Chapter Five Jason paced back and forth in his tiny cell, pulling back his hair over and over again and trying to not to throw up for the umpteenth time. He had been told about what Colleen had suffered, how she had been raped for hours on end in her high school by three of her classmates.
He had heard about the injuries she had sustained, their severity, and the psychological trauma it had left her with. He wanted so badly to get out of this prison and see her, to comfort her, his little sister. How could this happen? He was supposed to protect her, to watch over her! While he had been locked up in this dingy cell, quarantined like a rabid animal, his baby sister had been brutalized and tortured! He had actually punched Professor Nelson in the face when he admitted that he should have seen the effects of the Black Stigmata in Colleen.
The only silver linings to this were the fact that the nail had been taken from Colleen and was now in possession of the BSC, and that it had not made her a Host, so her mind would not be contaminated like Jason's. But to be treated so horribly, to suffer so much at the hands of three of her classmates… he couldn't imagine Colleen ever being able to trust anyone ever again. It would have been bad enough if she had been gang-raped by three men, as horrible as it sounded, it was almost expected in men.
But there was supposed to be some kind of protection and understanding between women, some sort of unity that would prevent them from selling each other out to such a fate. Or least, that's what Jason had hoped, that there was some kind of sisterhood that girls had that would protect them from sexual assault.
If it was the girls on her sports team that had done it, would Colleen ever be able to place trust in anyone ever again, man or woman? He just had to wait for her to heal and for the influence of the Black Stigmata to fully leave him. Christi stood outside Colleen's hospital room with a look of pained uncertainty on her face.
She and Colleen had been good friends since she started dating Jason, and Christi had always been there for her and even once tried to hook her up with her younger brother. Now that friendship was struggling to hold itself together, as for every time she tried to go in and comfort her friend, Colleen would freak out and become hysterical. The psychological trauma she had suffered was fully manifesting itself, costing her the ability to recognize Christi and inducing horrendous flashbacks.
After all, Christi did resemble Anna, the blonde she-beast and one of the heartless trio that had brutalized her. Jason was in jail and Colleen had suffered a fate that Christi couldn't imagine enduring without praying for death.
She wished there was something she could do, some way she could help the two of them. It seemed like everything was spiraling out of control and there was nothing she could do to protect the people she cared about. Professor Nelson took a long drag from his cigarette, accelerating the ember tip to the point where ash was falling off the end like rain.
He was standing in the woman's bathroom at the bus station in the middle of Portland, facing a corpse strung up from the ceiling. Using this corpse, the ritual for the creation of new nails had been completed, and the Black Stigmata were long gone from the pulverized eyeballs.
The Homunculus—man or woman, he couldn't tell—was dangled from a 2x4 in the ceiling by a noose made from the victim's intestines, painstakingly braded for strength. All the joints in the body were broken, twisted near to the point of tearing open the flesh. Even to the trained eye, there was no way to tell if the victim was a man or woman.
Homunculi were immune to fire or decay and remained eternally like radioactive waste, yet the corpses would show signs of grotesque post-mortem changes. These changes caused the remaining subtle hints of the gender to completely disappear, from the length of the fingers to the size of the pelvis. As for the twisted joints, every Homunculus had some form of unique torture, something to distinguish them from the others as per the nails' instructions. But with the Black Stigmata not wanting to waste valuable canvas or cause the early death of their victims, Hosts were kept on a short leash and their work often repeated.
A very select few of forensic investigators were examining the scene, one of them a member of the BSC and the other two sworn to secrecy, even against the higher-ups in their departments. The station had been cordoned off and the Homunculus was going to removed and placed in BSC storage.
Since Homunculi neither decayed nor burned, destroying them was next to impossible. Even throwing them into a wood chipped just made the toxic influence more spreadable. Like Black Stigmata, Homunculi had to be locked deep underground in vaults built to hold radioactive waste, until the day came when it would be feasible to begin shooting them off into the sun.
Staring at the corpse, Nelson felt a familiar shiver crawl up his spine. The Black Stigmata were growing more powerful, their influence acting with greater speed than before. Barely a week and a half had passed by and more than a dozen bodies had been found.
This had reached epidemic levels and now the BSC was sealing off the city of Portland. Under the guise of both a terrorist warning and the arrival of a new virus, public notices were being put out for all citizens to keep alert for suspicious activities. Anyone showing signs of heightened violence or hallucinogenic influence was to be reported.
The time it took for Black Stigmata to multiply always varied, their strength waxing and waning over the course of decades like the economy. Sometimes nails would remain stagnant for months or even years, sometimes they would cling to one host for an extended period and take their time in implanting the directions for the ritual, or sometimes they could incite mass violence in anyone within a kilometer range, but nowhere in his records had Nelson found any sign that this speed had been witnessed before.
Were the Black Stigmata truly growing more powerful? Was their endlessly increasing numbers strengthening their hold on the minds of humans?
As this thought passed through Nelson's mind, the room around him vanished with a splash of black, as if he had been transported to the darkest recesses of space. 'Great, a hallucination. This ought to be fun,' he thought to himself as he put out his cigarette. As he mentally braced himself for the horrors he would likely experience, the darkness was replaced, this time with a scene from a barren wasteland.
The sky overhead was as red as blood and the surrounding landscape was the city of Portland, or what remained of it. Every building had been smashed to pieces or stood like skeletons, cars rusted and curled like chips of paint, and a powerful wind blew across the landscape, kicking up razor-sharp dust and smelling like blood. Bodies lay strewn about for as far as the eye could see, immune to the effects of time.
They hung from crooked street lamps, were nailed to crumbling brick walls, and lay in twisted heaps in random spots. The blood in their veins had turned to dust ages ago, but not a single body had even been touched by a carrion bird. The bacteria that would have assailed the dead flesh the moment life abandoned them no longer existed, for this Hell was incapable of supporting life of any kind.
Professor Nelson could not look directly head, for a bright light obscured his view like a curtain hanging in front of his face. He could not even tell how large the apparition was; it was like staring straight into a colossal smelting oven. The deathly serenity of the post-apocalyptic world was at last broken, as with a crash that sounded like the breaking of a billion skeletons, the bright light in front of Nelson vanished, revealing a towering tree made of iron, as dark as volcanic obsidian.
Barren of even a single leaf, the branches stretched out like sharpened pikes. Like the foes of Vlad the Impaler, a body hung skewered on the tip of every branch, dangling in the burning wind. The size of the tree was truly unmatched, with the trunk's diameter equal to a mountain, its highest branches reaching into the vacuum of space, and the branches themselves numbering in the millions, if not billions. Nelson stared at the tree quizzically, having never witnessed a hallucination like this, nor in any of the reported hallucinations by any Black Stigmata hosts.
