Literature
Convent Comeuppance (Women to Monsters plus Birth)
The convent was hot that afternoon. Mother Superior Winnifred walked down the halls, eyeing the other nuns suspiciously. Gossip spread through here like wildfire. She had to be certain the issue was resolved quietly. Sister Anna was sobbing quietly to herself as the convent's doctor and the prioress stood over her forbodingly when Winnifred burst through the door. "Alright, what is this nonsense?" Asked Winnifred. "It's Sister Anna, Reverend Mother." Said the Prioress, "She took sick this morning, and the doctor discovered she was with child." Winnifred looked to Anna, and saw the shame and horror on her face, "Tell me how this happened, Anna." "I... I can't. He said... He said I'd go to Hell if I told." Said Anna. "The Cardinal." Said Winnifred, with a sigh of contempt.  Anna's eyes shot up, "WHAT?!?! I DIDN'T SAY-" "You're not the first nun that man pricked with his sword." Said Winnifred, "His appetite is a bit of an open secret." "You knew?" Asked Anna, the feeling of betrayal deep in her voice. "It was about, what? Three months ago?" Asked Winnifred, "You had only just come to us. Nobody had a chance to take you aside and tell you not to be left alone with him." "I became a nun to avoid the leers of men." Said Anna. "Then you were a damn fool. Men are perverse and will always find a way to see you as a tool of pleasure." Said Winnifred. "What should we do?" Asked the Prioress. "Same as we do with all the victims of his grace. Kick her out." Said Winnifred. "But... Reverend Mother..." Stammered Anna, tears welling up in her eyes again. "I am sorry, but this is how it has to be. We cannot act against the Cardinal. He would come down on us and burn our convent to the ground as witches. And, being pregnant, you have clearly violated your vow of celibacy and cannot remain in this priory. Go home, to your family. You're attractive, you'll find a man before long, even with child." Said Winnifred, reassuringly. "But... I... I... Cannot love... men." Said Anna. "She's one of those types." Said the Prioress, rolling her eyes. "You shush." Said Winnifred, "Anna, I am sorry, but even if you cannot bring yourself to love a man, maybe you can at least convince yourself to be married to one. You have until tomorrow to pack your things up." Anna's departure rippled through the convent like a stone tossed into a still pool. The newer sisters gossiped about what a trollip she was, getting knocked up in a gated priory, but the older nuns knew who exactly had done it, having seen this same thing far too many times. As Anna approached the gate in the morning, guided by Winnifred, nuns crowded the windows, watching her go. One nun, another younger member of the convent, ran out and hugged her. The nuns in the windows saw it as a sign of friendship, but Winnifred saw them kiss. Perhaps it was for the best that Anna left. Francine, the nun who shared the embrace, was a good, dedicated nun, and didn't need such frivolous things as a licentious relationship to cloud her mind. And so, Anna left. The Convent felt just a little bit darker now. Winnifred kept her mind off of it by planning for the next few months. They had to make sure their larder was full before winter. The harvest was in full swing, and they would have to go around to all the large farmsteads, asking for donations to cover whatever their own garden couldn't. A month later, bitter autumnal storms started plaguing the area. It was on one of those dark and stormy nights that a stranger came up to the gates. Behind her were a few barrels in a wagon, drawn by a donkey. The Prioress came to the gate and immediately eyed the woman with distrust. "Who are you and what do you want?" She asked. "Just a humble merchant. I seek to barter a night's stay." Said the woman over the wind and rain. She was very strangely dressed, in green and brown robes. Her face was veiled. She had a local accent, but looked nothing like one of the normal people. "Whence come, ye stranger?" Asked the Prioress. "I am a brewer's wife to the north." Said the woman, "I have here three barrels of our fine dark ale, and three more of barley. I would trade you one barrel of each for a bed for the night." "Dark ale?" Said the Prioress, licking her lips. Beer was not forbidden among the clergy, but it had been a long time since she had gotten a taste of something other than cheap wine or water. "Aye, Sister. A