Work Text:
Her hope blossomed for a moment as the door cracked open - only to reveal the barrel of a shotgun, rather than a friendly face.
“Stop…shouting!” Iulian growled. “You’ll draw the monsters!”
She didn’t have time for this. She’d hoped that some rescue would come - when, instead, Papa’s condition had worsened, she’d had to get them inside Luiza’s gate herself. Now, impatience overtook her fear and made her bold.
“For god’s sake, Iulian, let us in! My father will die out here!”
He took a threatening step forward, brandishing the gun in a clear indication of intent to protest further, when Luiza appeared in the shadows behind him, stopping him.
Finally, Elena sighed in relief. They would be safe inside. Surely?
Elena burst out the window, hacking and gasping, and collapsed to her knees on the balcony. She knew it was still too close to the fire - she’d have to make it out to the Fallow Plot and hope the monsters were gone - but she couldn’t breathe.
The villager wasn’t sure if it was from inhaling so much smoke, or choking on her tears.
I…I shot my father. She tried to blink her tears free, but her vision stayed blurred. He’d…turned, hadn’t he? He’d started the fire? It was only because she’d acted quickly that…she’d…
Another shuddering gasp escaped her lips. Elena knew, hearing the screams behind her die out in the flames, that she was the last survivor of her village.
No. Papa.
Trembling, she climbed to her feet, fighting not to stumble on shaky footing, and finished her precarious climb off the burning building. There was no way she was the last one. Her father was not dead. Someone else had to be out there. Someone who hadn’t gone to Luiza’s house. They would know what to do.
About when she reached the gate, she remembered - there was one person she’d forgotten. Unfortunately, they were screaming.
Elena scrambled to unlatch the gate, hearing the gunshots on the other side.
“Hrk—wait! Please!”
She shoved the bar to the side, holding her breath and shoving her weight against the large gate.
“Mother Miranda…!”
Elena made it out to the plot just in time to watch the figure - tall, imposing, clad in black raven’s feathers, snap Iulian’s neck. His last breath escaped his lips…she couldn’t help but think of it as pitifully. Had that been how her father had sounded when she’d shot him? She hadn’t heard, not over the screams and the ringing of the gunshot.
Iulian’s body from the figure’s grip as she turned and - laughing - stalked off down the field. Elena Lupu knew who it was, of course. That, rather than watching Iulian’s murder, was why she was frozen in place, petrified. Elena had been raised from birth in the village to worship the murderer.
Mother Miranda.
But no. That couldn’t be. It didn’t make any sense, Mother Miranda had always protected the people of Elena’s village. She would never let this harm befall them, much less perpetrate it to one of their own. They had pledged their lives, the faith of the very village, to Mother Miranda’s name and glory.
Elena found her feet carrying her forward, still stumbling on uneven footing, soot and blood staining her skin and quaint attire. She almost tripped on Iulian’s corpse when she shuffled into him. Then she almost retched.
She was finally shaken out of her stupor by the roar. It was followed by a dozen others in short order. The monsters.
THE MONSTERS.
She scrambled, ducking into the reeds, and crawled towards the scarecrow, as a squad of lycans - more than she dared count - sprinted up the field towards the remains of Luiza’s house.
Elena didn’t have the presence of mind to know it, but she had stood over Iulian’s corpse, frozen, for much longer than she realized, well over an hour. The fire in Luiza’s house wasn’t out when the lycans stormed up Fallow Plot, but it had dampened to the point that they had no qualms with moving in to get started on their work.
She was too terrified to run. They would outrun her on foot. There was nowhere she knew to hide - Luiza’s house was the last safe place she knew. Thoughts of finding other survivors fled, dominated by the sheer terror of knowing she was dead. They were going to catch her, and she was going to die.
Elena stayed crouched in the reeds.
She watched as the monsters came back out through the gate, carrying charred lengths of wood, which they laid on the ground outside Luiza’s ruins. They didn’t look her way - or if they did, they didn’t notice her peering at them through the reeds from just by the scarecrow.
The lycans went back in.
When they came out next, some were carrying tools - a hammer? Nails? The monsters used tools? - while others had blackened husks, vaguely human shaped, brown and red. Corpses. The villagers.
Elena’s hand flew over her mouth, keeping a scream, a sob, her last meal, her breath from escaping. Were…any of those husks her father? They were bringing even more out. She watched with horror as they nailed boards together in crosses, then affixed a charred corpse to each, creating grotesque scarecrows.
Elena stayed crouched in the reeds.
I should run, she argued to herself. I should go now, while they’re distracted. Sneak away. Hide in the church, maybe. But they had come past the church on their way to the Plot, surely they would check inside? And then what, try to make it to the castle? There was nothing for her there but blood and death.
The monsters took their burned scarecrows, stalked into the reeds, and planted them in the ground. They started near the gate, first, then spread towards the north - away from Elena, thankfully.
I can’t fight them, she acknowledged, tears dripping down her cheeks and onto her fingertips, which were still clenched over her lips. The village is still full of monsters. There’s too many. I can’t run. I can’t—
She froze.
One of the monsters, carrying a char scarecrow - one of her dead friends - was approaching. It was going to plant the stake near her. Elena held her breath, willing her tears to stop making her shake, not even daring to think. She could smell it.
The monster looked left, and then right. It lifted the wooden spike above, then roared and plunged it down into the ground.
Just a couple meters away from her.
She’d jumped when it roared - they were so loud - but now, shaking, squeezed her eyes closed in relief. If sighing hadn’t been so perilous, she would’ve let one out.
It didn’t see me, she thought. It doesn’t know I’m here. It’s just planting another scarecrow. The relief washed over her, doing little to dissipate the fear.