"Achieve death…" Nelson muttered without ever knowing why. "Sir?" The voice of one of the forensic investigators shook him from his delusion, bringing him back to the bus station bathroom.
"Sorry, my mind wandered off there for a little while. How is everything coming along?" "We've found several latent prints on the body and the rope used to hang it. We'll start checking the database immediately.
As for the body itself, the BSC is already sending a containment chamber." "Damn it, we're going to need a new salt mine to dump these things in…" Nelson said to himself as his hand instinctively began grabbing at the pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket.
"ACHIEVE DEATH!" The people hanging in the air around Jason all screamed this line in unison over and over, forcing him to cover his ears and think of anything that could distract him from their bloodcurdling voices.
It was another hallucination, one that was very different from anything he had yet experienced. As always, he was set in a black backdrop, but while there was no actual source of light, he was able to see himself and all the screaming humans clearly.
They all looked like they had been nailed to an invisible wall or were dangling from nooses made of rope, barbed wire, and even intestines. Blood gushed from their wounds like popped zits, raining gore down upon Jason and leaving him wanting to throw up.
None of the people were familiar, yet their identities seemed to change every time he looked away from them. The only thing consistent was that they were all naked and all had sustained some kind of fatal wound. Regardless of the injuries they appeared to bear, every stranger was sporting a euphoric grin from ear to ear and with their eyes as wide as could be.
Even with blood pouring from their bodies, they had the expressions of kids running through the parking lot of Disney World. Achieve death; they screamed that line over and over again, yet Jason had no idea what it meant.
Normally he would be hearing the instructions for creating new nails, but this ambiguous phrase was playing in his mind like a broken record. Once their voices reached a volume where the two words they had been repeating could no longer be understood, the nightmare advanced to its next step.
Dripping off their bodies along with their blood, globs of liquefied flesh rained down as if the screaming apparitions were actually wax sculptures over a fire. Layer after layer of skin was peeled away in viscous drops, while in their limbs, their joints twisted and snapped until the bones broke free of their restraints.
With melted skin now running down the invisible wall and painting it a sludgy mix of tan and crimson, the next layer of tissue on the apparitions began to fall away. Like piano strings snapping and lashing out at the nearest surface, strand after strand of muscle was severed and shot off. The muscles cords were peeled away, falling down towards Jason.
Pelting the marsh of gore he was forced to kneel in, the severed muscle cords squirmed and writhed like worms in sunlight. Swimming through the thick blood and melted flesh, the crawling abominations grew spindly legs like centipedes and began swarming to Jason. Screaming in terror, he tried to swat them away and keep them at a distance, but with insatiable bloodlust, they crawled across his body and ravaged his skin with unseen stingers.
While he fought hopelessly against the horde, the people dangling along the walls continued their chant, their voices completely unhindered by their exposed organs turning to ash and the last of their muscles being stripped away.
As the eyes melted from their skulls, a bright red light shone from the depths of their skulls, just like the bloody star Jason saw in every dream. Increasing in intensity with the exposure of each beam, the red light filled the chamber like a gas cloud. Down at the bottom, Jason was still fighting fruitlessly against the stinging crawlers. They had all swarmed on him at once and every inch of skin had now been torn to pieces, yet the tiny horrors refused to let go of him.
He felt like his whole body had been lit on fire, while the flames themselves weighed his body down while they devoured him. More and more of these human flesh centipedes crawled onto his body, enveloping him like a sheet, then like a thick winter coat, and finally as just an amorphous pile. Reaching out for something he could grab onto, he watched the crawlers move in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision and leaving the red light outside as the last thing he would ever see.
The banging of a fist against his cell door woke Jason from his delusion, prompting him to immediately throw up into the nearby toilet. "Stevens, you got a visitor!" the guard outside barked. Glad that he had someone to talk to and distract him, but also wondering if he had the stamina for a visitation, Jason slowly got up and moved to the door as it was opened. As per routine, he stood as still as a statue in the doorway while the guards secured him in shackles, both for his hands and feet.
Even if he wasn't a real inmate of this prison, he had to follow most of the rules. Real prisoners in solitary confinement would of course never be allowed the luxury of visitations. Being led down the hallway with his chains rattling and guards on either side, Jason tried to figure out the time.
He was never allowed to see a clock unless he was in the visitation room, but it seemed too early in the day for his family, Christi, or Professor Nelson to be visiting him. Either way, he tried to shake off the remaining jetlag-like effects of his nightmare. This was beyond torture, he felt like he was actually dying every time he woke up. If this didn't end soon or at least get better, he might not even be able to keep from killing himself.
As usual, the visitation room was empty.
It must not have been proper hours. He was probably the only "prisoner" who could meet with someone outside of visiting hours. Being sat down at the round table in the middle of the room, he watched as his visitor was checked behind a wall of reinforced glass. It was a man, portly and with a dark complexion. Hispanic? Jason's vision still had not recovered enough for him to make out the details, but he knew that this man was a stranger to him.
How did he know Jason? How did he know he was here? Why was he visiting him? He certainly wasn't dressed like a lawyer. Looking like he had just seen a ghost, the man was let into the visitation room and slowly walked over to Jason's table, taking small steps.
"You're Jason Stevens, right?" "Yes, do I know you?" "No, no uh… we haven't met before. I'm uh… I'm Miguel Hernandez, I'm… Tim Jones' brother in law… or former brother in law, after my sister's death." "I'm guessing you want to know what happened to him?
I'm sorry, I have no idea what he did or where he is." "No… uh… I didn't come here for that. I was told to come here…" Miguel said shakily as he sat down on the other side of the table.
"Told? Who told you?" Miguel leaned forward with his head in his hands. "I don't know what to do. I can't eat, I can't sleep, I can't even think straight. This is tearing me apart, I just want it to stop!" A terrifying shiver snuck up Jason's spine.
"Who told you to find me?!" he demanded fearfully, preparing to jump out of his chair. "The whispers… they just don't stop! They keep telling me to do things and they hurt me if I don't obey! I've fought against them for as long as I can, but I can't take it anymore!" Jason hurried to his feet.
"Guards! Guards! He's got a weapon! Someone get in here and help me!" Hearing his alarm, prison guards streamed into the room from both the entrance and the exit, charging towards Miguel before he could use whatever weapon they thought he had.
Reaching into his pocket, Miguel drew a Black Stigmata, the twin to the one that Tim Jones had found, both men having come across the body that had bore the relics and each one taking a nail.