fine draught. Said to light a fire in your soul." Said the woman. The Prioress opened the gate and issued the woman inside. "We have a cozy little stable where our own mules live, you can put your donkey in there." Said the Prioress, "We should introduce you to the Reverend Mother, wouldn't do you much good to be staying here without her express consent." The abbess led the guest to the kitchens, where the Mother Superior was overseeing tonight's feast. A local butcher had donated several fat hogs to the priory, and while most of them were being salted and preserved for winter, one was saved out to have a large roast pig for supper. "Mother Winnifred." Said the Prioress, "We have a guest." "Welcome, child." Said Winnifred, in a much better mood, as the previous month's events were now fading from her mind as she busied herself with her duties, "What is your name?" "I am called Morgan, madam." Said the woman, peeling back her wet hood. Gorgeous black hair with gray roots tumbled out in perfectly dry locks as her glittering brown eyes surveyed the kitchen. She had a dark complexion, and despite a lack of makeup and being in her middle age, looked very beautiful. Winnifred's heart skipped a beat seeing the woman. Winnifred had long suppressed her own sexual urges, but seeing this woman reminded her how much she enjoyed the female form. "I have asked to barter a night's stay from your honorable abbey, milady, in trade for a barrel of ale and a barrel of barley." Said Morgan, professionally. "My good lady, we would gladly have given you shelter without recompense. You need not trouble yourself with payment." Said Winnifred, smiling. Behind Morgan, the Prioress was making gestures to beg the Reverend Mother to stop talking. "Then consider it a gift, a donation, to accompany your delightful feast." Said Morgan, smiling, "Your Abbess certainly is enthralled with the idea. Our barley is second to none, sweet as honey when roasted. And our ale is the darkest, most expressive draught in all of England. It would be my honor to have it served her." "You are a true woman of worth." Said the Mother, "Very well, but only if you dine with us." "I wouldn't miss it for the world." Said Morgan, "though I may not eat much. I was imbibing on the road and am very much full." The barley and ale were served with the roast pig and some root vegetables in the dining hall, and all the nuns celebrated. There was as much merry making as they could muster in the presence of an outsider. Many toasts were made in Morgan's honor. Even Francine, who had been the most distraught over Anna's departure, smiled for the first time in weeks. The ale was dark and had a strange but pleasant funk to it. All the nuns drank it, and drank deeply, becoming very intoxicated. Morgan was escorted to a private room saved only for visiting priests and the mother and abbess bade her good night with slightly slurred speech. Morgan however, still seemed sober. As Winnifred went to her own room, she couldn't help but think back on Morgan more and more. That voluminous hair. Those bewitching eyes. The deep, sultry voice. Winnifred stripped from her habit and put on her bed clothes, but the thoughts of the alluring merchant plagued her inebriated thoughts. "Damn it, Winnie, you're almost sixty. Stop thinking such shameful thoughts." Whispered Winnifred aloud, but even her own verbal chastisements couldn't stop her lust. With a sigh, Winnifred got on her bed, assumed the fetal position, and pulled her arms into her nightgown. One hand began fondling her aged breast while the other began working her pussy. Winnifred had never been with another, but had, in her youth, fantasized about man and woman alike. She had even heard about men with vaginas and women with penises in far off lands, and the idea excited her. Winnifred's drunken vigor was more than her own body could bear. Her rough grip was bruising her breasts, and her withered knuckles felt like grit in her pussy. But she wasn't going to stop. She needed this, and now her mind was conjuring images of Morgan, on her knees in front of Winnifred, begging to eat her out. Winnifred gasped and came. Her voice came out as a deep grunt, like an animal. Her old heart was racing. Sweat poured down her back. With her climax came clarity, and shame. She was 59, a Mother Superior. She shouldn't be fingering herself to some stranger like lovesick maiden. Winnifred brought her