Elena opened her eyes, fresh tears leaking out, to see the monster less than a meter away. It was looking at her.
She screamed.
To Elena’s credit, she did try to run. The lycan didn’t catch her right away. It took about four seconds.
Elena tripped, her ankle still recovering from twisting during her escape from Luiza’s house, and the monster pounced on her before she’d finished falling to the ground. She twisted, still screaming, and managed to fight her way onto her back, kicking and clawing to get the monster off. It pawed at her, finally getting a grip on the front of her sweater by digging its claws in - the sharpened points just barely missed piercing her skin.
She winced. Any second now, she knew she’d feel the sting, and she’d be bit. Or maybe dead instantly. She’d seen the monsters do both.
Neither came.
Trembling, she forced herself to open her eyes. They almost shut again, seeing the crazed glowing eyes of the creature above her, pinning her, but she tried to stay strong. She was not dead. It hadn’t killed her. Yet.
Tears blurred her vision, so she shifted her head up off the ground a fraction to blink them out of her way. Then she noticed the other monsters…they were prowling closer. Watching. Not attacking. Why weren’t they attacking?
Elena opened her mouth to say something. Nobody had tried communicating with the monsters, not after they’d turned…mostly because, from what she’d seen, nobody had lived long enough to try reasoning with one of them. All that came out were stammers. Terror and dread gripped at every inch of her being as she sat up, bit by bit, propping herself up on her elbows. This moved her closer to the creature, into its grip, but it just stared at her, unblinking.
The monster exhaled, and the stench of its breath brought her back to reality.
“Wh-what do you…” She managed that much, at least. Unfortunately, speaking to the thing seemed to provoke it. The monster laid an oversized deadly hand on her shoulder, the other still firmly clawed through her clothes, and shoved.
The force of its push was far beyond what she could resist. She fell back against the dirt, wind knocked out of her, and tried to gasp. A chill ran down her body, the breeze and ashy air suddenly much more prominent against her skin.
My…skin? Elena blinked through blurry vision. Above her, the monster was still crouched, snarling, her sweater clumped up in its hand, pierced by its claws. Elena gaped at the clothing in its grasp.
It was no longer attached to her.
She peered down her nose. Her sweater had been torn open, of course, but her shirt beneath it was ripped as well. Several buttons were missing, leaving torn fragments of cloth strewn over her skirt.
Some part of her wanted to assign some meaning, a fresh horror, to this development, but the rest of her was too bewildered. Elena was too shocked to make sense of her new state of partial undress. It was when the monster stalked forward, still crouched, so that it was directly over her body, that it started to click. Elena, on her back against the ground, stared up at the creature, watching as red veiny flesh protruded from a furry sheath between the abomination’s legs, throbbing and growing larger by the second.
It hit her like an avalanche. Oh god, she thought. Not “it.”
“He.”
He descended on her.
Elena wasn’t completely naïve, of course. She was pure, following the teachings of Mother Miranda and saving herself in devotion (not that anyone had really caught her eye anyway). But she wasn’t stupid. Even if Papa hadn’t needed help with the farm animals every now and again, giving her an incidental close-up of some undesirable anatomy, she’d been well educated, in her estimation.
So she knew what the rapidly expanding growth between the grotesque horror’s legs was. What Elena didn’t understand was why.
As the sounds of the other half dozen or so lycans stalked ever closer, Elena found herself caught in the monster’s grasp just moments after she resumed trying to scramble away. A few claws found scraped her skin as he wrestled to hold her still, grabbing at her clothing - am I bleeding? Is that enough to turn me? Elena didn’t know. She had more pressing worries.
Another scream welled up in her throat as the monster tore at her shirt. Terror gripped her heart when his sharpened fingers aimed for it, and she pictured him piercing her chest right through her heart, killing her…but instead, his clawed fingers gripped her chest.
Elena’s breath caught.
Then he squeezed, and her breath slipped out as a whimper.
The tears hadn’t ever really stopped flowing, but they renewed their efforts, wetting her cheeks and washing away the ash and soot that had blanketed her just recently. The lycan made quick work of her top, shredding the bloodied and burned fabric until it hung loosely on her shoulders, leaving nothing covered. She shuddered and sobbed, thoroughly unable to differentiate shivers caused by the chill from shivers caused by the dread.
He took an oversized hand, placing it against her forehead, then bent down - God, his breath stinks, the thought somehow bubbled through her fear. Elena’s eyes widened as he opened his mouth wider, showing off his deformed and bloodied array of fangs, still vaguely human even in their canine transformation.
The monster’s mouth reached her chest, drool and blood dripping on her exposed skin. Elena barely had time to whimper again before his jaw closed, his misshapen teeth biting her nipple. The village girl shrieked, and the other lycans’ footsteps grew louder.
She knew they could bite harder than that. They’d bitten clean through bone before, and - she was relieved to note - her nipple was still attached to her small breast. When he unlatched his mouth from her torso and scampered forward, faster than she could react, and pulled her head towards his still enlarging member, a theory shone through the panic, bubbling to the surface of her mind.
Elena’s education had been quaint, though she knew little of any alternative, but she was still versed well enough in human anatomy, as mentioned. It wasn’t from her usual lessons that she understood her predicament, however. It was from her duty to the village.
Her responsibility hadn’t started that long ago. It’d been explained to her that Mother Miranda needed her believers calm, managed, unburdened by bothersome emotions that might distract from their devotion to Mother Miranda. And so Elena would take up a role in her village to help unburden them, to free them from their frustrations and anxieties, and in doing so provide a great service to Mother Miranda herself. These duties had fallen to Roxana before - but with her betrothal, the job had been passed on to Elena.