"WE MUST ALL ACHIEVE DEATH!" Miguel screamed at the top of his lungs, holding the nail high above his head and triggering a blinding flash of red light. Blood, Jason could taste blood, and a lot of it. He couldn't close his mouth, something was stuffed into his cheeks. Gum? No, it was softer than gum. His stomach also felt full. Had he been bleeding into his stomach? Was he wounded? Forcing his eyes open, he stared up at the ceiling of the visitation chamber.
He could hear something… something wet and squishy… as well as… laughter. Pushing himself up, he looked around to try and figure out what was going on. The tables and chairs in the auditorium had all been pulverized, and only one guard of the original swarm remained.
He was busy painting the walls red with blood, using the sundered body parts of his former coworkers as paintbrushes. He laughed as he smeared the torn muscle and flesh against the beige drywall, having completely lost his mind. It was obvious that the guards had all died horribly, probably in a large psychotic brawl. Looking around, Jason paled as his eyes fell on Miguel, laying just a few feet away with his face torn off and his throat completely destroyed.
It looked as if a wild animal had torn into him… or a possessed human. Rolling his tongue around in his mouth, Jason summed up the taste of the man's blood and immediately vomited onto the floor. Spurt after spurt of human blood and chewed up flesh poured out onto the white tile, with Jason mentally begging for any god that may exist for it to not really be from Miguel.
He didn't know if he could live with himself, live with the knowledge that he had not only killed, but EATEN a person. Coughing several times on something bulbous in his throat, he was forced to face reality when one of Miguel's eye dropped out of his mouth, still with the stalk clinging to it like a strand of spaghetti wrapped around a meatball.
Realizing what he had done, realizing what had been in his body, Jason screamed at the top of his lungs, shouting at the messy floor until the veins in his scalp bulged and his face became beat-red.
Hearing his screams, the deranged guard stopped what he was doing and turned to him. Having clearly gone mad, the man limped towards him with his club in hand, the end broken into a sharp tip. Now facing Jason, the wounds he had sustained while fighting his coworkers were visible, such as several broken fingers, a piece of one of the metal chair legs stuck in his shin, multiple deep lacerations across his face, and a chunk bitten out of his arm.
Hobbling over with one leg barely able to hold his weight, the guard laughed as he raised his nightstick above his head, about to plunge the broken end straight into Jason's chest or simply beat him to death. Fueled by adrenaline and acting on instinct, Jason kicked the protruding spike of metal in the man's leg, forcing it all the way through and sending him toppling to the floor. With crippling pain temporarily breaking the hold of the Black Stigmata, the man was wide open.
Having learned to stop hoping everything would turn out to be a bad dream, Jason quickly crawled over and wrapped his chains around the guard's throat. His teeth bared, his lips pulled back, and red foam dripping from the corners of his mouth, Jason pulled on the chain as hard as he could, kneeling on the guard's back to keep him pinned.
The man struggled against him, but his attempts only enhanced Jason's fear and thereby increased his strength. After several seconds of his heart beating in his ears like a war drum, Jason finally felt the guard go limp, dead by his hands. Shaking all over, he looked around with new eyes and ears. He could hear sirens, gunshots, explosions, and countless screams of agony both in and outside the prison. Was there a riot going on?
Had the Black Stigmata triggered a revolt with that flash of red light?
This place was no longer safe. He had to get out! 'Wait, the Black Stigmata… Where is it?' He looked around, trying to find the nail that Miguel had brought in. He wasn't holding it (he had learned to check), they weren't in his pockets, and a quick search of the room brought no results.
Had someone come in and stolen it? No matter, it was better that he didn't have it. Just being around it could cause him to do… what he did to Miguel. With so much adrenaline in his veins that he felt like he would suffer a heart attack, he checked the dead guards for the keys to his chains.
After all the nightmares he had experienced from the Black Stigmata, no corpse and no amount of blood could scare him. Jammed into the mouth of one of the guards, he found a ring of keys and managed to finally free himself.
After a second search of the corpses, he retrieved a few cans of pepper spray and a pair of bloody clubs. With a baton in each hand and enough mental stability to know that he looked like a clueless idiot with a baton in each hand, he ran out of the visitation room in search of an exit.
From the way that guard had acted, it was clear that this riot was the work of the Black Stigmata, and that meant that he was essentially trapped in a giant box of metal and concrete with a pack of rabid dogs.
He had to escape if he were to have any chance of survival. Leaving the visitation chamber, he ran down the hallway leading towards the scanning area, where visitors to the prison were searched for weapons.
Somehow, Miguel had managed to sneak the nail in past the guards. Perhaps the Black Stigmata as a whole had learned that metal detectors could lead to separation from their Hosts. The hallway was stained with blood, all of it still wet or at least gelatinized. Reaching the first checkpoint door, he grabbed the metal bars and shook them wildly, trying to overpower the electronic lock. Beside him was the window to the small office holding the controls for the door, reinforced so that prisoners like Jason couldn't just smash their way out.
Lockdown was in effect, so there certainly wouldn't be any doors open to him. Even the ring of keys were useless. Cursing his luck, he doubled back and returned to the visitation room. There had to be another way out of this place, THINK! 'The yard…' He had seen the prison yard when he first arrived, an expansive field of sparse grass and sand surrounded by wire fences.
Like all prisons, guard towers with guards armed with sniper rifles secured the yard. With the Black Stigmata screwing with the minds of everyone in the prison, there was a strong possibility that the towers would be abandoned or that the guards would be too crazy to even aim at him properly.
It would just be a matter of climbing the fence. But that meant… crossing the entire prison. So he had two options: hide and wait for help to arrive in a prison full of possessed killers, or cross said prison and try to escape. No, he had to get out of there, if not out of fear from the other inmates, then to get away from the Black Stigmata before it could push him into the same psychotic stage as everyone else.
Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the twin doors leading to the rest of the prison and opened them wide.
Jason ran as fast as he could down the corridor of the first cellblock, hoping to be unnoticed in the carnage. Every inch of the floor was slick with blood, the air was heavy with smoke and tear gas, and a choir of screams and laughs alike served as an endless soundtrack. The corridor was three stories in height with cells lining each side and catwalks for the second and third levels.
Possessed by the Black Stigmata and robbed of what little humanity they had left, the prisoners were torturing, raping, killing, and devouring each other. They weren't alone; guards were also taking part in the bloody riot, having completely lost their minds.
Most often, the victims of the group assaults were the few inmates who seemed immune to the affects of the Black Stigmata, but that only allowed them to suffer with more clarity. In one cell he passed, several inmates were ganging up on a single prisoner, using shivs to carve holes in his torso through which to sexually assault him, all while he howled in agony and begged for someone to help him. Jason could see the prisoner's hand reaching out between the bodies of the men piled on top of him, desperately trying to grab something that would let him escape or reach for someone that would help him.
