nerves coating the ribs, there was only tickling.


Every inch, every angstrom along the bone felt as though it were being brushed by several spinning tines. As though someone had taken a drill, replaced the grooves with sharp, steel pricks, and let it loose on the softest, most oiled surface one could image. Riley's stomach failed to draw even a single breath as it spread its toxic clothing across the opposing side of the rib-cage.


"P-P-" Choking, his drool threatened to drown him as his head was locked in place by the vice, only for it to never actually achieve said result. He did, however, now fail to draw significant breath. His eyes began to fail him. Though, not as a result of dissolving corneas, or any nerve damage. Simply from the sheer quantity of tears being produced.


As the toxin spread across his chest, it began to coat the muscle in a strip of spikes. Sharp tacks which buried themselves into the muscles, only to spin, to twist and jerk chaotically in place, grinding their sharpened contours around the surrounding tissue. Those enveloping the nipples, however, had merely settled to a wispy licking sensation. From the base, to the tip of the protruding nub, there emerged a rough, bumpy tongue which soaked and slathered the skin from end to end.


He'd begun to lose it, he passed out, only to wake up a second later and repeat it over. His head was foggy, heavier than it had any right to be. His breathing burned him, like a fire-poker was tickling his very consciousness, his dna, his soul. He understood why death was preferable, and prayed for a rabbit to eat him at this point.


However, all that happened was an intrusion into the neighboring armpit, repeating the tickles in a mildly distinct manner. Whereas the former was spiked and cruelly precise, the other pit found itself being chewed on. The matter seemed to swish, to wash over the nerves and relinquish their feast to repeat the process anew. This, however, created the sensation of a mangled cacophony of fangs, jagged though they may be, feasting, plucking, yanking on the doughy tissue. It was akin to being eaten, if the teeth were too dull to cut, but the sharpest tickling instruments fathomable.


The spiked, fractured nature of these 'fangs' meaning aftershocked bellowed from the impact site, causing an endless series of highs and lows, where even the lows would drive a sane man mad in minutes. His skull felt like it was dying, headache, migraine, neither would be sufficient. It was hell, beyond anything a human form should endure, much less withstand.


Along the neck, wispy, sluggish tongues caressed the delicate, intimate tissue. Occasional chews only furthered his growth's epileptic shock as is spasm'd uncontrollably, releasing a shameful substance far faster than it otherwise would've. Naturally, this release only intensified the sensations rattling his nervous system, and provided a sordid entertainment for the woman who cursed him with this fate. As she stood above him now, watching his face contort into its eternal state, she planted a kiss onto his forehead.


"Good boy, be a nice snack for them." A whisper, the very last thing he ever heard, as his sensory processing parts of his brain simply stopped rationalizing anything. As the substance entered his abdomen, sinking into every groove dividing the ab muscles directly, kneading, tightly squeezing and pinching at the muscle and doughy overlaying tissue, he lost all function.


Within the navel, there emerged a spherical glob of the substance. From that, emerged spikes, sharp as steel, pricked and toothed from every angle, with feathery ends of said spikes. Without hesitation, stalling, or a delay, it began to violently rotate within the opening. Filling it to capacity, hovering tightly along the interior walling, along the floor, diving between the various knots and grooves comprising the bottom, it scraped every inch. Every single spec of skin, of nerve-endings, found itself lapped relentlessly.


The sides had been chewed, not by the incisors and mangled fangs as the one armpit had, but as though an industrial presser was compressing each half of the side in question. Both sides found themselves with a spiked bed laying over top them. Pressing tightly into the flesh, they sank, harshly probing and plowing the plush surface, firmly clumping the tissue together in a malevolent pinch, only to release and repeat. The rate with which the pinching transpired threatened to make even the mantis shrimp envious.


Within the hips, which now barely bucked if moved at all, there were simply singular digits replicated along the flesh. A lone fingertip, skeletal, lithe in design. The end, however, proved to be akin to a sickle. Its curve was littered with prickly spears, perfectly resembling the splinter which caused this all, while the pointed end itself was as physically sharp as physics allowed. This wicked blade then simply coasted across the dip housing the bones. Each raking the curve of the blade in clockwise & counterclockwise patterns respectively.


Along his member, his shift was coated in the vile splinter-bedding that had encased his ribs. From the front to bottom of the shaft, every inch was being rubbed, being painted and etched into by a series of sharpened spikes which spun, flicking and slapping the tissue as they rotate eternally on their ethereal drill.


The gems dangling below, being milked eternally it would seem, had found themselves entombed in a phantasmal mouth. Suckling sensations masked dulled teeth softly swiveling and chewing on the excess tissue. A tongue periodically dipped between the two orbs, fluttering and flapping beneath them to randomly rattle the delicate containers.


Around the rim of the head, there existed a tightly woven string. This string was lined with precise plumes which stretched from the edge, to the very tip. At which point, they appeared to crook downwards to pierce the urethra. The feathers relentlessly flick themselves forwards and back, dusting, brushing, cleaning the cock's head with or without cause.


