Inky Blinky Blight
I have a strange fondness for writing out horrific hallucinations. Specifically those forced upon another in my horror. This is normally through some form of metaphysical power, simply put, illusions. Valerian and Lickyface are a pair of character I have been pondering lately. Lickyface being that beautiful face there in the upper left hand corner. Least, somewhat. If you can't see him don't fret. I'll give a better look at ole Lickyface.
A peculiar redhead with half a glasgow smile watched his mark from an afar. Nothing too extraordinary. He merely seemed to be glancing around. Eying his surroundings, taking in the fresh air and the nature around him. In fact, the peculiar red head seemed to be minding his own business and enjoying his day. Dilly dallying this way and that as he took in the scenery. Inching closer to his mark. When he was at a distance he deemed sufficient for his little game, he froze solid.
He began to look a little alarmed as he began to wheeze. It began like a frog in the throat, a murmur. This wasn’t what alarmed him, as mildly foretold by the hand beginning to press against his chest. Easily overlooked as being due to the cough though. Covering his mouth with one hand he began to slowly break into a dry cough. At first it would appear like he was just coughing like any smoker, but the frequency began to dramatically pick up. The clearing of his throat became a raspy whooping cough. Sputtering into a wheezing breath when the coughing fit allowed.
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Every hack began to sound wetter, as a juicy cracking could be heard somewhere in his chest. A thump that radiated in a mild contractions throughout his body. With a rasp a bit of charcoal colored fluid escaped from between his fingertips, moving slow yet smooth like molasses. The next cough let out an eruption of the inky syrup from his lips, something that appeared to surprise him as he shot his other hand up to try preventing the fluid from splattering everywhere from the cracks between his fingers and palm, and his cheek. A fruitless attempt, as it merely helped pressurize the liquid to make it erupt from his hand. At first one might assume the man had come down with a sudden case of projectile vomiting. The crude oil color and viscous consistency could be, for the moment, waved away as odd food choices. Even counting it smelling like a putrid, familiar, almost fruity if rotten scent. Besides a few shuddering wheezes and a couple raspy coughs from an abused throat, he seemed to have a break from the fit.
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The liquid dripped from his trembling finger tips, with its own strange properties. It was familiar to oil in viscosity and appearance, yet the closer one looked they might realize that instead of that typical rainbow reflection, there was the illusion of something staring back. An endless tesseract design of multi colored eyes glancing every which way. The ooze collected at his elbows, the slight suction the drip caused made him acutely aware of the horrendous sight he must be.
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The need to look tidy was in his genes after all, he was a fae. One palm still clasped over the back of the other in an askewed fashion, both gave a noticeable tug. Instead of pulling free, his hands jerked his head forward. It was then that Val realized his hands were now fused to his mouth like a glue trap. Bubbles began to form as he acted like he was trying his hardest to breath through the tiny holes and the few gaps the eruption had caused, further expanded by the panicked breathing beginning to bolster his tremors.
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Breathing clearly grew harder as the man stumbled and swayed. Pulling and struggling, only for the tar to finally stretch like taffy around his hands. His struggle had been at a cost as blood stood stark against the black oil. This didn’t make breathing any easier, as the liquid filled the gaps, so with a sudden shift in determination, the steady dribble of blood from his torn hands and fingertips began to disappear as he let down a tiny gulp. With one more tug, his hands snapped back and cracked him in the lips and nose with enough force to send his head jerking backwards and increase the steady flow of blood. The upside was his hands were free and he seemed to be breathing again. The bad news was it was probably thanks to the… Tactical breaking of his tar coated nose.
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Anxious fingers wiggles tore at the black mub fusing to his skin of his arm. He did his best to rip and tear at the adhesive. All he managed to do was create a number of strange bubbles along his skin, peppered with his blood from his ravaged hands. As he began itching and tugging at his throat and chest again, the special bubbles pulsed on his arm, squirming like an eyelid during REM sleep.