Elena’s job was simple. Each day, she visited various members of her village community, inquiring as to who had been most frustrated, most anxious, most distracted, most in need of relief. Those who had been true and strong in their devotion to the Black God and Mother Miranda, but were suffering a temporary lapse in communal contribution, were the ones she was most fervently recommended to attend. Then, Elena was to tend to their physical needs, using her hands, her lips, her tongue, and any other part of her body deemed necessary to alleviate the villagers’ woes.
Like all jobs, it had its good days and bad ones. She’d quite liked visiting Josef Simon, for example - the gardener who’d seen to Donna Beneviento’s estate, until he’d disappeared abruptly one day. Travelling over the valley to visit him had felt more like an adventure than work. Except when she’d had to service him at the luthier’s house in the village instead. But there had been other pleasantries, like Vasile, Luiza’s husband, who had always treated Elena with gratitude and kindness during her work. Or Sebastian, whom Elena had almost started to fancy -
The memory of Sebastian interrupted Elena’s drifting thoughts, a vision of her father, consumed by his transformation into a monster, ripping the boy’s throat with his bare hands. The present barreled into her mind, reminding her about her predicament, about the lycan’s too-strong hands pulling her head towards his shaft. She kept her lips pressed shut as the misshapen flange mashed against her mouth, and shuddered as something slimy oozed from the tip. The girl knew, with just a bit more effort, the creature could’ve pulled her head clean off her neck. Instead, he used this strength to try to force her. He jabbed at her face, thrusting his hips, the gunk-covered protrusion rubbing against her cheek, nose, and lips.
This, she thought to herself in a kind of numb horrified resignation, is all too familiar.
Not all of her job had been pleasant. Or even tolerable. For one thing, she wasn’t a huge fan of the taste, the smells, or the sensations of feeling peoples’ fluids on her skin - much less inside her, on the less common occasions that had been warranted. The terrible stretching and squeezing feelings had tested her patience and faith to their limits. And all of that wretchedness had proven common among some of the villagers she’d had to serve.
Iulian, of course - she tried not to think about his corpse, only ten or so meters away - had been far too pushy. She’d been happy to serve him, in the name of Mother Miranda, even taking his penis in her mouth as often as she could stomach it. That hadn’t stopped him from gleefully depositing his seed on her tongue, or even once - blech! - in her hair! Or Anton the alcoholic oaf, who, in his endless drunken stupor, had constantly pushed her around like a straw doll, usually bruising her in the process. She’d lost her purity to him, during one of his binges. Even filthy elders, like old Stan, who’d lived in the middle of the village, had been better to her than that. Sure, their bodies were wrinkly and unkempt, but they’d treated her as more than just flesh.
Of course, Elena’s current assailant was neither well-groomed nor kindly. He roared, spittle and blood flying from his ragged fangs into her face as he leaned over her, and - unable to distract herself any longer - she screamed, terrified. He took this opportunity to shove his bulging member past her lips.
As the wretched taste invaded her mouth, Elena briefly considered biting down. She quickly abandoned the notion, however - these monsters were more durable than her jaw strength, and even just feeling the meat fill her mouth, she knew she’d do no harm. Risking angering the beast would accomplish nothing - and what would she do then, anyway? The sounds and shadows of other monsters encircling her reminded the poor girl of just how futile her hopes were.
So Elena lay there, back separated from the dirt ground by nothing more than the tattered remains of her sweater, red bite marks encircling one breast while drool, blood, ash, sweat, and tears flowed freely down her face and onto her collarbones, with the massive canine cock of a lycan probing her mouth, grinding against her tongue. He kept her head just off the ground with one paw, his other dug into the earth next to her head, while his legs kept her immobilized. His grey bruised skin, looking more rotted than living, pressed against her as he pounded at her mouth, desperately trying to sink deeper into her. Elena kicked fruitlessly, struggling to breathe, to press his member away from her throat, to buy just a few more seconds of precious air before he plugged her up entirely. The girl noted, with some discomfort, that his penis didn’t taste nearly as different from a man’s as it looked - a disquieting reminder that her assailant was, likely until quite recently, human.
Of course, this pressure - applied with her tongue against the underside of his shaft - only served to egg him on, and a moment later, she felt the revolting sensation of his penis throb, shooting a single spurt of gel against the back of her throat. Elena had experience with this before (the villagers had shared copious amounts of precum with her, over the months of her service), but the stuff that now graced the back of her tongue was pungent, goopy, and altogether a much worse experience than any discharge the villagers had graced her with before.
She heaved, failing to retch, and in doing accidentally permitted the lycan to gain another inch of purchase into her mouth. Sobs were stifled by the plug in her hole, but her body shook with the force of her crying nonetheless.
From the approaching circle of beasts, another lycan suddenly stalked forward, moving like a predator going in for the kill as it bent over her crumpled frame. One clawed hand - crusted with dark blood, veiny and grey in the gaps - snaked over her exposed tit, while its - his, she corrected - while his face drew nearer to hers, a long tongue flicking past his wicked teeth. The disgusting beast licked at her face, wiping up her tears. Though the act only made her produce even more.
This was, of course, the realization she’d come to, as another lycan moved forward, stimulating itself carefully with a hand (so as to not scratch its - his cock). The villagers knew Elena. They knew there was already an established way to take out their aggression and rage on the girl, a way that was unlike the usual violence and combat that normally channeled their aggression. These monsters were clearly all boy monsters, and they’d kept through their transformation an instinct, a habit, as for how to deal with preying on Elena.
By fucking her.
A few minutes later, while Elena was desperately wishing the ungodly beasts would do less to remind her of how close to human they were (she even found herself wishing their penises were more like the dogs she’d seen on the farm, so as to at least not be reminiscent of the ones she’d serviced at work), her original lycan rapist finally managed to get a thrust at the right angle, and shoved his cock down her throat, cutting off her air supply.