His fingers twisted and curled with his screams, projecting every particular bout of agony. In another cell, Jason found several possessed inmates brawling with shivs in their hands, completely unaware of the injuries they were sustaining and focusing only on harming each other. The more they slashed and stabbed each other, the more of their blood was splattered across their walls and ceiling. Like the guard Jason had killed, they laughed as they attacked each other, and laughed even harder when they themselves were hurt.
They seemed completely immune to their injuries, continuing to fight even when their organs were stabbed, their throats were slashed, or their eyes were gouged out.
On the other side of the hallway, guards and prisoners alike were feeding on each other, resembling a pack of zombies around their victims. Tearing into the guts of their coworkers or fellow inmates, they slurped up intestines like lengths of spaghetti, squeezed severed limbs like oranges to drain the blood into their throats, chewed on brains, eyes, and the toughest cartilage like gum, and ate until they would throw up, then resume eating.
Their attention would sporadically change and they would attack each other, as if bored with devouring corpses and wanting to once again taste the flesh of the living. From the railways of the catwalks, prisoners hung from nooses made of bed sheets or even human intestines. Many of the lynching receivers kicked and fought with the "ropes" around their neck, while spectators cheered beneath them. Those that weren't left to suffocate were lit on fire, turning into dangling torches after being doused with prison-made alcohol or flammable chemicals and then ignited with lighters or prison matches.
Turning a corner onto the next cellblock, Jason found himself facing a mixed group of prisoners and guards. They were all holding makeshift spears made of anything from mops and brooms to the frames of cots.
They were holding their spears high above their heads, laughing at the skewered corpses dangling atop them. With each jostle, the corpses' blood rained down onto the killers and was ravenously licked up and swallowed.
Fearing that they would turn their attention to him, Jason ducked into a nearby cell. Trying to think up his next move, he nearly shat his pants at the sound of automatic fire just outside. At the other end of the corridor, SWAT officers were mowing down the crazed guards and inmates, but they did so with bloodshot eyes and sadistic smiles behind their transparent helmets. As the butchered carcasses hit the floor with smoking bullet wounds, the officers turned on each other, emptying their clips into their comrades or beating each other with the stocks of their rifles.
'Prison guards aren't allowed to carry guns, even the riot control guards! Were they from outside?' Jason thought to himself, slowly crawling out from under the cot of the cell and returning to the hallway. Casting aside the batons he had taken, he sprinted over to the corpses of the SWAT officers and searched them for weapons. They had used up all the ammo for their automatic weapons, but he was able to take two sidearms and a few spare magazines. Thinking back to movies and TV and feeling more like an idiot than a badass, he checked each pistol for a chambered round and moved on to the cafeteria.
Much like the visitation chamber, the cafeteria consisted of a large auditorium with dozens of round tables and a counter across one side of the room where the food was given out.
Like the rest of the prison, the cafeteria was filled with both inmates and guards, slaughtering each other in the most brutal and bloody ways possible. Screams emanated from the kitchen as the chefs dissected and butchered captured victims, burned their faces off on the grills, or drowned them in the boiling grease tubs. Hearing a laugh, Jason turned to the entrance of the kitchen, finding himself staring at a blood-soaked chef, scrawny and with a tan complexion.
There was a wicked grin on his face and a carving knife in his hand. "Stay back!" Jason fearfully shouted, aiming both pistols at the man with trembling hands as he saw the chef raise the knife. "We will all achieve death!" the chef cackled. Swinging his arm, he stabbed himself in the throat with the handle protruding just above his collarbone and the tip of the blade being deflected off his spinal column. Already in the process of bleeding to the death, the chef pushed down on the knife with all his strength, cutting down through his chest and torso.
Maneuvering the blade around his sternum, he sawed through his ribcage, shredded his heart, cleaved through his entrails, and pulled the knife out just above his pelvis. With his dying strength, he pulled the flaps of his torso open, letting Jason see his insides while his torn organs poured out onto the floor. As the chef fell to the floor, one of the guards stood up, interrupted while ripping the face of his coworker with his teeth.
Pointing at Jason, he released a bloodcurdling screech, alerting the other killers in the room. Unsure of how many bullets he had in each magazine, he raised both guns and took aim at the approaching psychos.
He had never shot a gun in his life, but considering the fact that he had just strangled a guard to death… this wouldn't likely traumatize him.
Pulling the trigger of the pistol in his right hand, he managed to graze the temple of the guard that had screamed. The impact was light, but held just enough strength to chip away a piece of his cranium and send him tumbling from loss of balance. While Jason had already been flooded with adrenaline, the recoil of the gun in his hand, the sound of the bullet being expelled with explosive force, the smell of gunpowder and blood, and the sight of the opponent falling due to an action on his part both excited him more while also applying a form of focus.
The situation was indeed dire, but with these guns and plenty of bullets, he finally had some control since the Black Stigmata had ruined his life. He had to fight his way out of this hellhole and work to ensure his survival, but that just meant his life was at last in his own hands. With inmates and guards charging, Jason replayed all of the gunfights he had seen on TV. Forcing himself to breathe slowly, he picked his targets and began firing one bullet after another.
As the slides of the two pistols jerked back over and over, smoking shell cases were flicked out like cigarette butts and bounced off the bloody floor.
Many of Jason's shots missed, but the majority of his rounds hit their targets, striking either the torsos or he heads of his opponents. While his aim wasn't always reliable for headshots, they seemed like the only surefire way to kill the monsters charging towards him. Even after taking a round straight through the heart, the inmates and guards continued their run, at least for ten or more steps. Once his enemies reached a certain proximity, Jason ejected the two empty magazines from his pistols and reloaded them.
While pulling back the slides to chamber two rounds, he bolted for the side of the cafeteria, running with the wall to his shoulder and causing the swarm of ravenous killers to twist on itself like a large wave fumbling as it hit the coastline.
Reaching the double doors on the other side of the cafeteria, he relinquished control of one of his guns by holding it in his mouth and used his free hand to grab a severed arm messily ripped from the corpse of an inmate.
With the orange jumpsuit sleeve now deep red, he jammed the arm into the handles of the two doors, after rolling through the exit and shutting it to the oncoming horde. As soon as he pulled the arm through, the inmates and guards threw themselves against the doors, bending the arm near to the point of snapping the bones.
Having bought himself seconds at the most, Jason sprinted down the hallway as fast as his legs would carry him, while trying to calculate how many bullets he had left. "Die!" He heard the voice before he heard the tiles break in the ceiling above his head.
