And to prove that my newly acquired parts did everything they could to eject him, not that it did any good. My new mouth and connected parts gagged and heaved while my new tongue flailed and tugged uselessly at the intruder. It wasn’t that he could fit down my new throat, it was just every fiber of me being was screaming that he didn’t belong there and was reacting as such.

  He ignored all of it and all I could really do was groan in pain and discomfort as he made his way down. Once inside of my new stomach, he looked over it and around and I was desperately wishing that he wouldn’t go further. He didn’t and once he was satisfied with whatever he was looking for, he let my body eject him. I waited for the reflexive heaving to settle down before glaring at him.

  “Are you done yet?” I demanded weakly.

  “Not quite. There is just one more and then I will be done testing the skill for now. You will not have to go through this again.” He told me. I whimpered with my original voice box while my apparently new one whined. It was a deep, hollow affair that perfectly expressed what I was feeling right then.

  “If you like, we can do this one later after you have had something to eat.” He offered.

  “Are you going to let off this damn counter if I do want to eat and wait?” I asked.

  “No.” He replied.

  “Fuck. You.” I told him

  “I am to take it that you wish to wait and eat then?” He asked and I sighed.

  “No, I… I’ll let you do it now. I know I won’t like it, but I’ll endure it somehow.” I replied glumly and my new mouth shakily held itself open for whatever ‘one last’ abuse he had.

  “Are you certain?” He questioned and I could hear the concern in his voice.

  “Yes.” I replied flatly. He hesitated and I pointedly didn’t look at him when I heard a crunch of bone as he did something to himself. A moment later his hand came into view with a black, oily orb that undulated in the air over the palm.

  “That’s miasma.” I stated and he nodded.

  “I need you to swallow this with your new skill so I can check how well it will protect you from being affected by miasma. Mine is a lot more potent than what you may come across out there, but if it can keep it out of you then it’ll be more than suitable to keep you safe should you need to protect yourself from such. It will… hurt but since it is mine, I can draw it out of you if something does go seriously wrong.” He told me.

  “Alright.” I replied my eyes focused on the orb and not him. It was about the size of a bouncy ball which seemed small but it was coming from an elder demon so who knows how much was pact into it. The demon lord seemed to hesitate for a moment before sending it into my new mouth and I tried to do as he directed.

  I tried to swallow it. It was all kinds of painful, burning wrongness and it took three of my ‘tries’ to get it down but I eventually did it. It burned and tore a bloody path down my new throat all the way to my equally new stomach. The moment it got there, I promptly threw it up along with a surge of my own blood that splattered us both. The demon happily caught and gulped down the orb while I tried to hold back the tide of pain filled memories my blood and suffering had triggered.

  “Now that was ex –” He began but I abruptly cut him off.

  “Shut up.” I told him.

  “Come now there – ” He tried again.

  “Shut. Up.” I insisted, struggling with the memories and now a little voice at the back of my head that was telling me that he was just like them. That he had pretended to care just so he could get close and hurt me.

  “Samuel, is there something wrong?” He asked as my body started to tremble from the mental effort.

  “Yes.” I replied, managing not to let my voice crack.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “You can let me off this damn thing.” I told him as something hot and gritty started to fill my eyes.

  “I cannot do that just yet. You – ” He started to tell me, but I cut him off.

  “Then go away.” I snapped.

  “You cannot –”

  “Shut. Up. And. Go. Away.” I told him as the hot substance overflowed from my eyes to burn hot trail down the sides of my face.

  “Samuel, perhaps if I cleaned you up, you wou – ” He began only for me to cut him off again.

  “Don’t touch me.” I snapped.

  “But, Samuel – ” He sounded hurt.

  I didn’t care. They always sounded hurt. If not before, then after.

  “Don’t. Touch. Me.” I repeated.

  “Samuel…” More hurt. Still didn’t care. All I cared about was not drowning in my past.

  “Don’t touch me, shut up, and go way.” I told him.

  “Very well, Samuel. I’ll just leave this here in case you get hungry.” Was the last thing he said to me before something cold, wet, and heavy was placed onto my abdomen. Then I heard the clicking of his claws on the ‘not-ground’ as he finally left.

  I had a good idea what that cold, wet object was but I wasn’t hungry. That need was buried under the weight of pain that threatened to drown me.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  But…

  Just one. A different voice whispered in the back of my head. It wasn’t the dark one like earlier, it was mine. Just one more step. Just one more inch. Just one more moment. That was the mantra that helped me through all those years of abuse.

  Just one.

  I really should eat something, even though it would taste like ash in my mouth. Well, new mouth I corrected myself when I looked down and saw one of the hunks of heart meat from earlier laying on my abdomen. My new teeth/jaws were just under it, I all I had to do was just open them, make them part and it would fall in.

  Easy.