Elena’s eyes bulged. A part of her was relieved; if she couldn’t breathe, surely she would asphyxiate and pass out, and at least the suffering would end. Another part of her grew more terrified; if she died, would they stop?
Most of her was simply too panicked to ponder.
The girl flailed, trying to twist her breast out of the grip of one lycan, kick another away, push the one on top of her off, to get any of them to STOP. Fruitlessly. As wiry dark grey hairs tickled her lips, her throat constricting his repulsive member, her assault only grew in intensity. The monster who had been licking tears off her cheek moved down to gnaw on her arm, while another took his place and rubbed his cock on her forehead. It leaked a positively filthy amount of precum on her, staining her skin and filling her nostrils with the worst cacophony of smells.
She gagged and spluttered, a mix of saliva and wolfen precum dribbling up and past her lips. Any time the tears didn’t blur her vision beyond recognition, all she saw was rotting flesh, wolf hair, and those terrible, glaring glowing eyes, so violent and unholy. Once, she blinked away tears just to see a penis, somewhere between red knotted and human decayed, dripping goo on her; she managed to squeeze her eyes shut just before it splatted against her eyelid. The next time her eyes opened, her vision was growing dark at the edges. The lycan’s penis hadn’t budged from her throat - how long has it been, ten seconds? - and her air was nearly depleted.
The ground shook.
If Elena’s mouth hadn’t been occupied with zombie-lycan dick, she would have gasped, or possibly shrieked, but as it was she could only tense. There was a horrible shaking sensation in the earth beneath her, as all of the monsters froze and looked up at something. Slowly - almost unbelievably - they retreated, moving slightly away from her, though not nearly enough to give her room to escape. All except the lycan who had found her, who instead pulled his cock just to the edge of her lips, his tip remaining inside her.
The village’s sole survivor gasped for air, drawing a breath in through her nose, trying to pull her head back to escape the invading cock. When that failed, she turned her eyes as far as she could strain them, following the gaze of the horrible creature poised above her.
What she saw was a terror. A man - or, no, another one of the monsters? - tall as a tree, wider than a truck, with a beard probably longer than she was from head to toe. He was peering down at her with the same pair of enraged glowing eyes, as though her very existence was an insult that he barely held himself from violently purging.
He took up half the plot on his own.
Slowly, Elena sat up - inadvertently slipping another fraction of lycan cock past her lips, though she was too addled and shocked to notice. Taking in his full image, the girl noticed something that made her predicament, somehow, even worse: This newcomer had a bulge in his pants.
It was thicker than she was.
She tried to shake her head, frantically, though she was still mostly immobilized, rooted by the shaft in her mouth. The monstrosity towering above them gave a nonverbal order, and the lycans leapt into action, pulling Elena off the ground and dragging her through the reeds. Oh, she fought valiantly, twisting to and fro, stabbing her feet at them, screaming…but Elena couldn’t have physically overpowered any one of the villagers before they’d turned. Her fight was inconsequential to the monsters.
They moved her over to the log fence at the edge of the plot, tears streaming down her cheeks with renewed force as they clawed and tore her skirt to shreds, leaving her in nothing but her shawl. With a yelp, she was flung over the log fence, which hit her stomach and knocked her breath out again. She gasped, bent over, and tried to sit up. A clawed hand, slick with blood (and another substance she couldn’t, wouldn’t, identify) pressed against her back, pinning her to the wood. Elena struggled to inhale, choking as her diaphragm was pressed, and looked up just in time to realize her mistake:
In front of her was one of the many lycans who’d encircled her. This one was furiously pumping its meat in a clawed hand, scratching its shaft in the process…and bent over the fence as she was, Elena’s gaping mouth was lined up perfectly with his oversized manmeat.
Before she could snap her jaw shut, he thrust his member past her open lips, grabbed her tied-up hair in his other hand, and began to thrust unceremoniously, choking her as he spurted a torrential wave of wolf-sperm into her mouth and down her throat.
Elena genuinely wasn’t sure what the worst part was, as this overexcited lycan pounded her mouth with inhuman speed and force. He was literally smashing his body against her face, to the extent that she felt certain that each painful thrust would break her nose, but that wasn’t a contender for the worst part.
What was worse was one of the things going on in Elena’s mouth. In his excited self-stimulation, the monster had clawed his own cock to bits, scratching bleeding cuts onto his shaft, which now bled onto Elena’s tongue with each throb of his penis. She could already feel slick coppery blood coating her lips, dribbling down her face as he jackhammered into her - her hair was starting to rip out of her scalp from the force of his pushes and pulls.
So it was the blood, or the sperm, that caused Elena the most anguish. His semen tasted more human than she’d expected, yet again, but much more foul - its stench and flavor simply more potent than anything the villagers had produced for her when they’d been human. It was thicker as it hit her tongue, but with more watery discharge spraying during each spurt, splashing against the roof of her mouth or the back of her throat, given the speed of his pounding.
The mixture of blood and semen filled her mouth in mere seconds, and the smell was overpowering. It was going to come out her nose. Elena, screaming into the cock, swallowed a mouthful of bloody wolf spunk with a gulp, and it washed down the bile that had been rising in her throat. A few seconds later, a new mouthful flooded in to replace it; she swallowed that one, too. And the next one.
If I don’t keep swallowing, it’ll come out on my face, she reasoned to herself. Then it’ll never go away. The last wispy fragments of lucidity clung to her consciousness, barely making sense, but she held on to them desperately anyway. The overwhelming horror of her village’s deaths, of her grotesque rape, of her imminent defilement, threatened to eradicate anything sane in her mind and leave her only with the madness and pain, so she clung to any sensible thoughts in her head and let them fill her with a strange sort of purpose. Survive.
