Now, I can see them better—there are four of them, coming from the burning forest, loping toward me with their teeth showing yellow and sharp, and the puffed skin around their eyes, their many eyes, red and wounded, and I continue to batter at the door to keep it open, to keep the portal wide. I hear the moans of my chosen one, but I continue to tear at him, to scrape my fingers across his flesh, as the creatures—the gods—come to me, their arms raised in joy and hunger, their nether mouths opening, revealing shiny black teeth beneath the folds of their bellies.
Tentacles of pleasure shoot from me, like light from pinholes in a shadowbox, I AM BECOMING! I AM TRANSFORMING FROM MY FLESH OUTWARD! My subject, beneath me, held and clawed by me, feels the tendrils of my energy pressing along his flesh, into the soft lubricity of his skin, which is shimmering like a lake, and rippling as if hundreds of pebbles are being thrown into it, but not pebbles, my tentacles, my slim quivers, my quills, thrust into his back and thighs, along his shoulders, into his neck, curving around to enter the holes of his ears, and, like a starfish opening a clam, they reach around to his mouth, to his clenched teeth, and pry him open there, to enter him, to take the sacrifice offered, to possess him completely.
The burning within the pathways of my body is heaven itself, is a feeling of well-being and weightlessness, and I as I begin to possess him, to tear him, to gnaw at him, and the gods approach, and reach for his eyes.