Having been hiding in the ceiling like a spider waiting for a fly to fall into its web, an inmate dropped out from above the tiles and landed on Jason, forcing him to the ground. His face already bloody from a previous kill and his body more than twice Jason's size, the baldheaded criminal pinned him down with ease and managed to sink his teeth into Jason's arm. Feeling all the courage he had burned with just seconds ago vanish at the sight of his blood, Jason screamed in pain as the inmate's teeth cut through his flesh.
Wiggling his right arm free, he put one of his pistols to the man's temple and squeezed the trigger, drilling a hole straight through his skull and splattering brains and blood across the nearby wall.
Bleeding profusely but knowing he had only seconds before the killers from the cafeteria caught up to him, he pushed the body of his attacker to the side and got back to his feet.
He felt like his strength was waning with every drop of blood he lost, but he ran down the corridor with a look of terror on his face. He had to get out! Momentarily smothering his terror, the sound of an earth-quaking explosion thundered through the corridors of the prison, while the building itself trembled from a mysterious force. With curiosity filling him, Jason allowed himself a brief detour and followed the smell of fresh smoke.
The explosion had originated in the prison infirmary; he could smell overturned bottles of hydrogen peroxide and rubbing alcohol. The infirmary itself lay on the very edge of the prison with an exit to the yard nearby. At the end of the corridor, the double doors leading to the yard stood, locked and resolute.
Along the right side, a row of reinforced windows granted a view of a wide room filled with beds lined against the wall. Small windows were set up along the wall, letting sunlight stream in and shine on the cabinets of medical supplies, all locked tightly. The infirmary itself was a sea of black smoke, billowing from the helicopter that had smashed through the wall. All of the cots were on fire, the blade had carved through the medicine cabinets on the far wall, and the pilot and whoever might have been with him had either escaped or burned to death in the cabin-turned-crematorium.
Jason couldn't tell if it had been a news helicopter or police helicopter, but it did reinforce his fear of the Black Stigmata if its influence was so powerful that it could drive a helicopter pilot to plummet out of the sky.
Moving over to the exit, he pushed and pulled unsuccessfully against the doors, but the locks held with untested resistance. He even emptied his second to last clip into the lock, trying to break it loose. The mechanism, even while scrambled with pulverized bullets, would not give in. That meant that there was only one way out… With a single pistol and only one magazine left, Jason filled his lungs with all the fresh air he could gather and pushed open the door to the infirmary.
The smoke that met him burned his skin like scalding steam and left him nearly blind. The black vapors were so thick, charging into the infirmary felt more like wading through hot quicksand. Holding his breath with his heart beating in his ears like the pounding of sledgehammer, he rushed over the helicopter and struggled to climb on top of it.
The nose and windshield were designed to deflect air, making it next to impossible to climb on top, and with the cabin burning like the pits of hell, any opening he could use for a handhold would burn his fingers clean off. With his lungs now aching, he threw himself up onto the nose of the aircraft, finally managing to grab onto the creases along the edges of the windshield.
The windshield itself looked like magma, as the flames inside churned furiously in search of oxygen and streamed out of any crack and opening. If the windshield broke while Jason was on top of it and he fell in… it would be the end of him. Cutting his hands in the process, he fully climbed up onto the nose of the helicopter and grabbed the edge of the chopper's blade like a lifeline.
There was just enough space above the helicopter for Jason to squeeze through the hole it had broken in the wall. Careful to avoid putting his weight on the windshield, Jason's heart seemingly stopped as he heard frantic thudding. Looking down, he saw hands beating against the underside of the windshield.
Whoever was inside of the chopper, they were still alive but were beyond saving. Jason could see it, the flesh melting off their hands and sticking to the windshield like caramel. He could see the exposed muscle in their palms and fingers as they beat against the tempered glass. There seemed to be only two inhabitants, and leaning forward, they at last became visible.
With flames streaming up around them like foaming water, they screamed in agony and beat their foreheads against the windows. The flesh of their faces had already been burned away, their eyes were charred coals within their sockets, and their cheeks were melting off and revealing their teeth. Trying to hold back tears of loathing for the horrors he was being forced to bear, Jason reminded himself that there was nothing he could do to help the people inside and made his escape.
Climbing over the top of the helicopter, he gasped at the first wisp of relatively clean air that brushed against his face. Tumbling to the ground, he allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the feeling of grass against his skin. SMASH! The sound of the nearby doors creaking robbed Jason of any and all relief he had managed to find. The inmates and guards from the cafeteria had followed him. Hearing the horde of possessed men throwing themselves at the door a second time, Jason forced himself to his feet and began to run.
He could see an opening in the fence in the distance, made when a SWAT van had lost control and crashed into the barrier. Similar vans and police cars were scattered around the perimeter of the prison to try and keep anyone from escaping, though he didn't see any officers gathered around the broken fence. This was his chance! It felt like he had just ran only ten or so paces when he heard the dreadful noise of the locks on the exit finally give way and the steel doors swinging open.
Screaming, laughing, or even just swearing, a horde of guards, inmates, and SWAT officers streamed out of the prison like demons pouring out of Hell, each of them drenched in the blood of their victims. Turning back while he ran, Jason emptied his last magazine into the tsunami of killers, though this was nothing more than a foolish mistake.
Not only was he wasting his bullets on an unstoppable swarm, but looking back and seeing how many monsters were chasing him only terrified him further. Close to a hundred men were running after him and their numbers were growing! They had spread out into a wide tidal wave rolling across the prison yard, while simultaneously converging on Jason. This was more than just the crowd he had seen in the cafeteria, was the entire prison chasing after him?!
With the sickly green grass beneath him, the bleak gray sky above him, the army of possessed cannibals chasing him, and the prison burning like a bonfire behind him, Jason ran as fast and hard as he could. Tears were streaming down his face as he repeatedly told himself how much he didn't want to die, and how much he cursed destiny for letting this happen to him.
The opening in the fence was so close and yet so far away, he felt like he had been running for miles and still had miles to go before he would have his freedom. He could hear the men behind him, screaming in their mindless bloodlust and their insatiable hunger for human flesh. They were shouting for him to be disemboweled, torn to pieces, raped to death, butchered and eaten, and other similarly gruesome fates.
He didn't know how close they were behind him, but he didn't dare look. He could almost feel them closing in, feel the movement of the air on the back of his head as they swung at him, could feel the heat of their breath and the thumping of their feet.
He was so tired, being grateful that he wasn't fat but realizing just how out of shape he was. The air in his lungs felt more like hot embers, every tendon and muscle cord in his legs felt like a piano wire about to snap, his heart was struggling to keep up with the demand of his exertion, and his body was becoming numb as it was deprived of oxygen.
