Descending the stairs I was still stuck in total darkness but the torrential screams of my, for lack of a better word, subject still filled the air. Deftly my hand searched the wall for the thing that I assuredly knew was there. Sure enough my hand brushed over the metallic panel and the handle of a large breaker switch. Pulling down a whirring hum filled the air which grew louder and louder before subduing itself as power was restored.
Ah... No more darkness.
My basement, my hidden lair, my warehouse of gruesome horrors. It was nothing special by any standards of another flesh-crafter, slash doctor, slash necromancer, slash insert various other dark professions. Metal shelves topped with glass jars of varying sizes holding organs of all types, fluids of all sorts, and bits of creatures untold of, lined the far wall parallel to the stairs. In the center of the concrete and metal room was an operating table that had a multi-armed apparatus hanging over it from the ceiling.
On the table a man lay, naked and with a freshly made and stitched closed thirty-four centimeter long incision visible across his abdomen. His body was haggard, barely nourished, pale in complexion and his shaggy hair hung in matted ropes. I eye him with amused contempt as he had finally stopped screaming now that the lights were on. Long removed had been his genitals, the flesh carved and modified to allow only the ability to relieve his bladder. He had been awake for that process as per the request of my client.
I guess when you have a budding daughter at the prime of her young adult life you take measures to ensure the sanctity of her well-being. Either that or you have a horrible daughter complex and your wife should castrate you herself.
I shrug with a laugh causing the man to flinch and rasp with panic as I began further approach.
As if my morning couldn't get ant better I'm blessed with the chorus sound of chitinous plates rubbing and creaking together followed by an ominous series of rapid clicking. The man's eyes bugged out of his head as he began to whimper and tremble but permanently restrained was he as a pair of long prehensile antennae the width of a large canine's tail dangled down over him. I looked and merely smiled as my illustrious pet emerged from his hiding place in the ceiling.
A ninety centimeter long centipede, modified and raised by yours truly, dangled precariously from the ceiling. Snapping my fingers it twitched and clacked it's mandibles while brushing it's antennae against my cheeks and hand enthusiastically.
"You know better Saren. He's not food and I just fed you last night." With a reprehending tone of voice I reach out and brush my fingertips across his carapace, black nails of human keratin disappearing against black chitin. With another clack, this one less aggressive, of his mandibles Saren slinks off to the tunnel entrance at the back of my basement.
"It's so hard to find such good mannered pets these days." Speaking dreamily I slump forward and rest my elbow on the man's chest while I idly trace my fingertips along his jawline. "That being said... I must confess. You've been a resoundingly wonderful captive. Your old employer was none too happy about shacking up with his second oldest. I believe he's coming by today to collect you."
With these words the man's terrified expression grows worse and he begins to thrash wildly in his restraints going so far as to bite into my finger. My brow furrows as I suck in a breath before going to pull away only to find his refusal to let go. I shake my head with a sigh.
"James... Oh dear sweet sick James. If you wanted my attention that much you need only ask for you shall....RECEIVE!"
Reaching down with my free hand I dig my middle finger into the incision of his abdomen, forcing open the stitches with a soft sickening sound of fusing flesh parting at the aggressive ministrations. The warmth of blood, the squelching of displaced organs and the spasms of weakened muscles greet my finger as the man shrieks in agony like a girl.
"Oh don't have an orgasm off this yet James! We still have a loooong ways to go before you're ready for Mr. Sloan to arrive!" I dig another finger in for good measure to get my point across even though he had long since released my finger in favor of reacting to the pain. Eventually he passes out and I move to collect my tools and turn on my radio.
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An old throwback from a time forgotten when the generations of youth indulged in Japanese animation like it was going out of style. I him along to the melodic yet rapid tune whilst walking over with a cart full of insidious tools and several jars of harvested female genitals and other harvested parts line the bottom shelf of the cart.