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Val clearly didn’t like this, as he reached up and began to claw and scratch at the boils as they grew painfully itchy. Enough that if one looked close enough they might catch a gander of bone peeked through the oiled substance during the moments it separated enough in his self mangling. The oily liquid began to peel away. The boil below appeared mostly the same, though less of his blood was in it. His breathing grew more panicked and pained, though it also was slowly getting muffled.
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The more he clawed, the more skin peeled away, and the harder it fought him. A putrid, foggy pus began to ooze from around the boils, which had begun to take a oval shape in the hysterics. The rotting substance held the same peculiar inner eye properties the oil held. He seemed almost compelled now to shred at his arms in a wild, manic fashion. The more he tore, the more of this pus would ooze out. That’d help, surely. It was progress to his frantic mind.
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His finger tips seemed to be growing longer during this process. The sludge collected at his knuckles, but tapered off at the tip with each gash. His liberal actions seemed to give way to progress, as his arms now seemed to lack the excess tar, however his skin now held that same tone as decayed ink. His blood was now clear of his body.
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Pus began to collect along the thin gashes, tearing up as the boils opened up one by one to reveal a purple eye moving independently from the others. In the same panic as their host, they looked about in a mixture of horror and curiosity. Some seemed more speculative or anxious than others even. Val was clearly in no mind right now the ponder on the specifics of this which would otherwise fascinate him. As his breathing was beginning to get more difficult. To the point of practically hyperventilating.
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Giving up on his arms, and acting more desperate to find a breath, his hands shot up to pull and tear at the tar on his lips. His fingers tried to be delicate as they clawed, but his new claws were something he was far from used to. By his hyperventilating, he was far past the point of hyperventilating. Like his arms, blood began to appear in the tar. First, like before, dribbles. Small gulps here and there as he bit the bullet, and instinct to vomit as the blood and chunks dribbled along his tongue, by swallowing anything he could to blindly keep the passage in front of his mouth empty enough to breath. Soon, he found he couldn’t close his lips. He couldn’t feel his lips, but all he could blindly feel for with his palms and numb claw tips was more caked on grime. This was unfortunate as the geyser of blood and bloodcurdling scream, escaping through the tiny bubbles with an added high pitched whistle similar to a tea kettle, signaled his groping claws had pierced into his eyeball. If there was any doubt, his panicked and pained scrambling was enough to yank it from his socket. Skewered to the tip like an olive.
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The agony was enough he clearly lost the battle with reason as he began to pummel himself in the face with his open palms over and over like a wild animal. Every smack was followed by his palms gripped at his face and tar, which again like his arms was beginning to peel. Only this was different. No boils or bubbles formed, instead the ooze had begun to collect what could only be torn pieces of flesh and coagulated blood. Each tug tore at this scabrous causing long pieces to come off in strips. Stabbed by the claw, they’d give a bit of resistance as the sickening cocktail of fluids between the layers of shed stuck in strings like decaying sap.
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As this wasn’t freeing him of his skin quick enough, the smacking began to evolve into him convulsing about. His head being forcibly and purposefully slammed against walls and surfaces. Both by merely twisting and thrusting himself against them or actively gripping himself by his rapidly heading skin. The continued force caused the front his skull to begin giving way. Pulpy crunch after juicy snap he kept slamming and clawing, even as long, cylindrical shards of bone began to peek from between the tar. Oddly enough, they appeared to be sticking to two rows on the upper and lower portion of his face.
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His seizing ceased his chest jerked outward with a bone chilling crunch. With a rough, guttural heave, a fountain of the inky substance along with what was clearly blood began oozing from the hole he had just creating, causing it to open further. The fluid came out chunky this time, a mixture of all the tar, pus, blood, and gore he had swallowed in his desperation, along with the general bile and contents of his stomach. The tar that obscured his features finally gave way as the ceaseless torrent forced his jowls open. Yet the mass of tar on his face continued to hold fast.
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The cancerous cocktail first sprayed out in miniscule geysers. Tiny pinpricks of horror, soon blocked by the chunky concoction floating around. This cause the entire mass of tainted sap on his face to balloon outward. The large bubble pushed to its limit, before the pin prick holes before all burst into a scatter web of gushing gore. The eruption flowed in a way that should be physically impossible for his physiology. It was as if the entirety of his face under his bangs and above his jawline was a portal to a gluttonous demon’s stomach.