She swallowed another mouthful, and immediately felt her cheeks bulge with the next load. Will he never run out of semen? Or blood? As this next concoction of coppery dark blood and salty wolf goop overflowed her tongue, bathing her teeth and uvula - but before she could swallow - her predicament worsened yet again.
A different lycan’s claw grabbed her hair, robbing her head from her oral rapist’s grip. With a yank that tore a good third of her ponytail from her head, she felt her body pulled back, rubbing against the rough unsanded wood (she would have felt splinters pierce her stomach, had she not already been near blacking-out from pain). Elena was pulled directly into a monster’s rock-hard inhumanly large cock, which had been aimed perfectly to penetrate her.
The monster behind her pressed his rotting thighs against her soft smooth ones, squeezing her against the fence, and thrust forward. As Elena’s internal organs were compressed, squished by the invading flesh, and her body was pressed into the fence, she coughed, forcefully, and her mouthful of gunk shot past her lips, out her nose, and onto her face (and the lycan’s cock before her).
She tried to scream, but the yell was gagged by another forceful pound of penis into her mouth, now coated with her own snot, zombie-wolf ejaculate, and old blood. Her sanity fractured, taking another step towards madness, as the lycan behind her picked up pace and defiled her pussy, gushing precum inside of her.
Elena felt certain she was going to be literally torn in half by the lycan behind her. She began to black out from the pain.
When Elena awoke, she was surprised to realize she felt…numb. Like the understanding that she was conscious again hit her before any actual sensation or awareness, leaving her just to float on a cloud of nothingness, incorporeal—
Then it hit. Feeling, reality, the present moment, all came rushing back. She was…on her back, now, her spine grinding excruciatingly against the rotted old log on top of the fence. The curve of her back wrapped around the wood, and she felt something slippery - her own blood?… - gently lubricating her skin against the fence. Matted clumps of hair coated her body, some of it feeling wiry, others long strands stuck together with something gelatinous. Shudders began to roll across her body, her skin prickling with goosebumps.
Another thrust, and the nerves of her lower half screamed into her mind, alerting her to a fresh hell of torturous pain. Her legs were mostly numb, split and forced apart by several strong grips, but between them, there was a horrible ripping sensation. She felt full, stuffed, like someone had taken to her organs with a scythe and replaced them with Stan’s peach jelly. There was a horrid friction down there, too - her lucidity whispered that it was another monster’s penis, but she tried to ignore it. Something dripped out of her body with every thrust, running down her butt cheeks, dribbling over her thighs…
Her upper half wasn’t faring much better. Something warm was in her hair, more and more. There was a terrible gash on her right arm, and some skin dangled free - her fight had gone out, of course, so that arm hung limply to her side, almost touching the ground. Her breasts were covered in bite marks, which she could barely make out between various clawed decrepit hands mashing them between their fingertips. Worse than the scratches and bite marks was the realization of what, exactly, was matting the torn hair to her skin (most of which, she now realized, was hair from the monsters). Semen. Loads upon loads worth of semen.
She retched, and her head hung backward, sending her vision upside-down as she hung over the fence. The flow of bodily fluids on her face - tears, spittle, semen, precum, snot, bile, blood - reversed direction and dripped back up her face, what of it hadn’t dried or gotten caught in her eyelashes. One of her eyelids was glued shut, she realized with some dejection. She heaved, but her body was too weak to expel anything further.
Or perhaps, Elena thought with a muted creeping dread, something’s keeping it all down. The gooey wetness she had felt on top of her head was another spurting cock, which had been spraying her now-slightly-patchy scalp with another generous helping of wolfen batter, but now with her head tilted back once more, instead coated her face with a fresh layer.
No sooner could she splutter than a lycan pushed her painter out of the way, the new monster’s cock already at the ready. He wrapped his fingers around her neck, the sharp tips posing a pointed threat, and slipped his man-meat into her now well-lubricated mouth. Elena had only a fraction of a second to gasp in through her nose (getting as much gunk as air in the process) before her throat was plugged, his zombified shaft slipping directly past the back of her mouth, distending her neck with its girth. She fought to inhale the barest gasps of oxygen as he pummeled her, only succeeding enough to claw her way into continued consciousness.
The demon at her legs pounded at her with extra force, crumpling her body slightly, and she felt his intruding member throb, dumping another load deep into her body. She felt bloated already. A lycan bit at her tit, and she screamed around the dead flesh in her mouth. With a hint of relief, the poor girl felt the monster who’d inseminated her leave her body - decompressing her insides significantly in the process - only to squeal when a new shaft thrust its way into her a moment later.
Is that one bigger?
White crept into the edges of her vision. Her vagina was surely tearing, she reasoned to herself. These creatures were inhuman, she struggled to think, and there had to be no way a regular human could take this kind of abuse from them.
Between thrusts from the lycan at her face, she glanced to her sides, in a feeble attempt to get her bearings. Elena was met with the sight of not five or six of the monsters, as she had estimated surrounded her before - though she’d been far too occupied (and terrified) to actually take count - but dozens of the beasts.