hands back out of her nightgown and looked at the one she'd masturbated with. It glistened in the candlelight. She smelled it. It was grotesque, but she found herself enthralled by it. The mix of sweat, mucus, and her own musk. Without thinking, she licked it. It tasted funky but sweet, kinda like the ale. She cleaned her fingers, and finally snuffed out her candle and went to bed. Winnifred awoke the next morning with a terrible hangover. She immediately pulled out her chamber pot and vomited. The smell was terrible. As she set down the pot, she realized it wasn't her regurgitation that stank, it was her. She rank of bodily odor. She lifted her arm and almost reeled at her own smell, but more than that, she was also shocked by what was under her arm. Her armpit was flush with gray hair.  Hygiene was important in the convent. The nuns believed regular shaving kept the lice and fleas away. How had Winnifred let herself get so unkempt? She put her hand to her face as she puzzled over it, and immediately smelled last night's debauchery on her fingers. The smell sickened her in the judgemental light of day. She grabbed a fresh set of her vestements and made her way down to the washroom. In there, she found several of her sisters, all looking worse for the wear. Some sat naked on the bench, holding their stomachs. One was in the large communal tub, trying to collect herself.  "I see last night's festivities left you all feeling a little piqued." Said Winnifred, putting on a brave face. In truth, she felt as bad as they looked, but she needed to be resolute. "Corblimy, you stink." Said the sister closest to Winnifred, before realizing what she had said, "I am so sorry, Mother Superior. I had no idea what just came over me." The sister was blushing deep red. She was one of the aspirants from a very well to do family. To hear her say something so uncouth in even more uncouth language was disconcerting, and her shame at saying it was somehow worse than if she had played it off as a harmless jab. "I don't smell that bad!" Protested Winnifred, at a loss for words. That wasn't true. She stank of her own body odor and last night's masturbation. Musk was oozing out of her. "Sorry... I just... I feel sensitive to smells today." Said the sister, "I don't know where that language came from. Maybe I'm getting sick." "Very well, I'll let it slide this once. Now, move over Joanna, that tub was meant for more than one person." Said Winnifred, stripping. She entered the tub and felt all her aches and pains slowly ebb away. The other nuns were shocked the Reverend Mother was naked in front of them. "Oh, stop your gawking." Said Winnifred, washing her sagging breasts, "We're all children of God." She also washed her stomach, which seemed to be a bit plumper than yesterday. She must have eaten quite a bit last night. After her bath, she felt much more refreshed. No more stenches of sex and sweat. But she still needed to have her hair trimmed. She went to the doctor... Well, her name was Sister Margaret, but everyone called her doctor. Barbers often doubled as doctors, and vice versa. Although, most of the sisters groomed themselves, just using Margaret's equipment. The infirmary of the priory was overflowing with sisters. Half a dozen nuns lay on the cots, clutching their stomachs and moaning. Margaret was red in the face, racing around the ward, giving her fellow nuns a tonic of ginger to settle their stomachs. "Our Holy Father in Heaven, it's an epidemic!" Cried Winnifred, seeing the women all in various levels of nausea. "You're telling me. If I didn't know better, I'd say we were poisoned." Said Margaret, sweat seeping through her habit despite the autumn chill, "Every sister in the priory has reported some kind of nausea, sensitivity to smells, dizziness, and all manner of strange vexations." "Including you?" Asked Winnifred. "Aye, yes. But I know how to hide it. Willow Tree Bark for the pain, Ginger for the nausea, and plenty of boiled water." Said Margaret, "My mother was a midwife, you know. I've seen enough morning sickness to know how to deal with a stomach bug... Strange how much this resembles that though. If I didn't know better, I'd swear these girls were all pregnant. Some of them are even starting to swell around the middle, though I believe that's just some bloating." "How would you tell if someone was pregnant?" Asked Winnifred. "The urine." Said Margaret, "Pregnant women have a strange property to their pee that can change the color of a leaf." "You're kidding." Said Winnifred. "Nae, I'm being straight with you." Said Margaret. "SISTER MARGARET! MOTHER WINNIFRED!" Cried one of the sisters, cradling her middle in the fetal position. It was Francine, the one who Winnifred saw kiss Anna. "What is it, Francine?" Asked Margaret. "There's something... In my stomach... So much pressure..." moaned Francine. "Roll over, girl, and let me see." Said Margaret. Francine complied, and the two older nuns gasped.  