  I focused all of my attention on having them open, and they did. It felt I was trying to pull tar off my shoes, but they opened. Inch by agonizing inch. Then I felt something click in my head near the end and I found the meat sliding past them. The mouth automatically swallowed it, and the dense chunk of meat left a soothing trail down my new throat and took the edge off my barely felt hunger.

  No more ones~ the dark voice snickered, and I felt the tide of pain filled memories take me.

  I was eight again. Broken glass scrapping against my cheek as my current foster drunkenly took a swipe at me with a broken bottle.

  Ten. I felt the painful crack of my arm bones breaking as my newest foster parent grounded it into floor with a heavy boot.

  Seven. There was the sharp pain as the lit end of a cigarette was ground out on my skin as a ‘punishment’

  Ten again. This time it was the frying pan hitting my face. At least it wasn’t hot. This time.

  Twelve. Being kicked and beaten as I protected my foster brother from being raped by our care givers.

  Six. Being kicked in the stomach and thrown into a wall just before my birth parents were murdered in front of me. Blood flying.. so much --

  Thirteen. The touch of a knife as I slid it across my wrist just to get the pain to end. It didn’t work. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

  Seven again. More burns and this time they hit me too.

  Nine. Holding my foster sister’s broken body in my arms as our care givers were taken away.

  Fourteen. More blood this time as my nose was smashed by a bully.

  Fifteen. My blood was hot as it flowed out from between my fingers while my body grew cold. Foster mother coming out of hiding with my temporary siblings while our former father lay dead across from me, the same knife that stabbed me buried in his all to still chest.

  It was the first and last time I ever killed anyone.

  Do I have regrets?

  No.

  He was hell bent on killing them in a drug induce rage.

  I saved them. Perhaps now it will be over.

  It wasn’t. I lived. I ran from the system that fail me.

  But I couldn’t run from the past it gave me.

  More pain. More tears. More burns and blood.

  It all swirled around me, drag –

  lick.

  Something long, thin, and raspy dragged itself along my arm, leaving a fading trial of heat and wetness.

  Was that a pet? But we never had –

  lick

  The tongue came again, drawing me further out of my darkness. I could feel a familiar pair of long fingered hands holding my arm this time.

  Who was that? Why –

  lick

  The tongue came again, and I remembered.

  Gluttony.

  And with recognition came my most recent memory of ‘abuse’. Rage filled my heart, rocketing me up out of the dark and I found myself jolted upward off the counter.

  “I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO GO AWAY!” I yelled at him, not realizing that I was sitting now.

  “I can not.” He replied calmly as he let go of my arm so I wouldn’t hurt myself when I wrenched it away from him.

  “WHY!?”

  “Because you are leaking miasma and it is not mine.” He told me and his words hit me like a bucket of ice water.

  I looked down at myself and saw that I was covered in an inky, numbing blackness that oozed and clung to me like oil but thicker, stickier. It wasn’t like the other types of miasmas that I had encountered so far. This felt comfortable. Calming. Insidious.

  Fear gripped my heart as I tried to wipe it way, but it wouldn’t get off. What was worse, is that I saw where it was all coming from.

  My scars.

  They –

  I had my thoughts interrupted as I was hugged by a boney body.

  Look! See!? He does care! A brighter voice cheered for me. It was familiar. Liza. Then she started bickering with the dark one.

  Of course, she would, and I felt hot tears fill my eyes at the memory of her lost.

  Then my voice pushed them both aside.

  Just one. Just one more breath. Breathe.

  So, I took my own advice and took a big, shaky breath in. Along with it came the Demon’s scent.

  It was surprising. He didn’t smell like raw meat or offal or any other numerous, nasty things he could have smell like but didn’t.

  He almost smelled pleasant….

  And somehow familiar.

  I let the breath out and took in another, steadier one this time while focusing on the scent.

  Cardamon, Cloves

  So familiar....

  I let the breath out and took another

  Anise, Cinamon

  They were all spices.

  I let the breath out and took another

  Ginger, Oregano

  Herbs this time.

  I breathed out and took another. A distant memory started to niggle at me from the back of my mind.

  A bright one.

  A painful one.

  Flour, eggs

  Cooking ingredients. A pinch of pain from scraped knees and someone drying my tears. A woman’s voice.

  A kind voice.

  A loved one.

  I let it out and took another.

  Bread baking in the oven. Stew on the stove

  Food

  The clattering of cook ware. The sound of laughter and love.

  A small voice

  My voice.

  A big voice as gentle as a breeze

  Da.

  Strong arms held me up while a woman dabbed at the small cuts on my arms and feet.

  I had broken something.

  Something expensive.

  We were poor.

  They didn’t care.

  They just wanted me to be okay.

  “It’ll be alright, sweetie. Just let me clean you up, okay?” She told the small me.

  Mom.