"Oh my god…" Jason gasped, his attention drawn to a mechanical whine above his head. Punching through the gray cloud cover like Pai Mei through a wooden board, a passenger plane from Portland screamed as it plummeted out of the sky, on a collision course with the prison.
Was this the true power of the Black Stigmata?! Could it really manipulate people or possibly even technology from miles away?! This couldn't be possible! This was madness! Looking up to the falling plane, Jason increased his speed to his maximum, running for his life as the aircraft dropped lower and lower.
In the back of his mind, he wondered what was going on in the cabin. Were the passengers killing and eating each other in an inhuman psychotic mess like the prisoners, or were they cowering in their chairs, fearful of what they knew was about to happen?
Finally reaching the outward-leaning section of the fence that had been bent over by the SWAT van, Jason jumped as high as he could onto it and gripped the wires. With the SWAT van beneath him, he scrambled up the inclined plane with what little strength he had left, counting the seconds as they ticked by. Tearing himself up on the barbed wire, he pulled himself over the top of the fence and landed on the roof of the SWAT van.
Rolling off the vehicle and hitting the ground with a painful thud, he had just enough strength to push himself up and dare a look at the prison. Had he waited even a couple seconds more, he would have missed the show. Like the lead Star Destroyer plunging into the Death Star in Return of the Jedi, the plane struck the heart of the prison and erupted into a fiery mushroom cloud. The plane had to have just taken off with full fuel tanks, because the tidal wave of fire that surged out in all directions made the flames of 9/11 look like a firecracker.
While most of the energy of the explosion was released upwards in the mentioned mushroom cloud, a large portion was set off in all directions in a burning shockwave, traveling across the ground like a flash flood. In a single gargantuan upheaval, the entire prison complex around the impact point was lifted into the air as the shockwave tore through the foundations of every building like a flaming sword.
For maybe a millisecond, the buildings hung suspended before crumbling in the burning tempest rising up from the blast. The shockwave continued expanding with the blade of fire crawling across the ground with unstoppable speed. Shooting through the yard, the flames enveloped every guard and prisoner, killing most of them instantly and ripping their bodies apart, but simply lighting the rest on fire.
With their deaths guaranteed, the survivors staggered as living funeral pyres. They eventually gave in to the flames and burned to death, or had the life beaten out of their flame ridden bodies when the wreckage and debris of the prison began to rain back down like a storm of mortar rounds.
The explosion lost most of its energy by the time it reached the edge of the yard, and any remaining flames or pressure were deflected by the SWAT van, finally giving Jason a lucky break. Getting to his feet, he looked out at the sea of flames before him, wondering how many people had died. About to turn around and begin running away in case there were any crazed survivors, he was brought to his knees by a familiar crashing sound boxing his ears, the same crash he heard in all of his nightmares.
"No, not now!" Jason cursed, gripping his skull as a red miasma stifled his vision like a layer of blood across his eyes. Jason shuffled down the dark street, each breath carrying an animalistic hiss to it.
He was no longer in control of his body or aware of his surroundings; his mind was in the possession of the Black Stigmata. Now serving as an unwilling tool of the relic's inhuman will, his eyes swiveled back and forth as he looked for someone to victimize. The whites of his eyes had now become scarlet from the swelling and inflammation of the veins just below the surface, his arm had stopped bleeding but was covered in a thick black crust, and even with the frigid chill in the air, his breath would not fog.
All sense of who he was had been taken, he no longer knew his name or had any memories. It had taken him half a day to get to Portland from the prison, and he was filled only with the desire to torture and kill. The street was empty on this night and no cars were driving around. Word had spread of the prison riot in the distance and the possible escapees, so the citizens of Portland were in hiding.
Looking ahead, he saw a woman step out into the night. Early to mid twenties, black hair tied back in a messy bun, and tight workout clothes, she had just stepped out of the gym and was locking the door behind her. An owner? The sight of this woman made Jason's stomach rumble and his throat tremor with unbearable thirst.
But he had to be careful and stalk his prey before she could become his meal. Keeping his distance but never letting her leave his sight, he followed her down the lamp-lit street. There were ear-buds in her ears and she showed no sense of alertness or alarm, probably meaning she had not heard about the prison.
Regardless, Jason made sure his steps were silent and there was always covering nearby for him to duck behind. He watched her like a hawk, feeling his desires intensify as his eyes fed on every succulent detail. In her tight black yoga pants, her skinny legs steadily thickened to a taught rear end, heavily toned with muscles earned from hours of working out.
Even from a hundred feet back and with only the light of the streetlamps, he could see the outline of her thong nestled between her iron-hard ass cheeks, and he could see the waistband just barely coming out above her pants. He hadn't been able to tell how large her breasts were when she stepped outside; they had looked moderate at most.
Hopefully they were large enough to sink his teeth into. Her body was so lean and taut, while showing just a few remaining pockets of delicious fat. If she hadn't heard about the prison, then she likely had been at the gym all day, working out obsessively. Perfect, she would have no strength to fight against him. Reaching into her purse, the woman drew her car keys and clicked the alarm.
Down the street, her hand-me-down Subaru beeped and lit up as all the locks were released. Now was the time! Seeing the woman approaching the car, Jason increased his speed, running silently towards her and hoping his prey wouldn't look back and see him.
Just as the pretty piece of meat was about to step down off the sidewalk and into the street, Jason reached her and punched her in the face with all of his strength. The force of the impact popped all of Jason's knuckles out of place, but so too did it succeed in knocking the woman out and sending her tumbling to the cold pavement without so much as a yelp. While his knuckles popped back into place without him even having to acknowledge the injury, Jason grabbed the woman and threw her into the passenger seat of the car, proceeding then to tie her up with the seatbelt and stuff a sock from her gym bag into her mouth to gag her.
His prey now captured, he took the woman's keys and climbed into the driver's seat. He drove off with a screech, laughing to himself in anticipation. The woman opened her eyes and immediately began to struggle as soon as her mind perceived the sensation of rope around her wrists. Though technically, it was the passenger seatbelt from her car.
She was laid out on the hood of her car, feeling the warm metal against her back. The air was cold and smelled like low tide, and sparse trees could be seen around her location.
The sky was bright enough for her to at least see silhouettes, but that was only due to the light pollution of Portland, of which the outskirts she was in. Her eyes were fixed on Jason, lying on top of her with a savage grin on his face.
It wasn't the situation that terrified her most, it was the fact that his eyes were glowing red like two hot coals, clearly visible in the dark evening. Seeing her eyes open, Jason began to laugh.