She couldn’t see Luiza’s house through the crowd. It felt as though the whole village had come to use Elena, the Village Stress Relief, one more time. Several stood over her, jacking off and depositing their seed on her belly and chest, but most just prowled or perched, glaring at her, waiting to prey on her flesh. Of course, above them all towered the gargantuan bearded devil, who…
Elena closed her non-glued eye and bore the pain for a moment. The white was still creeping in at her vision, threatening to knock her back into unconsciousness, but she fought against it. The girl was not wholly certain that if she drifted off again, she would definitely wake up. For all she knew, if she gave into the pain, it’d be the last thing she’d do. So Elena kept her eyes closed - one by choice, the other stuck shut by semen - and focused. She bore the pain of the undead monster between her legs, jackhammering into her pussy and building up another load of goo. She tolerated the ocean of hands, tongues, crooked bloody teeth, claws, and cocks assaulting every inch of her body, bent backward around the log fence. She struggled against the suffocation, inhaling tiny gasps of air with every thrust of foreign flesh that penetrated her throat - and once she’d gathered what remained of her wits, she forced one eye open again.
To look at the mountain of a monster.
He had disrobed, and was now stroking a penis that, now fully erect, she realized she had misjudged. It was massive. Larger than Elena’s body in height and girth. Had the girl’s reaction been anything more than paralysis, she would have been relieved - there was simply no way a cock of that size could penetrate her body, in any way, without killing her, freeing her from the pain that would ensue. She would have only hoped that it’d kill her before she’d have to feel it damage her - but, again, she felt only paralysis at the sight.
She closed her eye again.
Another load in her pussy. A claw dug into her thigh, then a set of teeth. Elena wondered, dully, how long it would take her to turn - if they would stop when she turned, or if she would just die.
Another fresh coat of semen on her face, down her throat. Her stomach was full. She gagged.
A roar.
Elena opened her eye. A roar?
It was deafening. Finding her own voice, Elena screamed, hoarse from being defiled down her throat by countless beasts…all of whom now retreated. With a wet plop, her current assailants exited her body, wiped their cocks on her skin and hair, and backed away from her, stalking low to the ground, watching.
The villager tried to sit up. Her right arm was useless, and her legs weren’t responding to her - she dangled over the fence, vision swimming upside-down.
Come on, Elena. You’re stronger than this. You just have to sit up.
She knew it wouldn’t matter - the whole village was dead, or trying to use her body. But she gathered up what was left of her willpower, and used it to curl, raising her head just above the horizon. This let her look up at the enormous phallus looming over her, just in time to see the giant shudder.
His cock jumped in his hand. Then he tilted it down, aiming it right at her.
Elena’s jaw dropped. This turned out to be a catastrophic mistake on her part.
The torrential downpour of hot, sticky, rotted zombie-cum shot from his opening and rained down on Elena, like her own personal thunderstorm of jizz. It drenched her instantly, flattening what few patches of her hair hadn’t already been coated, flowing slickly over her exposed body, soaking her shawl (which had miraculously survived up to this point), and - most horridly - filling her exposed mouth. She snapped her jaw shut and tried to spit the stuff out, but even pressing it past her lips forced her to taste it, and let even more - still plastering her face - into her body. Her other eye was glued shut, semen flowing up her nostrils, plugging her ears, seeping in through her wounds on her chest and arm, and dribbling down her legs.
Elena flailed and tried to wiggle off the fence. Two lycans approached, carefully, and held her arms, keeping her pinned in place. The mountain of a man wasn’t done depositing his gift onto the human, and she would not be leaving until he had emptied his swollen necrotic balls onto and into her.
Another twenty seconds passed while she held her breath and suffered the storm. Eventually, she needed air. She was desperate. So Elena, against her better judgment, against her lucid wishes, gasped for oxygen. Some did get into her lungs, along with a health helping of cock juice, which continued into her mouth, ballooning her cheeks.
The poor village servant had no choice. Elena gulped, and began to drink.
Six minutes later, the onslaught finally ended.
The big guy groaned a sigh of relief - his voice vibrating the very wood against Elena’s back - as the last few dribbles of sticky salty spunk spurted from his hole onto her. The lycans finally released her arms, and - now extra thoroughly lubricated - she slid off the wooden log onto the dirtied ground, sinking to her knees as her legs gave out instantly.
She hacked, coughed, then puked, her sore throat protesting as she emptied the excess onto the ground (and her thighs) in front of her. The monsters simply watched, gazes terrifyingly hateful as they took in the sight of the cum-covered, bloodied, and utterly defiled girl fight to regain control of her body.
It took some time.
When she’d finally finished expelling enough foreign fluid that she could breathe again, and had taken several shaky lungfuls of air between sobs, she scooped gelatinous gunk out of her eyes, scratching at where it had dried to free her eyelids, and managed to get some vision back.
I’m…alive.
It wasn’t the happiest thought. She wanted to survive this nightmare, even if her family and friends - everyone she had known, besides Mother Miranda - was now gone. Even if many of them had been instrumental in making this nightmare for her. But even so, at the suffering she had just endured and the unlikely outcome that she would make it till sundown, her survival at this point felt to her only like an opportunity for further suffering.
Elena braced, trying (and failing) to climb to her feet, instead settling for looking around nervously at the pack of animals surrounding her. They were a horrid bunch, most with clumps of hair missing from their scalps, skin grey and rotted, veiny or with large chunks missing to expose dull necrotic muscle, teeth vile and misshapen, damp penises exposed and hanging limply between their legs…but to Elena’s surprise, they largely didn’t appear to have their attentions on her limp frame, hunched over the reeds. Most of them were looking…toward the church?
Shaking, still trying without success to climb to her feet, Elena turned to follow their gaze.
The girl didn’t see anything, but a moment later, a sound - one that made every hair on her body stand on end, that scared her beyond anything she had experienced thus far in the fall of her village.
A blood-curdling, bone-chilling howl.
Semen dripped from her face onto her chest. Her legs quavered, refusing to support her weight. Tears did their best to clear the refuse from her face - droplets against a waterfall.
That howl.
