The Empty Mirror
Chapter 30: Carnal Corruption
It inhabited an abomination that defied comprehension. This creature, this being warped by corruption, writhed in the gardens like a twisted manifestation of agony itself. Its body, coated in a layer of loathsome goo and deep blackness, seemed to be an aberrant fusion of rotting flesh and placenta. Every crease of her skin was an open ulcer, exuding a nauseating odour that corroded the senses and drowned hope in a sea of despair.
From the depths of his grotesque, fat, hairy trunk flowed a stench of death and decay. Its mouth, an endless passage to annihilation, unfolded like a doorway to the abyss, revealing tiny but sharp teeth, like needles of doom, tearing flesh with merciless ferocity. Its yellowish, purulent saliva dissolved the remains in an agape of degradation and torment.
Its legs, long and shredded, staggered under the weight of its own depravity, fracturing with each step as a metaphor for its ruin. Here and there, holes and tears exposed throbbing flesh and gnawing bone, like wounds that refused to heal. Its wings, membranous and stained with vice, were dotted with bulbous veins that seemed to throb to the beat of a dark and diseased heart. The edge of each wing was adorned with grotesque filaments, which fluttered in the air with a plaintive moan, carrying the weight of its deformity with a macabre grace that chilled the blood in the veins.
In the depths of his being, where the eyes should dwell, he found only skin. A hollowness that devoured light and hope, trapping those who dared to look into an abyss of endless desolation and despair. I began to run, but despite its slow appearance, it seemed that it would soon catch up with me. It was only a matter of time before, with its trunk, it began to digest my corpse inside its entrails and stomach.
As my feet moved with the haste of a runaway rider, I felt my limbs yearning for rest, every muscle clamoring for respite. With my heart galloping in my chest, my anxious gaze fleetingly captured the flight of that insectoid-looking creature, ascending from the lower terraces with a silent lurking menace. Although that aberrant being danced in the lower levels, I opted to return to the previously conquered heights, longing for the shelter of the vines as a shield against other hungry creatures.
Beneath my feet, the marble, undaunted witness to history, gave way in its eternal repose, crumbling with sudden clatter, as if the very firmament itself was hurling its fury upon us. The creature, with a sinister whisper of flesh and membrane, collapsed upon the terrace that held me, its crushing mass shaking the ground to its foundations. I feared the marble would yield to the onslaught, and in a death rattle of despair, I clung to the edge of the staircase, swaying precariously in search of the next balcony that offered shelter.
Once there, my eyes captured the desolate spectacle: the monstrosity, its legs battered by the impact, crawled with the solemnity of a wounded titan. Its imposing dimensions evoked the stamp of a giant, while its wings, flapping with the desperation of the agonizing, marked its advance towards me.
It was then that the truth was revealed to me: these grotesque creatures, far from possessing any majesty, were deformed manifestations of an unstable and chaotic anatomy. Their limbs, unequal and asymmetrical in their composition, barely supported their corpulence, fragile columns subjected to the weight of their own monstrosity. Although their appearance denoted evolutionary misfortune, their nature remained that of merciless beasts; even in their misfortune, they kept their potential danger intact.
In a fateful instant, its dark, slimy flesh underwent an unspeakable metamorphosis, engendering translucent membranes that erupted from its spine, tearing bone and tissue in its frenzy to give birth to colossal wings capable of supporting the weight of its aberrant being. As it writhed in agony, it seemed to sculpt its own limbs, mutilating its original form in a process that emanated a painful wail.
At last, his countenance, or what was left of it, was subjected to a grotesque transfiguration. Flesh swelled and sank into his own skull, giving rise to a pair of adipose, hirsute appendages, similar to those already hanging from his face. In an instant, it seemed to lose its insectoid appearance, becoming an amalgam of putrefying flesh, raised on innumerable pairs of translucent, veiny wings. The deformed and obese mass exhibited three greasy and corpulent trunks, which contorted and undulated with repulsive elegance, surpassing in wingspan the body itself. The disproportionately large wings gave the creature a grotesque appearance, resembling a titan spawned from rottenness, towering over the blackness of death in macabre contrast.
The creature was approaching with a stealthy pace, furrowing the air low to the ground, leaving behind a plaintive wail that echoed from an abyss of teeth that resembled a tunnel of livid gums, exhaling saliva and pus.
In a vain attempt, I resorted to the "Hunger on trial" bite tactic against her, but my effort proved fruitless. I was not properly prepared and missed the direction of the attack. A flash of gold in the center of the choker denoted the attempted bite, but the creature dodged it with innate instinct.
It was then that it dawned on me that the creature initially sighted in the vicinity of Hanging Gardens was one of these insectoid abominations. They did not seem to possess any intellect, but were driven solely by survival instinct. They mutated and transfigured themselves into grotesque forms, causing their flesh to coagulate and collapse upon itself in a process of evolution, or rather, deviation from their original anatomy. This was an invariable sequence until they were reduced to their most disfigured and inert form.
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I began to quicken my steps to the utmost, as the loathsome flapping of wings echoed around me, and my eyes witnessed its adipose trunks widening and waning, crushing its own limbs under the heavy corpulence. The marble beneath our feet seemed to yield to the titan's weight, and as the terrace cracked, I made out a corridor or hallway that unfolded over a staircase. Its structure defied conventional Euclidean laws, adopting angles that defied human comprehension. Nevertheless, I ventured across that marble pathway, with a vaulted ceiling, which seemed to be reserved exclusively for mortals. But behind me, a nauseating, carnal sound echoed, as the creature deflated and slowly returned to its original figure, dragging its bulkiness upon itself to cross the passageway, pulsing and writhing.