His breath hitched once more as the viscous geyser flickered and sputtered before ceasing entirely like something had clogged the vein as quickly as it has started. He began to pound and scratch at his chest, another snapping noise radiating from his gullet as his torso lurched forward. Quakes tore through his body as the ‘panicked’ male began to dry heave like something was caught in his throat. The sounds escaped him with the rasping urgency of a drowning banshee. Gasping and gulping what few moments of air he was afforded before his body was shaken against the nearest surface as another crunch from his chest sent his body seizing. A scratching noise was heard starting from inside his chest before it made a journey up to his throat. Similarly coated in the ebony coating, his throat balloon outward slightly as a hefty mass began to force its way through his esophagus. Tubular shapes tapering into points could be seen pushing against the skin around his adam's apple from inside his bulging throat as it forced its way up to his skull.
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Lifting his head up his skull seemed to stretch between the rows of veils splintered bones as if it were on a hinge, stretching a bit at the tar but still unable to separate it. The tar once more bubbled up, pushing more of the noxious mix through the ragged holes, as a beating red mass could be seen rapidly scampering and shifting beneath the black veil but it was clearly stuck. The mass shifted, an insectoid leg momentarily spearing itself through the tar as what appeared to be some sort of organ,with said oversized insect legs sprouting gruesomely from its flesh, tried its damnedest to rotate itself. Finally, it seemed to align itself forward as a single eye peeked out from the sludgy net. The organ’s front legs stretched from his lips and pushed against them, trying its damnedest to push itself free. With the help of its little claws, pressure, and the shed finally fully being ready to give way it burst from its prison just as Val took one last fake breath of panic.
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The mass turned out to be a heart. It peeked out from the grisly, fanged set of jowls that now sat in the place of Val’s pretty, though mildly scarred, visage. A fleshy red tendril began to squirm under the heart as the fae let out a gagging noise as the moist vine coiled itself around the heart. As it began to be suspended out by what proved to be a massive tongue, a number of fiery orange eyes peered out from the void of his caved in skull. His whimpering wheezes evolved, ever so gradually, into sly snickering. This further boomed into a rabid fit of laughter fit for a madman who had just taken this journey.
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The heart was gently placed atop his head, where it clung into his hat and continued to glance this way and that with its lone eye. The heart was gently placed atop his head, where it clung into his hat and continued to glance this way and that with its lone eye. The heart tapped its centipede leg impatiently waiting for something. His giggle fit stopped a moment. "Oh, oh yes how could we forget. Can't have you looking unseemly!" The tongue bended back suddenly and forced itself down itself own gullet. Its mouth wide, showing off the many eyes peering from the void. The tongue yank/coughed out a monocle and a, at first normal, looking top hat. He clipped the clothespins on the monocle on one end of the brim to hang in front of the eyeball. A chain connected to the same ring, hooking through the chain before hooking the the side of the brim. Once this was completed, the top of the had gained an imprint, opening wide as a tongue flopped out.
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Val held one arm against his stomach as he had his giggle fit, almost looking like he was struggling, hurting from the sinister cackling. His other arm sprung out horizontal to the ground, before he bent fully while his tug pressed its tip against his hat and he gave it a little tilt as he bowed like a showman. The heart on his hat, as he bent, never made a single movement due to gravity or its weight. It did, however, tip the hat forward with one insectoid leg.
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His hat, even with a shifting mass atop it, did not move like it should besides the hat tip his tongue gave. Another crack in his illusions, but he had already given up on his act at this point as he let out a loud, “TADAH!” As he straightened back up with his other arm stretched out. The voice still came out in the transatlantic form, missing the Cajun tone he had originally introduced himself with. "Criticisms? Remarks? Minus that lack of appreciation apparently!Come now, shows like this don't happen every day. Sure you seem concerned and a bit fretful! However imagine now. You are prepared for any danger lesser than the visual one you saw before you this very day." For a monster, he spoke and moved like a man trying to sell snake oil. Confident and energetic, its tongue moving this way and that like a lurking Cobra.