Cycle of Horror
The days blur together, a swirling vortex of pain, heat, and darkness. Time has no meaning in this place. Karreth loses track of how many times her body has been used, how many gnolls she has birthed. The world outside is a distant memory, a forgotten dream fading with each passing cycle.
She kneels, her body bowed under the weight of the chains, her skin slick with sweat, blood, and other fluids she can no longer name. The stench of her own body fills her nostrils, mingling with the oppressive scent of rot that hangs thick in the air. The gnolls are always there, always watching, always waiting. But it’s him, Yeenoghu, whose presence burns through her more than anything else. His shadow falls over her, and she can feel the cold leer of his eyes on her skin like claws, scraping. Always scraping.
He stands behind her, massive and relentless. His claws brush her neck, teasing, just before he forces himself inside her again, his grip on her jaw keeping her head held tight, her body helpless against his onslaught.
“Good girl,” he murmurs as she breathes through the pain, her muscles screaming in resistance. She cannot fight him. She cannot move. Her body belongs to him now.
And then the pain comes again: the sharp, intense pressure that tears at her insides, stretches her beyond her limits. She wants to scream, but the sound dies in her throat, a breathless, muffled cry as her body betrays her once more.
Yeenoghu watches her, a twisted satisfaction curling his lips as he thrusts deeper.
“You were made for this,” he says, his voice rough. He pulls back, only to slam into her again, his movements brutal and unforgiving. The gnolls cheer from the shadows, their voices a cacophony of jeers and howls.
Pain, endless and excruciating, becomes all Karreth knows. It all becomes a distorted lullaby she can never escape: the rhythm of his forceful thrusts, the burn of her insides, the excruciating weight of his body, the callousness in his touch. She loses track of the births, the faces of the gnolls, the cycle of violence. The only thing constant is the pain, the humiliation, the blood.
Her body gives, its own brutal rhythm in time with Yeenoghu’s. It cannot resist. It will not stop. Her stomach swells again. Another gnoll. Another child she does not want, another spawn of Yeenoghu’s foul seed. The pressure builds, unbearable, until her body finally expels the gnoll, the weight leaving her as the creature births into the world, its howl filling the chamber.
She falls forward, her legs weak beneath her, her body trembling from the exertion. Somebody pulls the gnoll from her, rough hands dragging it away as Yeenoghu’s satisfaction grows. He watches her, his gaze devouring her like a predator eyeing its prey, and for a moment, she dares to think that the cycle might stop. But it is not to be.
He stands over her, his claws digging into her hair, lifting her head.
“You will bear more. And faster. Your body will become… efficient.” His voice is cold, command seeping into every word. She wants to say no, to tell him it will never be enough, but her voice is gone, swallowed in blood and silence. She can only feel.
The pain recedes as her body adjusts, but it never truly ends. Another gnoll, another spawn, another cycle. Yeenoghu watches the birthing process, ice in his calculating eyes. And he figures out how to shorten the gestation.
At first, it’s small changes: slight shifts in his ritual, a touch of magic, his claws digging deeper and pressing into her abdomen. His touch, causing her body to grow faster, swell quicker. Then, the concept of time itself bends. Weeks? Days? Hours? It doesn’t matter.
She feels the next gnoll forming inside her far sooner than before. Her body, forced into submission, swells painfully. She feels it stretching, growing, twisting in response to Yeenoghu’s demands. She cannot stop it. Her own flesh becomes a vessel for his power, a tool for his whims. Yeenoghu watches her, a gleam in his eyes.
“You will bear them faster,” he says, softly, insidiously. “You will be efficient. You will serve me.” The weight of his words crashes over her like a tide, the full horror of what he’s turning her into sinking deeper into her soul. There is no escape. He has decided her fate: a tool, a vessel, a body to be used and abused.
A body that is no longer her own. It swells once again, far too quickly, the gnoll inside her pushing, pressing against her insides, demanding release. She cannot stop it. The pain is unbearable. The stress builds and builds until she screams silently, the agony washing over her as her body gives birth again. Another gnoll, born from the depths of her pain and humiliation.
Yeenoghu watches with cruel satisfaction, the gnolls growling and cheering, eager for the next cycle to begin. The ritual is never-ending. Always, there is more.
Another gnoll.
Another birth.
Time becomes a blur, a vicious grinding wheel that never slows.
Her body, swollen and aching, is a constant reminder of what she is now: nothing more than an incubator. A breeding tool for Yeenoghu’s army. Each birth blurs into the next. Each moment is indistinguishable from the last: the blood, the pain, the shame. She is not allowed to rest, not allowed to breathe. He has trained her body to obey, to give, to serve. And when she is spent, when she cannot bear another, he forces another cycle onto her.
She wishes she could die. She wishes for the end of this, but there is no end. There is only this: the unyielding cycle of rape and birth.
Her mind drifts as her body is pushed to its limits again, the agony of childbirth too familiar now. She no longer struggles. She no longer fights. She only feels. The gnolls swarm as her body gives way again and again, until she cannot remember the number of births. The number of gnolls.