I advanced along the corridor and watched as the insect underwent a metamorphosis, rising on legs that bulged and grew stout. Its wings, deformed and truncated, lifted it higher and higher, while its three trunks, long and strong, remained erect. Suddenly, it swooped toward the terrace where I was standing, dodging down the aisle and almost catching me with its long, stubby trunks. It was then that something even more horrifying seemed to emerge from the gardens.
From the corners of the garden sprouted a wave of creepers, with bulbous and colossal stems, a twisted and grotesque weed that writhed in macabre decay and putrefaction. Their stems, bulbous and of a sickly, repulsive yellow, seemed more suited to the entrails of a dying man. They coiled like insatiable trunks, exuding a viscous and repulsive liquid, typical of the most abysmal creatures. From every pore of their repulsive surface a sticky substance gushed forth, a grotesque mixture of pus and viscous liquid that snaked greedily like snakes over corpses.
Each time they approached, a stench of death and decay invaded my senses, leaving me dizzy and trembling with revulsion. The stalks, thick and slimy like gangrenous intestines, were covered with razor-sharp thorns, dripping with a saliva that corroded the skin and poisoned the soul.
From the depths of Hanging Gardens they emerged with overwhelming momentum, lashing out at the giant insect. They choked it from thorax to abdomen, as it seemed to exhale moans of pain and anguish. A sticky, bloody liquid seemed to flow from the creature, as if it was being slowly torn apart.
The vines, imbued with an apparent collective intelligence, began to wrap around the insect, tearing it apart from the base of its body. They grabbed its wings, legs and trunks, flipping it over completely and exposing its viscera. The plant looked resentful and reduced the offal to an amorphous mass of viscous fluids and torn flesh, with veins exposed.
I was captured and became aware of her character, certain that she was trying to snatch me Hunger on Trial, that thief longed to confiscate the choker and then strip me of my inner substance, leaving my sheath like that of a corpse, with the nervous system exposed. She seemed to have a fascination with human nervous systems, for it was that which she took greedily in that paradise.
Like the lurking reptile, these treacherous vines embrace you in their lethal grip, stripping you of your possessions and bleeding you of every last spark of hope. They attack without mercy, clutching at your throat with unearthly vigor, drowning your cries in suffocating silence as they drag you down into the endless abyss. I could not break free, plead for help or even avail myself of "Hunger on Trial", for my mind lay shrouded in a misty veil as I was increasingly subdued.
Suddenly, the ivy thorns slowly burrowed into my flesh, piercing my thighs and ribs, unleashing a slow trickle of blood. Each drop that fell on the opulence of the bulbous frond seemed to be a tribute to nature itself. Then, the ivy began to carve a passageway around me, the size of my own being, a corridor that stretched into the gloom, curling into sturdy walls and a ceiling that pulsed with a horrifying malignancy.
In spite of everything, what I feared most was far away from that passageway, away from the spikes whose effects on my being were an enigma, and away from the anguish that grew as the corridor gradually narrowed, imprisoning my body with yellowish stalks. I felt suffocation and dread, gradually losing my senses, unable to see a way out. My being was progressively compressed, my breathing became painful, like an ordeal, while the pestilent air became hot in my lungs. Every movement was tinged with terror and torment, while the vines raised walls of thorns around me, confining me in a passage of affliction and despair.
Every murmur of the wind echoed like a sarcastic laugh, every shadow a lurking menace, as I struggled to keep my wits about me in the midst of this living nightmare.
In this earthly avernus, claustrophobia became my only confidant, whispering in my ear with words of madness and despair as I sank deeper and deeper into the jaws of these cursed vines. In this nightmarish realm, the only escape seemed to be death, but even that was beyond my reach, eternally trapped in this hell of twisted foliage and everlasting torment.
I feared too much that, before the final sigh, madness would take over my being in this martyrdom. That ivy, with its serpentine tentacles, seemed to plot the theft of the "Hunger on trial" choker from my yoke, like a vile plunderer. However, the greatest of my apprehensions resided in the supreme fear that, from my spilled blood, would sprout replicas in flesh and blood of my own being, as if nature, in its eagerness for preservation and perenniality, so decreed. Each drop of my lymph, upon touching the ground, engendered a Dantesque echo, a demon similar to my person. The vicissitudes and misfortunes, if they are mismanaged or remain incomplete, only grow and multiply, instead of finding their end. The drops of my own blood, scattered in the fight, and their propagation, marked a cycle of multiplication.
Suddenly, my nose, like a clown's, began to bleed, acquiring the crimson hue of tragedy, bloody noses. My eyes were amazed at the expansion of the scarlet stain, almost as if an act of creation was unfolding before them. My understanding barely touched the comprehension of such a strange event, but I sensed that a revelation was brewing in my mind, as if hunger itself was being judged at that instant.
Suddenly, the central tooth of "Hunger on trial" glowed with gloomy golden tints and the ivy that imprisoned me fell prey to the devourer. Thus freeing me from its oppressive embrace, I felt the anguish of claustrophobia slowly fade away. The ivy retreated, and I, prostrate on my knees, stood up hastily.
My throat, seared by the choking strangulation, burned with impetus, and the touch of invisible hands lingered on my neck. Struggling to catch my breath, I expelled phlegm to the floor with fatiguing effort.
I extended my right hand delicately, elbow slightly bent, and formed a fist, clenching it with the strength of the damned before releasing it in an opening gesture. Blue veins stood out on my right hand as I invoked in a low, precise voice: "Carnal Corruption."
As I uttered such words, the right incisor of "Hunger on trial" glowed with a golden, blackened glow. The ivy that imprisoned me began a metamorphosis, adopting a grotesque figure of clots, sores and twisted flesh. Black, disgusting veins pulsed on its surface, distorting its original essence into a sinister parody of itself.