She scrambled backward, trying fruitlessly to make any distance away from the noise, though it didn’t end up mattering. She saw the source of the sound scramble over the church roof mere seconds later, moving inhumanly fast towards her - the monsters were quick, but this thing made them look like snails. Even if she’d been energized and uninjured, even if she had somehow been able to outrun the other monsters, this creature would’ve outpaced her without effort.
It was large, though perhaps smaller than the giant - easily taller than her, though it moved on all fours, with a human jaw despite its elongated snout. She noticed likewise its human-shaped hands, ending in wicked claws, each also elongated and likely contributing to its frightening speed.
Elena had no further time to observe the creature before it descended on her, its eyes wild and demonic, its long hair rippling behind it across its entire body…but Elena didn’t need any more time to know what assaulted her now. She recognized it from a lifetime of tales and legends about the creatures, usually as creepy stories from her youth. Stories which had become all too real.
Half-wolf, half-man. Vârcolac.
I guess I am dead, she thought bitterly.
The Vârcolac reached her and immediately bit her left thigh, chomping with force. She howled, screamed, shrieked, startled despite herself at the beast’s unrestrained attack - she’d let her guard down from the lycans’ careful stalking and delicate preservation of their prized fuckmeat prey. The Vârcolac had no such inhibitions. Its instincts were more primal, feral, beyond reason or planning. The Vârcolac wanted Elena, yes - but it lacked the presence of mind to understand the difference between preying on her flesh for sustenance and preying on her flesh for pleasure.
Luckily for Elena, the lycans knew the difference all too well. With a groan, the mountainous giant swing a fist into the Vârcolac’s underside, causing him to release Elena’s leg and flip over, shocked. With the werewolf distracted, the lycans swooped in, gleefully scooping Elena up and - even as she struggled against them - carrying her into the nearby storage house. They dropped her on the table in the middle of the room and left without another sound.
Elena dripped fluids onto the stark wooden table for a few moments, stunned. Then she sat up and tested her leg.
One leg - bitten - couldn’t support any weight. It almost buckled just from touching the ground. The other, she found she could stand on so long as she supported her weight on the table with a hand. So hopping was maybe an option. Dazed, she shook the dizziness from her head and gathered her surroundings.
The building - really more of a shed - had just the single room, with two shelves, a short dresser, and two large windows in the wall, not to mention the large open doorway she’d been carried in through. The windows were open to the elements, unfortunately, and the door appeared to have been ripped off its hinges.
A growl from outside. A heavy footstep.
Elena stiffled a sob. She had no idea why the lycans had brought her in here, or where the Vârcolac had gone. The last dredges of her humanity were slipping from her grasp alarmingly quickly. But she heard another footstep, passing to her left, so she hopped - as quietly as possible- towards the open window in front of her, leaning against the table, and then the wall, to support her weight.
She peered out the window.
Elena didn’t know that the Vârcolac was stalking around the building, watching for her - nor could she have known what the lycans did, that a Vârcolac claiming its prey from a hunt like this would treat it entirely differently than prey found and pounced on in the wild. Wild prey was food, caught unaware, while stalked prey was retrieved from a human dwelling. Very different, to a Vârcolac.
Worst of all, Elena had no idea that the Vârcolac was already watching her from the open window to her left. She didn’t even see when the beast reached a long-fingered claw-adorned hand into the building through the window, wrapped its grip around her waist, and snatched her out of the hovel. Naturally, she shrieked in alarm, but it didn’t matter. So much for Elena’s attempt to hide.
The Vârcolac had caught its prey.
The werewolf wasted no time in sating its desires with its new quarry. It - he - threw Elena’s disgusting and mangled body against the soft cold earth, back outside (with an audience of several dozen lycans, now). Her face was planted in the snow and dirt, and she struggled to pull herself up to her hands and knees before it descended on her.
Unbeknownst to Elena, the Vârcolac let her. Once she was on all fours, she was in the prime position for him to knot her.
The poor girl had just barely managed to push her face off of the frigid ground when she felt a foreign piece of flesh poke and prod between her legs. Elena tried to scream, but that was when her voice finally went out. A shadow fell over her, obscuring the sun as the Vârcolac moved above her, his long fur tickling her spine.
He placed one claw over her back - a finger on either side of her neck, two more on either side of her ribcage, pinning her in place without crushing her. Then, he thrust.
Elena’s mouth opened in a wordless shriek. The white at the edge of her vision crept closer, and the last fringes of her humanity died.
Elena learned a great many things about Vârcolac penises that the fairy tales had not prepared her for (likely because they made absolutely no mention of any phallus).
For one, a Vârcolac cock is large (about as long as Elena’s forearm, and slightly thicker), with a curved tip and a bulbous knot at the base. It also features bumps and ridges across its surface, as well as wicked barbs running up and down the underside of its shaft - not enough to shred flesh, but enough to scrape it as the creature thrusts. It wouldn’t draw blood on its own, but with Elena’s pussy already ravaged as it was, it was absolutely excruciating.
Additionally, Elena was woefully unprepared for how it throbbed. Oh, sure, the human penises she had tended had throbbed plenty, pulsing against her skin or in her body - and the lycan cocks had even more so, seeming to grow notably in size with every cum-splurting spasm. But the Vârcolac’s anatomy was another wheelhouse entirely. From the first moment of penetration, the Vârcolac began to throb, and each throb not only applied significant upward force to Elena’s lower half, but increased the cock shaft’s girth by nearly double, stretching her insides.
Precum oozed past the canine cock and out of Elena’s pussy in seconds.