With the Black Stigmata possessing his mind with unchallenged power, he had been waiting for her to wake up. Torturing her brought no joy if he couldn't see her pain. The woman began to writhe and struggle desperately, wanting more than anything to get out from under Jason and run away as fast as she could. Moving his hand up, Jason cupped one of her breasts, chilled from the evening exposure.
Her nipples were both fully erect in these temperatures, poking up through both her bra and pink tank top. Tears streamed down the woman's eyes as he fondled her, knowing what awaited her if this man wasn't stopped. With malicious strength, Jason tore away her shirt and bra, leaving the woman with nothing to cover her breasts with but her bound arms.
Grabbing her wrists, he forced her arms up over her head and held them pinned against the top of the Subaru windshield. Through the sock stuffed in her mouth, the woman whimpered and tried to beg for Jason to spare her, but continuing to laugh, he leaned forward and licked the tears off her face. As a puppet of the Black Stigmata, her whimpers were music to his ears and the taste of her tears filled him with a heroine-like euphoria.
Moving downwards, he ran his tongue down her smooth face, her soft throat, and across her chest. The woman shuddered with disgust as his tongue flicked her nipples over and over again, playing with them as if only to taunt her. As he worked his tongue across her chest, he moved his other hand between her legs, feeling the lips of her pussy through the thin fabric of her yoga pants. Under the circumstances, she was dry as a bone, but eventually her body would betray her and she would loosen up.
Feeling no need to wait, Jason used his legs to pin the woman down and pulled off her pants and thong with his freed hands, yanking away the woman's last form of defense and cover. Completely naked and with the cold air brushing up against her skin like a swarm of wet serpents, fresh tears streamed down the woman's face and she fought with everything she had to shape a single word of her desperation.
With what little strength she had, she pulled her bound wrists out from under Jason and began beating them against his back, trying to knock him off or at least hurt him. Her hits had no affect, and to punish her, Jason reached back and broke her nose with a quick punch, causing her to whine in pain as blood streamed down her face.
Jason ignored her pathetic whimpers and continued to fondle her slit, staring straight into her eyes as he did so and lapping up her blood hungrily. His breathing was quick, frantic even, like a feral dog baring its fangs. Against his hand, the woman kicked desperately, even after the pain she had just endured.
Her attempts did not anger Jason; they excited him, adding some extra fun to the situation. But that didn't mean that her fighting him wouldn't get in his way. Moving both hands back to her wrists and again pinning them above her head, Jason brought his face just inches from the woman's. With a wide grin on his face, his body began to convulse with deep tremors whiplashing his spine. He slowly opened his mouth, all while the convulsions increased in violence.
Now adjusted to the darkness, the girl's eyes widened in terror as a metal spike slid out onto Jason's tongue, somehow brought forth from his gut. With a needle-sharp point and four blade-like edges running down the sides, the relic terrified her as her mind twisted to figure out what he was going to do with it. Taking the nail out of his mouth, Jason reacquired his sadistic grin. He raised the nail and plunged it straight into her left kneecap in a single fluid-like movement.
Feeling the metal spike shred her flesh and force aside her bones, the woman screamed in agony while blood poured from the wound.
It was not a serious injury and would clot long before she could bleed to death, but she couldn't run away, and now she knew what he would do if she continued to resist him. Sobbing from the pain in her leg, the woman resigned herself to her fate and let her body grow limp.
Free to do whatever he wanted, Jason held the nail between his teeth and used his free hand to ram his fingers up into her pussy. The brutal penetration drew a muffled scream from his victim, making him shudder in happiness. Even while gagged, he could hear it in her voice: her pain, her fear, her humiliation, and her dread. She still had some hope that she would be rescued or that someone would find her, or perhaps she would even have a chance to incapacitate him and make her escape, even though she couldn't walk.
Oh well, he would just have to break her. Listening to the sounds of her painful whimpers like his favorite song on the radio, Jason worked his fingers in her snatch downright violently, prying them apart and forcing his digits in up to his knuckles. His hand was vibrating inside her with terrifying power, pounding her insides more than any man ever had. This wasn't to get her "warmed up" or even for Jason's sexual gratification, it was to hurt and humiliate her as much as possible.
But in the minutes that passed, the woman became used to the torment and her writhing stopped. Annoyed now by her complete docility, Jason pushed the envelope even farther. Withdrawing his index and ring finger from her pussy, he jammed them deep into her anus, using the wetness from her slit as lubricant.
With his fingers in her ass, he used his thumb to continue stimulating her snatch. Having never before tried any sort of ass-play, the woman cried out and instinctively curled up like a dead spider, trying to tighten all the muscles in her anus and keep Jason locked out. Regardless of her attempts, the strength in his hand was beyond her ability to defy. Her asshole was so tight, even the juices from her pussy weren't enough for Jason's fingers, but it was also so soft that that the friction was more than tolerable.
Often times, when he pushed his fingers and thumb inside her, he would clamp down on her insides in a huge pinch. Grabbing a hold of her, he shook her insides wildly and painfully, drawing stream after stream of fresh tears from the agony of sexual humiliation. The torment continued on for what felt like an hour, until at last, Jason pulled his hand away to revealed his fingers coated in a thin sheen of blood, brought on by the internal trauma he had inflicted.
After sucking his fingers clean, he took a moment to lean down and run his tongue through her violated slit. The taste of her blood and juices was ecstasy for Jason, especially since both were rich with suffering. The woman's body was trembling in pain and exhaustion. She had no more strength left; Jason's brutality had robbed her of that, as well as her pride. Regardless, she knew that the worst was yet to come.
Forcing her legs apart, Jason opened his pants and revealed his thunderous erection. Continuing to laugh, he forced himself into the woman, in a single brutal shove. The ferocity in which he entered her gave her just enough energy to writhe in pain, but before a whimper or whine could be heard, Jason had already pulled out and forced himself back in.
With inhuman speed and strength, he began raping her like a dildo bolted to a jackhammer. Not only was the pain of his thrusts downright paralyzing, the woman was left in awe by Jason's abilities.
She had screwed around plenty of times in her life, but never before had she been penetrated so quickly and so deeply.
Jason was an Average Joe in the length department, yet it felt like he was driving so deep into her that he was punching her stomach. Like when he violated her with his fingers, Jason fucked his victim while staring straight into her eyes. He was moving so quickly that the rocking car couldn't even establish a rhythm, and simply shook on its tires.
With each thrust, a wet squishing sound was emitted as the head of his cock punched the woman's punished insides, but the longer he violated her, the easier it became.
Regardless of the pain and damage suffered, as well as the psychological factor, the woman's body was reacting to his pushes and was lubricating itself, as well as drawing some semblance of pleasure with each deep penetration.
