MenchiKatsu

This is the second part of the 1st interlude it's...probably unnecessarily complicated. Anyway, this follows Newell for the last time. Again, not my typical fare and discretion is advised.

“That hit the spot,” the man in Newell’s ass sighed, pulling out.

“No lie,” the big man agreed as Newell collapsed onto the ground, coughing, and gagging as he curled into a ball, hands pulling his legs to his chest but eyes never leaving the big man’s hand. Newell hurt. Not just his ass, but his whole body ached. The burn was running strong through him, and his muscles screamed in response. His stomach churned and knotted as the withdrawals began to gnaw at his body. Newell vomited, a mix of blood, bile and cum spewing from his mouth in a violent stream. The big man deftly avoided the spreading puddle and glanced at his friend’s handiwork. “Damn! Ye ripped th’ ass right outta ‘im!”

“Huh?” The other man glanced down with a bemused grin. “Yea I did. Too much man for ‘im, I guess.”

“Here ye go, pally,” the big man said, prying open Newell’s clenched hands and removing the coins before dropping the bag onto the ground beside him. “Enjoy the rush, my man.” The big man straightened and chuckled. “See ye next week.”

It had taken Newell time to push his rectum back into his body and crawl back to his spot in the usual cistern, not bothering to pull up his ragged pants.  But as he opened his hands to reveal the cubes, he knew it had all been worth it. Even in the darkness, lit only by the flickering torches along the stone walls of the cistern, the cubes were easily visible.

Truly these were a new variety of Synthesia. A faint purple glow seeped from the small cubes in his hand which seemed to swirl with some kind of violet fog within the clear skin. Newell stared at the cubes in rapt interest for several long moments before popping the first into his mouth. He bit down and it was like a volcano erupting in his mouth.

The thin membrane burst apart, and the swirling purple liquid inside the cube spread throughout his mouth in a wave that burned and seared his gums, cheeks, and tongue like thick stew. He swallowed quickly and the river of purple fire flowed down his throat.

“Gah!” Newell gasped, body stiffening as the Synthesia reached his stomach. Newell rolled onto his side, fingers clenching and unclenching spasmodically. His legs jerked and inhuman sounds of intermingled agony and ecstasy were ripped from his throat. Finally the initial burn of the drug began to wear off and Newell’s muscles relaxed. His ragged breathing slowed and the world around him began to coalesce once more into the familiar sights and sounds Synthesia provided.

Newell sighed, running the tip of one boney finger along the rough stone of the cistern’s walls. Several feet away the cool water rushed by along the ancient tunnels. The water had taken on a cool and crisp light blue color despite the darkness surrounding him.

“Thirsty,” Newell whispered, staring at the water. He tried to stand but his legs would not cooperate, and he contented himself with dragging his body forward instead along the rough stone. Newell’s head lolled over the edge of the stone, and he stared into the stream of cool liquid. There was no indication how deep the water was. Ten feet? Fifty? A hundred? Newell had no idea.

Holding the other two cubes safely in one hand away from the river he tried to scoop up a handful of water with the other. His fingers, though, wouldn’t cooperate. The connection between his mind and his body was paper thin and no matter how hard he tried Newell couldn’t manage to gain the motor control necessary in the throes of the euphoria to keep the water in his hand.

“How are you, Newell?” A voice asked from behind him. Slowly, the muscles in his neck responding as if his head was submerged in molasses, he turned toward the voice. Newell blinked slowly at her, ignoring the fact his eyes had taken on a distinctive purple glow of their own.

She was beautiful. Her golden hair shown like the sun in the night, catching and reflecting the faint torchlight. Her body was thin and lithe and made even the ragged clothes draped about her frame look like royal finery. Her smile lit up the cistern and, though he couldn’t see them through the Synthesia haze and failing light, she had the most adorable smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks like fairy kisses on her pale skin.

“L-Lydia?” Newell managed, the sound of his own voice strange and slurred, as if dragged through a tunnel. He reached up with one partially clenched fist and tried to smooth his wispy hair with no real success. The muscles of his hand wouldn’t cooperate, and his thin and patchy hair was beyond salvaging at this point.

“Newell! You’re bleeding! What happened?” Lydia came forward a step, concern in her eyes. “Are you ok?” Shame colored his already flushed face a deeper shade of crimson and his softly glowing eyes searched for any object to focus on but the angel in rags before him.