Time has no meaning here. Only the endless, unyielding cycle of horror.
The pain intensifies.
Each time Yeenoghu forces himself into her, the pressure builds quicker, sharper. His thrusts are relentless, as if he seeks to tear her apart, to break her open faster, to make her body more than it is, more than it should be. Every inch of her being screams in agony, but she cannot move. The chains dig deeper into her wrists, her wings tugged painfully behind her, pinned to the stone. She cannot escape.
Yeenoghu’s claws rake across her back, tearing into her skin, marking her as his. He snarls in her ear, his voice low and vicious: “Faster. You’ll give me more. More.”
He forces himself deeper, his power pushing into her with brutal force. Her body jerks with each thrust, the agony multiplying as he forces her to stretch further than before. She can barely breathe through the pain, the heat of his body suffocating her, crushing her with every movement. She bites her lip, but the blood, the lack of its taste, everything, nothing matters anymore. Nothing but the pain.
Her stomach swells again, but this time it is different. The gnoll pushes against her walls too quickly, too violently. She cannot hold it. The strain is unbearable, and she feels her body start to tear, the pain so acute it makes her vision blur. But it doesn’t stop. Yeenoghu’s claws dig into her hips, holding her still as her body strains against the violent force.
“Good,” he growls. “Good girl. You will serve.” The gnoll inside her presses, relentless, its birth imminent, and Karreth’s breath hitches as her body gives way. But this time, the pain isn’t the worst part. No, the worst part is the knowledge that it will never stop. This is her existence now. She is a vessel, broken and reshaped by him.
The gnoll claws its way out, howling as it’s violently pulled from her, its fur slick with her blood. The chains snap tight around her limbs, holding her in place, but her mind is far away. Her thoughts scatter like ash in the wind, each one fleeting, too fragile to grasp. Her body no longer reacts with terror defiance. It simply gives. The exhaustion is overwhelming. She has nothing left to fight with.
Yeenoghu smiles, satisfied, as he watches the next gnoll take shape inside her. He leans in, his hot breath against her ear.
“More. Faster. I need them quicker.” Karreth’s mind retreats. It doesn’t fight anymore. The agony is constant, a rhythmic pulse, but she cannot feel it as sharply as before. Her mind begins to fragment, breaking apart like glass shattering against stone. She lets herself drift. What is the point in holding on when nothing changes?
Her body reacts before her mind can even comprehend what’s happening. The gnoll inside her shifts, presses, demands to be birthed. The contractions start, heavy and cruel, and she doesn’t even scream. She has no voice, no strength left to give. The pain consumes her, but it is a dull ache now, a background hum in a room that grows darker with every cycle.
She looks up, but Yeenoghu is not there. The gnolls, too, are faded shapes in the corners of her vision. She doesn’t see them anymore. She doesn’t see anything clearly. Everything is a blur—a haze of pain, wet fur, and the burning hunger inside her.
Another birth. Another gnoll.
Her body heaves and shudders, the gnoll clawing its way out, and Karreth numbs herself to the sensation. The agony fades to an echo. It comes in waves, yes, but they are not sharp, not like they were before. They have blurred together like ink bleeding on water, fading. Her world is a constant ache, and the only thing that keeps her tethered to reality is the relentless pressure inside her, the weight of the gnoll pushing against her walls until it tears free. And then it’s done.
Somebody yanks the gnoll from her, its cries harsh and guttural, but she does not hear them. She doesn’t want to. She’s too far gone. The world fades into an empty, monotonous rhythm. Yeenoghu watches her, eyes burning with cold satisfaction, but Karreth doesn’t see the hunger anymore. She sees only darkness.
“More.”
His command is sharp, cold, a strike to her tired bones. She feels the swell inside her again, feels her body stretching, expanding, but the pain is far away now, a distant echo. She can barely comprehend it. The gnoll moves inside her, faster than before. Faster, faster, faster! It’s an alien sensation and her body betrays her yet again. It is only a body now, nothing more. It obeys. It moves. It gives. The ache comes, but it is muted, dulled.
Time doesn’t exist anymore.
Her head feels like it’s full of smoke. It drifts. Her eyes blink, but they feel heavy, too heavy. The room shifts. She tries to focus. She wants to fight, wants to feel something other than this unyielding, endless pull of his power. But there’s nothing. There is only him and her and the gnolls that grow inside her faster, too fast.
She sways, the dark blur of figures moving around her, and Yeenoghu is there again, his claws on her skin. He digs into her neck, pulling her head back to look at him. His sharp, cruel grin leers down at her.
“You’ll be efficient. You’ll give me everything.”
The gnoll pushes again, and this time she doesn’t even flinch. It presses, stretching her, tearing her apart once more, but Karreth’s mind is already fading, drowning in the depths of the endless cycle: the blood, the sweat, the gnolls, the births,
Nothing.
Everything blurs.
A gnoll is born, a howl fills the air.
She doesn’t feel it.
She doesn’t care anymore.