Francine's belly was completely distended. Her stomach had ballooned past her night clothes, showing off her outward facing belly button.  "Saints preserve us." Said Margaret. "It hurts..." Moaned Francine pitiously. "She was not pregnant when she came in!" Exclaimed Margaret, "Her stomach was flat. I swear to Virgin Mary! I listened to her stomach only an hour ago. "Wha- pregnant?" Asked Francine, attempting to sit up but prevented from doing so by her massive midsection. In fact, the sudden movement was too much, and they saw her panties suddenly become wet with a clear liquid. "What was that? I can't see!" Said Virginia, becoming increasingly panicked. "Just... Just lie still and when you feel a contraction- I mean... When you feel pressured on your lower parts, push." Said Margaret. "Contractions? No. No. For the love all that is holy, I'm not pregggGGYAAAAAHHHH!" Cried Francine, trilling as the contraction came on. Margaret acted quickly, using a pair of trimming shears to cut Francine out of her panties. Both the Reverend Mother and the Doctor had seen women's privates before, but not like this. Virginia's nethers were swollen and puffy, her vagina dilated. Dark brown pubes curled around her opening, wet with the amniotic fluid of her broken water. Winnifred looked in horror. She had never seen a birth before. It was terrible to behold. The head crested, stretching the vagina to lengths the nun could scarcely fathom. It was horrifying... And yet... Winnifred had to fight her hand from going to her nethers. She had never felt so aroused. So, this was birth? This orgy of pain as life was brought forth screaming into the world. Winnifred gripped the bedpost of the cot Francine lay on, whitekuckled.  "Push. I said PUSH, damn you!" Barked Margaret, baring her hands down on Francine's stomach, as though she were gonna squeeze the baby out herself. Tears and snot ran down Francine's face as she grit her teeth and pushed with all her might. The baby's head finally came free, and its shoulders not long after. Sister Margaret grabbed the infant by the shoulders and brought it out. The infant whined heartily in her arms. A healthy baby boy. Using her shears, she clipped the umbilical cord and swaddled the newborn in a blanket before trying to hand him to his mother. Francine resisted at first, but the baby practically jumped out of her Margaret's arms and latched on to one of Francine's exposed breasts. Francine attempted to resist, but as the infant starting drinking from her breast, she gasped and blushed. The feeling was insane. Pleasure, relief, and the sprouting of a maternal bond. "But... I don't understand..." said Francine, "I've never lain with a man." "Oh, and how did this little bastard get in you, hmmm? Did it just sneak in during the night?" Demanded Margaret. "Tell her, Mother Superior, tell her about Anna!" Begged Francine, "I do not desire men." "It's true. She was the tryst that Anna was loathe to frosake." Said Winnifred, "What's more, Francine is one of our most promising nuns. She wouldn't do this. Could it be possible you were drugged, though, Francine? Or drunk?" "Nae, I don't drink." Said Francine, "I didn't even have any ale last night, just the pig, some barley, and carrots." Winnifred mulled that over, and then realized her hand was still gripping the bedpost. She let go and silently gasped. The wood was cracked and splintered where she squeezed. Winnifred looked at her withered hand. It didn't look so withered anymore, though. Her fragile skin was thick and leathery. Her delicate nails were hard and yellow. Gray hairs were sprouting from her knuckles. These were not a woman's hands, these were barely human hands. "Mother Winnifred!" Croaked Margaret, grabbing Winnifred's dress, "Look." The other five nuns were starting to show signs of advanced pregnancy, same as Francine. "My God..." swore Winnifred. "Oh... Oh no..." said Margaret, doubling over. "What is it?" Asked Winnifred. "My water just broke." Said Margaret, "I dinnae wanna believe it, but I think... I think we've all been impregnated." "We? The whole convent?" Asked Winnifred, "That's ludicrous. Nineteen nuns? Not to mention, I haven't had a period in years." Sweat plastered gray hair to Margaret's forehead as she tore off her hood, "Listen to me, ya daft cow, you think I'm *groan* a spring chicken? Trust me... We're impregnated. You gotta get help. There's... Evil... Heeeeeere."  