Suddenly looking up, Jason gave an animalistic snarl as he achieved his first orgasm. The woman shuddered from both the physical sensation and embarrassment as she felt her rapist's seed flood her womanhood, spraying all the way up into her womb. 'Please! Please let him be done!' the woman mentally begged. Her silent prayers were answered by a new grin crossing Jason's face.
Dropping the nail back into his hand, he raised it above his head and plunged it into the woman's throat. The sharp tip penetrated her soft flesh with ease and drove straight down into her like she was made of Jell-O. For the first ten seconds, the woman awaited death to claim her, but when he pulled the nail free and a modest splash of blood poured out, she realized that he had somehow avoided all major arteries, but she was struggling to breath with the hole now drilled into her throat.
Jason then reached into her mouth and yanked out the sock he had gagged her with. Upon the removal if the cotton stuffing, the woman tried to scream and draw the attention of anyone in the area, but she realized with incomprehensible horror that she was unable to produce any noise.
She tried as hard as she could to speak, but even while she formed the words with her lips, no noise passed them. Instead of severing any nerves or veins with the stab, Jason had punctured her larynx, essentially destroying her voice box and leaving her mute.
Even if she weren't robbed of her voice, she would have been unable to scream, not when Jason pulled her to the ground and forced his cock into her mouth, condemning her to suck off the mixture of her blood and his semen.
With his fingers wrapped in her hair, he skull-fucked his tearful victim as if she were a blow-up doll, filling the silent evening with a gargling-squashing sound. With a hole in her throat, the woman was unable to work up any suction on his cock, so Jason merely smeared it around the inside of her mouth like he was brushing her teeth.
Please stop! You've done enough!' the woman thought, praying Jason would finally decide to let her go. Yet in her heart, she knew that more horrors awaited her at this monster's hands. Fulfilling and even exceeding her expectations, Jason leaned down and sank his teeth into her right breast. Biting down at full force, he tore through the soft flesh and fat and pulled upwards, ripping the entire orb from her chest.
The woman's face contorted into a silent scream of indescribable agony and she thrashed wildly as pain swept through her veins like battery acid. Standing over her, Jason ripped her breasts into chewable strips with his hands and teeth, feasting on her delectably soft flesh in utter jubilation.
Her areola tasted particularly delicious, or perhaps it was just the texture as he grinded them into a meaty past between his jaws?
He did the same to her left breast, completely ripping it off her chest with a single tearing bite. As he ravenously devoured the mound of flesh like a piece of KFC, the woman covered her destroyed chest with her bound arms, trying to lessen the agony radiating from the two bleeding pits that her breasts had formerly occupied, as well as sobbing in misery from what this abomination had reduced her to.
There was no way that he was a regular human; he had to be some sort of demon coughed up from Hell. Nobody could be this cruel! Grabbing her by the back of the neck, he pulled her to her feet and then threw her against the hood of her car, now lying on her stomach with her back to him. Joyfully listening to her sobs, Jason spread the cheeks of her taut ass and rubbed his manhood between them.
Lowering his head, he spat out a large glob of blood and saliva into her asscrack, using the mixture as lubrication as he grinded his cock against her anus. With the hood of the car painted red with blood from her destroyed chest, the woman silently sobbed as she felt Jason penetrate her anus, sodomizing her without a shred of mercy or humanity.
His cock felt so massive inside her, she had never let any man do this to her and her first time was against her will, by someone that was nothing short of pure evil.
She was suffering so much, enduring so much pain and crushed under the weight of humiliation that surpassed her most horrid nightmares. At this point, she wished Jason would just kill her, but she knew that wouldn't happen until he was done with her. She would just have to let him do whatever he wanted and pray he would kill her afterwards.
Resigned to her fate, the woman writhed only due to automatic reflex as Jason began moving back and forth in her tight virgin anus. Just like before, his speed and power was entirely superhuman, as well as his cruelty.
He was moving so rapidly that the Subaru's brakes were creaking as it rocked forwards and backwards with each shove he made into his victim. He had his hands on her hips and was thrusting into her like a horny stallion, laughing as he did so. As her blood ran down the sheet metal of the car hood and painted it scarlet, the woman looked at the windshield of her car, able to see her reflection in the tempered glass. She was a wreck, and the sight of his stranger sodomizing her so cruelly made her want to throw up in disgust.
And that wasn't even mentioning the pain she was feeling in her anus. The friction of his movements was so intense, she was fairly certain she was bleeding internally.
Her assumption was right, as every time Jason pulled out of her, blood from her brutalized sphincter would splash off his cock and land on the ground, as well as the blood dripping off the Subaru. She didn't know how long he sodomized her, it felt like he had hours worth of stamina and energy, all of which he was pouring into his torment of her.
But what she did know was that her greatest fear was coming to fruition. The waves of pleasure she had begun to experience when he was raping her vaginally had returned and they were increasing in intensity with each thrust. Was it possible? Was her final orgasm going to be brought on by anal rape? As if reading her mind, Jason's did the impossible and somehow increased the speed and strength of his thrusts, sodomizing her so brutally that she thought it would honestly kill her.
Every time his manhood entered her, she drew closer and closer to that climactic threshold. At last, her whole body convulsed in hot muscle spasms and euphoria flushed through her veins. At the same time, Jason unleashed every last drop of semen into her rectum, stuffing her to the point of overflowing.
His load spent, Jason leaned back, pulling out of her and finally losing his erection. With the plug removed, blood and sperm poured out of her anus like a miniature waterfall.
'Please just kill me! I just want to die! I just want—' The woman's inner monologue was interrupted, as in one final act of cruelty, Jason got down onto his knees and tore into her left ass cheek with his teeth. Locking on to the tough muscle earned from hours of kegal routines, Jason pulled away and ripped free a long strip of flesh from her rear end.
Not even bothering to chew or swallow, he spat out the strip and assailed her again like a rabid animal. Over and over, he tore into her warm flesh with his teeth, stripping her muscles while an endless river of blood flowed down his throat and into his stomach. Once all the most succulent cuts had been removed, Jason stood up and leaned over the woman. In his first and last merciful act, he pulled her head back and bit her neck, using his teeth to sever her jugular vein and release a fountain of blood.
The woman's eyes rolled back into her head as she awaited death to arrive and rescue her, no longer caring or even feeling the flesh being ripped from her body. The sun had risen and Jason was on his knees, staring at his victim with tears running down his face and a pile of vomit at his side. He had woken up less than a minute ago, passed out on the ground and painted in blood. He couldn't remember anything from the previous night, but the horrifying corpse told him everything he needed to know.
"Oh god! This can't be real! THIS IS HELL!" Jason screamed, gripping his scalp and pressing his forehead against the cold face of his victim. Please comment!