Chapter 1: blemiphage
This is my story, and you are my chosen one. We'll see if my family agrees, it's time to meet them. How, how I would enjoy to fondly lacerate your lips, rip them out nibble per nibble, rubbing tooth against tooth, mixing our salivas and bloods and pains and my pleasure, my pleasure, until it became our pleasure. And I would whisper small and warm words. Isn't it a pity that I have to spare you from this until the end of the show? But calm down, my chosen one, when I finish it will be for good. For now, only a tiny sliver of your soft skin.
My delicious tidbit, have you ever heard about the blemiphage? You have? How this piece of meat knows the blemiphage? Amazing. I'll speak with you then. I mean, I'll talk and you'll listen, but I want some moans and a little piss at the end, right?
Oh, the blemiphage. The blemiphage, blemiphage, blemiphage, I love to say "blemiphage", because I gave it this name. Why did we made them again? Oh, yes, it was after noticing how easier it was to hunt prey with help, like you do with those hairy and four-legged things. They are also our heralds and spies, seasoning feasts much before the others arrive. Some disappearances, scratches on the beds of the little ones sleeping, holes in the goats' necks, everything to improve the taste. I still don't understand how this still works so well. After the preparations, they would make great marks in useless things like crops, showing that it was a good place for a falling nest to land.
A blemiphage is easy to do. It's so easy that even one of them can make another of them. They bite the head off, and only then infect what's left, we don't want it to grow wrong, do we? Arms and legs stretch, reaching further. The nipples swell and elongate until they look like hungry leeches choking on a snail's eye. But, but, but, how do they bite without a head? The answer is: ribs. Budding lots of muscular bulbs, then loosening the ribcage until it looks like a mouth from neck to belly button. And so we have another blemiphage, ready to fecundate the terror and other blemiphages between mortals.
Your smell is so much better, my tidbit. I knew I had chosen well. Without a good tap of terror, you have such a unbearably sweet flavor, that we only gobble you because of hunger. But after a good fear-hate-despairrrrr-rrrrr-oh-ooohhhhh and even more despair, spread into the sides and the top, you get so so sooo wonderfully salty that I get the craving to grab just one more little bit, hmm, right here, where it smells as feel-like-killing-myself, the best scent I know.
CHOP! CHOMP!
