STRANGEKINDS-episode One.

Dark Waif Sine.

He could sense her putrid bloom of luminescence, even before the filthy kaleidoscope rose from the dead petals. A mocking swarming carcinogenic rabble of butterflies congealed into a musty Cloudflare, rising from entropy and decay around their footfalls. The fluttering of their rotten wings were a semi-tone flat compared to the living flutter. She was here, she dominated, permeated an aroma of sweet rotten peach and staccato deviant treble notes.

Senakor assessed the glistening of the motes, you could taste it in mundane forms they not only had enough Myasmis spore to prove the Necromantic accusation, but they had also obviously been in Coven with her channelling the Dark Waifs prescience energies. Her black arts discordant on the realism plane it had a reeking, lingering, musk heavy in the air. Her effect staining their Vector Meridian, ringing decays memories, speaking forgotten poison tongues. He couldn't remember being strung up here.

I love the way you taste on her breath. whispered the Invictra, teasingly, licking her lips nuzzling upon his lobe, he thought of his blades, draw hand upon hilt feeling a chiding, deterring pressure. Safe in her realm of reflecting shadow, casting upon the surface of dark shallows she castigated him.

Not today my petal. My sweet sacrifice. She cooed.

The Mortis Divinicas centred, fixing his eye Katra, siphoning, paralysing his energy Xects.

He realised that he had already jumped, committed to the precipice, nothing to do now but fall. Waiting for the bottom to call.

The fettered breath of the Invictra came around behind him, licking from the wrist up past elbow, the rough tongue rasping up to the point of his shoulder, along trapezium, summiting neck, biting his ear, taking a stinging piece of him with her.

He glanced, looking but not wanting to think about the thing that he could not think about. The Rafflesia Scallions parasite had bloomed a cluster of circular incursions in the belly of her Trilobite host. The node at the point of the shell a blooming Queen.

Her size draining shared flesh batteries stores, the infection needing a larger exoskeleton to sustain her. The adult Trilo was newly malted, judging by the light pink of the fresh shelled crustacean, sitting high on a dark perch nesting, to await feeding and harden off. The perfect time.

In preparation the had oozed and dripped over every surface the thick yellow mucous pheromone rich alkaloid residue and potent brew. Seeding, smearing the walls and hand holds. Even the dry crystalline was apparently a potent residue capable of incapacitating. Secreting the hallucinogen defensively around her Hive's Den. And look what she has snagged.

A nodule bulbed from her tumorous girth, the blobs weight shifted, and gravity pulled it more than it fell, stretching elongating drawing from her mass of grey black rancid flesh. The succubus swaying, aiming, lobbing the appendage at the shelf. Thwomp. Moist touchdown. Feeding the congealing heap, she twisted, working, anchoring a tooth hook into the wood, flexing behind the Welp. Unfurling, the Scallion Leacher extends a long mucosa tendril, following the saliva marking of her Familiara. She scented, probing, tasting, draining all emotional resonance.

Sated she penetrated their new pet sweetling, caressing lobes. Consummation. Flowing into his ear canals. Dripping amygdala. That boy is sipping liquor, smooth and oaky. She intoned to her hive.

He did not notice the defilement, nor did he care about things that did not spill and scatter, scurry or crawl. She drew of him gluttonously, savouring his essence of young man's insecurity, hatred, petty or blooded, every hesitation or inhibition defused distilling waves of fear over her external dendrites, his ego dredged clean under her siphon.