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" 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒎𝒐𝒏𝒖𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒔. "

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and then another.

" 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒓𝒏. "

and then another, which spewed bile as if sickened by the words it would utter...

" 𝒓𝒆𝒊𝒌𝒖𝒓𝒐 𝒎𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒂. 𝒘𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒖𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔. "

and then another. . . which spoke almost poetically.
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putrid sores mend themselves upon reconnecting with the body of the monstrous host, reconstructing that which was violated with relative ease within mere moments.

from one of the host's limbs, a mouth spoke:

" 𝒘𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒇𝒖𝒍. "
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independently of his own thoughts, his body sprouts limbs anew. a quartet of monstrous, bulging, throbbing limbs.

they reach for the head of their host, placing the crown back upon its shoulders.

topaz hues pierce through the darkness. a hatred strengthened. a body reborn.
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without an ounce of hesitation, he swallows. he swallows again. and again. and again.

he drinks deeply of the agony. the pain. the bile. the gore and sinew.

driven by nothing but sheer, unyielding 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒅, he continues to swallow.
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spiraling through his body; the instinct for survival that begged him to writhe about and fight for release.

though he had a mouth, he could not scream; he would not scream, for the burning hatred in his soul superseded all that which tethered him to humanity.
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yet, his acceptance of this pain was governed by naught but one simple feeling. one that coursed through his veins more wildly than the pain which shot through his nervous system for what felt like an eternity.

𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒅.

his mind was filled more with this hatred than the signals of pain
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pain. excruciating pain. as every part of his body was violated and born anew, his teeth ground themselves into a fine paste in refusal of the pain he felt.

with his mask torn from his face, he had broken out in sores, squelching and oozing with pus and blood that stained his maw.
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ㅤ" The means by which I reach that goal. . . matter not. "

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" so... by all means. do elaborate on this "favor" you speak of. "

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" someone who is so ungrateful to be alive. but soon. . . she will recognize that her life is a gift.

one that only i decide whether or not is worth preserving. worth saving. worth my time.

she is a freak that has escaped her leash. . .

i'd like to rein her back in, if only a little. "

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an air of nonchalance, showing that there is very little, if any, sense of humanity or self-preservation remaining in the man.

" ... but you're right. I have lost someone. Someone very important.

someone who, were it not for me, would have their talents exploited by the world around them. "

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" If it's of any consolation... or, if it may even be seen as a compliment to the likes of you; I'm equally as disgusted by your mere presence.

Your revolting smell penetrates even this mask I wear. Makes me nauseous. "

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then, he clasps his gloved hands together, seating himself in a steel chair and leaning forward.

" we're going to get along just fine.

but, curiosity beckons, o' wicked one. . .

𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒎𝒆 .ᐣ "

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slowly placing his tools beside him on the nearest steel table, the geneticist turns toward the abysmal, rotten being with a courteous smile beneath the mask that never quite reaches his eyes.

" just by looking at you, i can tell. . . "

he pauses for a moment.
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