Behind, along the taint, there emerged a similar mechanism, with a solitary plume with the stern build of a thick metal mockery of a feather, flickering to and fro. In horizontal, and occasionally vertical strides, it scraped its pointed end, with silken touch to the impeccably sensitive surface.


Along the backside, there were merely flattened fingers, plush pads which proceeded to grope, goose, and knead the fatty tissue of the rare. Though a few did house nails, which would twist and swivel unpredictably into the muscle beneath, the majority were serving solely to taunt Riley, to mockingly grope him.


Within the crack, there formed a line sinking entirely into the bottom, littered with spines and tines. Except rather than retaining the sharpness of a traditional spine or tine, it harbored the gentle touch of a bristle. Whilst it didn't bend, it did race, indenting and forcefully imprinting its presence into the crack, and its dainty mass. Similarly, the rectum itself was probed with such a formation, albeit on a spiked end, spinning indefinitely within the entry portion of the star.


Thighs had become feeding grounds for humanoid-like hands to pinch, prod, and pull incessantly at. The cake-like tissue was being perpetually molded by sharpened nail-wielding limbs fighting one another to have at the most voluptuous portions.


Along his body, from his softened stomach to his similarly doughed rear, his tissue was abruptly indenting, sinking into itself to make room for these phantom ticklers. The surface of the skin constantly ducked, exposing the muscles and their rapid constricting, only to loop the process indefinitely. Were an outsider to look, they'd be convinced ghosts existed.


Lastly were the feet. Rylie's feet were relatively small, only proving to be size 8. Despite that, they had been pristine in their upkeep. He wasn't an excessively active student, and spent more time indoors than he did out. Despite that, the ghostly, paper complexion was contrasted by the pinkish hue of his painted toes.


The soles were narrow, surprisingly sleek to touch, as the skin was tightly bound to the muscle. Smooth as can be, a finger could glide across the surface like a penguin across the glaciers. The feet were Rylie's worst spot by far. The ticklishness made his aforementioned painting process a nightmare.


So when the hellish construct spread to the heel, his mind's last whimper pleaded for merciful death. He was insane, he was being dragged into madness. His thoughts were barely present. This was going to be it, he'd have to endure literal hell until either the preservatives faded, or something killed him.


Along the heels, a solitary finger crept across each. Flattened nail, it was as sharp as a guillotine, raking in horizontal slashes erratically placed into the tissue. From end to end, it lashed out at the flexing foot's bottom, raking from top to bottom along the heel, and following the curve and contour with monstrous precision.


Along the soles, came tidal waves. Washing across the cushioned surface, the water didn't recede. In fact, it exploded into the nerves. Every pore along the soles, every little ridge, wrinkle, and line which formed forcefully by the scrunching of his feet were shot with jet-quality streams of endless liquid.


It was as though this damnable creation had a supply of fire-hoses, and set each to eat through the muscle. The streams didn't stutter, they didn't slow or miss a single shot. No matter how his body twitched, it just precisely wore the skin into exhaustion.


Last were the toes, as the watery hell extended from the soles, along the arches, and up towards the supporting beams that were the stalks. The plump, doughy pads however, were chewed on by a litany of crabbed claws. Crooked, mangled little grooves pinched at varied points in the fatty tissue, rattling like a gator doing a death-roll. All whilst spiked ends punched at the tops and bottoms respectively.


Riley, a mere recruit, now had hell. He lacked a life. He lacked a self, unable to process ANYTHING but the sheer state of tickling hell his flesh was lapping up in excess. Preserved, blinded by the tears which dried his eyes into dysfunction. Drowning in his own saliva, mouth incapable of moving an inch. Body paralyzed, hijacked by the thing tickling it into compliance.


All because of a splinter, all because of a tree's defense mechanism? Hunting mechanism? He never learned what, or really why. A year had passed, his mind had rotted beyond any reparable state. However, he had physically felt an interrupt. An IV-drip.


"Is he alive?" A familiar voice, Hardt! It was Hardt! He was alive!? Wait, Riley could hear!? Though his mind was nonexistent, an instinctive part of him began to recognize things as, well, things. The tickling was ending! It was over!


"Barely." An eerily familiar voice, the female... the woman, the bastard who brought him into this fresh hell, had answered Hardt.


When he finally came to fully, several hours after his 'recovery', he opened his eyes, only to prove permanently blinded. "You're not going to see. There was a lot of optic damage, same with nerves." An unrecognizable voice explained.


"How do you feel?" They asked, to which Riley couldn't respond. His lungs exhaled, but no sound could be produced. "Nope, it's another failure. Nothing in there." The man discouragingly said. Riley's body was immobile, still detached from his brain's input, only his eyes seemed to flutter, as did his head twist and turn.


That, however, looked simply like any other 'victim' undergoing hell. As such, he was taken off the injection, and wheeled out, dropped onto what felt like grass. Unfortunately, as the hours passed, something began to... tickle. It was the arm, it was starting again. Without the injection, there was nothing stopping the process.
 
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