How could he say he thought through the pressing oblivion of Synthesia ravaging his mind and scattering his thoughts to the winds? How could he tell Lydia how far he had sunk? How could he explain that the depths he had fallen to didn’t seem to have a floor and only kept going? He opened his mouth to speak but the words were a jumble, the increasing disconnect between his mind and his body growing more severe by the second.

“Newell?” Lydia took another step forward haltingly. “Newell, what’s happening to you? What’s happening to your eyes?”

“Eyes?” Newell mumbled, turning his softly glowing orbs toward her. Something was coming and his mind recoiled in horror. Something dark had been born in his consciousness. Like a monster it was rising in his thoughts, devouring all the parts of Newell that were left.

The person who had once played with his brother and sisters on the long docks jutting into the Shefsby River and helped his mother with her job washing linens was being eaten. His memories were being devoured. The shreds of emotion, the smatterings of humanity left to him were being consumed like a meager feast spread about on a humble table by the beast coming for him.

Newell’s glowing eyes widened in horror as Lydia’s face twisted and split apart before him. Her beautiful golden hair had become snakes whipping and snapping at the air atop her misshapen head. Her face ripped open along the lines of her fairy-kissed freckles, revealing a ravening monstrosity of blood, bone, and darkness. He was filled with revulsion at the sight of the bloody appendage stretched out toward him, the fingers tipped with claws bleeding venom which hissed and smoked as it fell to the ground and ate away at the stone.

“Nooo,” the word was torn from his ravaged throat as the monstrosity before him devoured Lydia, snuffing the only light which mattered to him in the underdark.

“Newell?” the beast said, its voice deep and dangerous.

“Kill it!” the monster seated at the table in Newell’s mind consuming what remained of the human he had been demanded.

“Please talk to me,” the beast that was devouring Lydia demanded. “Please let me help you, Newell!”

“It’s killing Lydia!” the monster in Newell’s mind screamed. “Help her! Kill it before it kills her!”

“H-Help…Lydia?” Newell mumbled in a daze.

“Yes! Newell! Let me help you! Take my hand!” the beast growled,

“Save her, now!” The monster in his mind screamed with apoplectic fury. Seemingly tired of Newell’s inaction the monster took it upon itself to seize control of the husk which remained of Newell Chapman. With a speed Newell wouldn’t have imagined he possessed he leapt from the ground, his palsied hands wrapping around the throat of the beast killing the only light which remained for him in the underdark.

“Help! Lydia!” Newell croaked, driving the beast back and to the ground. He squeezed the beast’s throat between his hands, trying desperately to stop it from devouring Lydia whole. He could stop it, the monster in his mind insisted. He could keep it from reaching her precious heart if he could stop it from expanding past her neck. To stop it from expanding he just had to hold on tightly enough.

The seconds ticked by, and the beast struggled against him, the snakes atop the beast’s head flailing desperately, snapping, and hissing furiously. The venomous claws ripped at his arms, the cavernous mouth begging him to stop. He was winning! He would save Lydia!

“Newell?” the voice said from the past. It was the voice of the gods to the small bits of the child inside Newell that still remained, however ravaged.

“M-Momma?” Newell mumbled in disbelief.

“Little tadpole, why do we wash the linens?” His mama’s voice asked, taking on a serious tone.

“T-To make them clean, mama,” Newell replied haltingly, his hands loosening about the beast’s neck slightly.

“That’s right, tadpole,” the voice agreed. “And why do we want the linens to be clean?”

“B-Because the world is dir-dirty enough and we ha-have to d-do our part to make it clean again mama?” Newell stammered.

“That’s right, baby,” the voice responded with a mix of pride and sadness. “Little tadpole, don’t make the world dirtier.” Newell blinked and stared down at Lydia lying on the floor of the cistern, staring up at him with desperate, pleading eyes. Newell flung himself backward with a scream of horror which echoed along the stone walls, drawing the attention of even the most lost of the denizens of the underdark.

“Dirty!” Newell screamed in anguish. Dragging himself away from Lydia’s form as she coughed and struggled for breath on the ground. “Dirty!” Newell screamed louder. “I am dirty!” Newell’s hands brushed against the remaining two cubes lying on the stone and his softly glowing eyes widened. With one movement Newell popped both cubes into his mouth and flung himself into the water flowing into the cistern behind him.

The flow of the water carried his ravaged body down and forward toward the darkness of the mouth of the cistern. Finally, he thought, I found the bottom of how far I could fall. Don’t worry, mama, Newell Chapman thought as he was dragged into the black depths, your tadpole will be clean again at last.