Elena begged and pleaded, with every ounce of breath and voice left to muster, between thrusts, choking out the barest semblance of words around the involuntary sobbing that consumed her throat. When the beast thrust into her, her belly distended, pushed dangerously by the protrusion in her vagina - combined with the abhorrent throbbing, the young lady found her entire body jolted a little away from the earth, only to crash back down on her injured limbs, with a fresh wave of pain, each and every time she was pounded. The girl cried out for someone, anyone, to hear her, to save her…until her voice gave out entirely.
She was surrounded by angry, inhuman eyes, glaring gleefully at her torturous ordeal as she was ravaged by the beast. The barbs scratched and clawed at her insides, while the gargantuan knot pummeled her bruised vulva, as the abomination bottomed out in her. Like she was nothing more than a flesh-hole.
It didn’t take long for the creature to thrust, forcefully, and try to knot her.
It was beyond excruciating. Her tears, and the Vârcolac’s fur, did little to clean the bodily fluids from her face and back, just as her will did little to shield her from the nightmare. With nothing more to cling to, the white hot pain finally filled her vision, and she lost consciousness once more.
It was several hours later, by the sky’s dim light, when she awoke.
She was on her back, now. Elena lacked the presence of mind to take stock of her physical condition, beyond the blizzard of pain that flurried throughout her. Thumping on the ground indicated the nearby presence of the terrifying behemoths that still stalked around, circling her, watching. Waiting.
Shuddering, the girl worked up the nerve to try taking a deep breath. Her body punished her for that initiative swiftly, fractured ribs screaming against her lungs, and muddied spunk sliding inward across her lips and tongue. Elena felt the desperate urge to cry, but her throat was still too sore, her eyes all cried out. Being full of the seeds of her torture, she felt empty of her soul.
Still.
With shallow breaths, Elena forced herself to crack an eye open. Caked cum, crusted over her eyelids, flaked off her lashes and cheeks, but she was too numb to care. In fact, she was too dazed to process much of anything she saw or felt - a less mangled girl might’ve suspected severe head injury, had she been more lucid.
This is why, as her swimming vision began to clear, she didn’t believe what she was seeing, at first. Still surrounded by monsters, certainly. But Elena could also make out a shadowy figure from the direction of Luiza’s house, trudging into the field towards her. Even burned, wolfen, and disfigured, something about the silhouette and gait of this being gripped her. It was familiar.
A single pulse of spirit awoke inside the abused villager, her heart pounding, and she blinked and focused her eyes. With effort, she struggled her voice into compliance, and whined out a single question, almost a plea:
“…Father?”
The dark figure shambled closer to her, and whispered with raggedy breath in response. “E…eleee…eleeeeena…”
The girl’s breath caught.
“Father!” She scrambled, unsuccessfully, trying to move to her feet, or crawl her way closer, blindly letting elation trickle back into her mind after all she had endured. “Father! Yes, it’s…it’s me, Elena! I’m here!” She hacked and coughed between forcing the words out, disgusted by what was still in her body, impeding her speech.
The injuries she’d sustained prevented her from moving any closer, but her papa closed the distance for them. Closer, she was able to make out just how dire his condition appeared - he was still transformed, looking as much like a monster than the man who’d raised her, only now with burnt skin and disfigured body. Most of his clothing had burned off, leaving only charred remains dangling from his flesh, along with wisps of singed hair.
She paid no mind to his injuries. She was too taken with relief, which she dared let fill her chest. Her papa was here. Papa will save me, she thought numbly. Papa will protect me from them.
The man who used to be her father reached her body, falling to his knees in a slump between her broken legs. His head and arms hung limply, seeming barely conscious himself, but Elena paid no attention to this. Instead, she mustered whatever strength she could find, pulling her left arm - barely - to reach up and towards her paternal caretaker. Elena expected he would shake out of his stupor, take her arm, and pull her up, carrying her away from those horrible monsters that had ravaged and abused her.
Leonardo Lupu, or the husk that used to be him, stared blankly at the proffered trembling hand for a few moments, before his gaze turned lower. He leaned forward, his burnt torso brushing past her weak arm as he towered over her, staring down at his once-flesh-and-blood.
“Papa? Wh…” Elena tried to ask what was wrong, but her voice gave out again. Swallowing past a cough, she looked up to finally make eye contact with her dad, only to see - past the peeling blackened skin on his face and blood soaking what remained of his beard - the eyes that bore down at her.
They were wild. Animalistic.
Something was wrong.
“Elenaaaa…?” he growled softly as he shifted forward. Between her paralyzed legs, Elena felt something wet and meaty poke her. Horror and bile rose in her throat once again.
This isn’t happening. You’re still unconscious. This isn’t real.
But it was. Her father’s face, disfigured and damaged as it was, looked down at her with the same intense eyes that had raised her. Elena knew it was him. She couldn’t squeeze the words out, asking him what he was doing, begging him to take her away from this place, so she ignored her pain - ignored the distressing sensation at her pelvis - and tried to nod at him. Yes, papa. It’s me. It’s your Elena. Help.
As though in response to words unspoken, he glanced down at her exposed body, and a bestial grin spread across his face. Her father reached down and pressed his twitching member against her pelvis, lining himself up.
Elena froze. Disbelief kept her in stasis. At last, she found her voice for one last plea, and so staring up at Leonardo, called to him one more time.
“F-father?”
“Eleeeenaaaaa,” her dead dad moaned, as his bruised and burned boner penetrated his only daughter. He continued to moan her name in his gravelly voice, lost in the blissful pleasure of his daughter’s body, each time sounding less human, thrusting faster. In Elena’s weakened and broken state, she could do nothing but sob, take her father’s cock as he raped her, and wonder: which would come first? Her death? Her turning? Or her father’s release?
He remembered her name. Which part of him moaned it in her ear, pounded her frail body, to a watchful audience of monsters? Was it her papa, or the monster, that was in control as he violated her now?