Here I thought I was sick minded. Mr. Sloan wanted me to carve a vagina into dear James's torso for deflowering his second oldest daughter, Marsila. However, Mr. Sloan didn't want just any kind of vagina mind you. This one he wanted to be all pain and no pleasure and he wanted James to be turned into an absolute freak. Not the good kind of freak either. No, James's life was going to be reduced to a hellish nightmare for Mr. Sloan to torture at his leisure.
He paid me quite a nice fee to ensure James neither expired, or ever needed sustenance, sleep or any other human comforts but retained the desire for them. It was a deliciously sadistic request that I happily obliged despite the genetic alterations, organ infusions and transplants, neural adjustments and the overall rearranging of his chest cavity's contents.
I thoroughly enjoy this kind of work and even now I can feel the dampness soaking through my panties even as I pull on a white apron over my robe which was scantily cladding my body. However, a pang shot through my hand as I went to tie the apron and saw that my hand was dripping black ichor.
"Son of a bitch!"
Exclaiming in exasperation and with an incredulous expression I grab my injured index finger, the one that had been in James's mouth, and pull forward it a pop before pushing inwards with another pop. I flex the digit and sigh in content after the movements of the tendons and muscles in my forearm don't elicit a racket of pain in which to assault my brain with.
I need to readjust my own neural pathways I think or maybe just turn off the pain receptors altogether.
I ponder this for a moment, taking the time to consider the implications, before dismissing them just as quickly. There was work needing to be done and I couldn't afford to sit around with my thumb firmly planted up my ass. So I grabbed the nearest bottle off the cart labeled, 'Karsomaphine,' and a needle syringe before stabbing the top of the bottle's lid to extract the purple contents from within.
In seconds the syringe was half-full and I just as quickly stabbed the needle into James's neck and pushed down on the plunger. A soft groan came from James as his unconscious mind felt the intrusive fluid's effect coil around his brain harder than two hydraulic presses. He was out for the count until I administered the reversing agent. This suited me just fine as I could work in peace free of obstructive noise.
Discarding the syringe I replace it with a pair of surgical scissors to cut the stitches and carefully open the incision before inserting an abdominal retractor to hold it all open. Inside the man's chest cavity was a mess and it was about to get messier as I had new flesh to finish infusing into the body to make whole the desired effect. Activating the multi-armed apparatus overhead I began the intricate operation of weaving magic through machine and flesh.
It was a painstaking process, connecting one's mana to something like a machine. Especially if the machine lacked the proper materials to allow such a thing, but multi-armed contraption of horrors was handmade by me and me alone. Once the mana was in place I shut off the world outside my mind and used the mana to bridge my consciousness to it, giving me an eagle view of the operating table as I saw through the machine's multiple lenses.
It was an odd feeling. Being out of one's body and residing in something cold and mechanically as I moved the limbs of the machine like a master puppeteer would his puppet. Strings of mana flowed through the metal, connecting the joints and giving me acute control as I sheared flesh and replaced it on a cellular level with new flesh. Yes, I am controlling my body too very much the same way as the machine.
To the trained and focused eye one could see the pale red wisps of my mana manifested through the air between flesh and metal. They danced and rippled at the slightest touch of my mind, creating a silently choreographed spectacle. My body retrieved jars off the cart and opened them while the mechanical arms moved at rapid speeds, grabbing and working.
The back and forth went on seemingly for hours before I was finally finished. Now all that remained was to submerse the subject in a specialized vat of liquid that would make permanent the changes and keep his body from breaking down. That process alone would take four hours.
Looking at my vacant wrist, as if checking the time, I nod to myself with a pleased expression.
"I'm right on schedule James. Thank you for being so cooperative." Gingerly I pat the man's cheek before I go about meticulously cleaning my tools and my machine. Not to mention I needed to clean myself up what with being spattered with blood and preservative fluids.
A demented giggle escapes me as I hum to silence, my radio having long since died due to negligence and needing a fresh battery.
"Today is going to be so much fun!"