The first contraction hit and Margaret grunted huskily. Instead of using her shears, she just ripped off her clothes with inhuman strength. She was always a little chubbier than the other nuns, but the baby bump was now clear on her bare form. Margaret gritted her teeth, and Winnifred saw fangs growing in her face. Her nose was also becoming large and warty, like some fae beast. "Run." Growled the thing that was Margaret. Winnifred obliged. All through the convent, she heard grunts, groans, screams, and calls for help.  She got to the stable, and looked inside. The donkeys were still there and ready to be saddled. "Oh God... Oh fuck..." swore Winnifred, "I'm too old to ride." She looked at the gate with apprehension. The nearest village was half a days walk, and Winnifred hadn't left the Abbey alone in years. A clatter turned her attention to the kitchen. Her stomach growled hungrily. "Well... No use going on an empty stomach." She said. She approached the kitchen cautiously, but knew she wouldn't run into anything other than pregnant nuns, although the strange shift Margaret had gone through was upsetting... Maybe she was special. Winnifred opened the door, and saw several things that HAD been nuns, maybe, but were now barely feminine shapes with large stomachs, sagging breasts, and horns, routing around in the pantry, eating the raw pork right out of the salt cure. The largest of them looked up with a bloody maw fully of wine and pork. Winnifred realized to her horror that it was the Abbess. "JESUS CHRIST!" Screamed Winnifred, slamming the door shut and running to the stable. It didn't matter how hungry she was, how old she was, she had to get out of here. Her sisters were turning into demons! She went toward one of her Abbey's donkeys, a reliable old Jack they've had for five years, but it backed away from her.  "Thomas, it's me. You know me!" Said Winnifred soothingly, but her voice was raspy and had a strange vibrating tamber to it. The donkey continued to bray and began kicking the air in an aggravated manner. "You stupid ass, I know there's monsters around here. Now stop acting foolish and let's get out of here!" Growled Winnifred losing her patience. She bolted towards the donkey, but it kicked her right in the jaw. This should have killed Winnifred, but she was unhurt and defensively swung her fist and knocked the poor equine against the wall, snapping its neck. Winnifred looked from the donkey to her fist. The gray hairs were starting to overtake her hand now, resembling fur more than hair. The slender, decrepit fingers were now thick, meaty digits with tombstone shaped thick nails. "Father... What have I done." Said Winnifred. The fear began to finally set in. She was cursed. She was becoming like the things in the kitchen. The kitchen reminded her she hadn't eaten. She was starving. And now there was poor Thomas, on the ground in front of her. "No... Please... I can't..." said Winnifred, but her growling stomach and burgeoning instincts ignored her basic human decency. Drool poured down her face as she got down on her knees and sank her teeth into the donkey's flesh. Tears of pain and regret pooled in her eyes, as tusks began to sprout from her jaw, her own blood intermixing with the equine blood gushing down her throat. She wept, even as she hungrily fed on the donkey meat. The second she felt remotely sated, she forced herself to stop. However, the feeding had only allowed her transformation to further itself. Fueled by the intake of protein, her body was already metamorphosing. Muscles spasmed as they ripped apart and reknitted into stronger, larger bonds. Her gut blossomed into a gravid orb of flesh, ripe with child. Her skin darkened to a strange green color. "Nrrroooo!" Winnifred cried, looking at herself. God had forsaken her. "Aw, what's wrong, Mother Superior? Not so superior now?" Chided a malicious voice from the stable doors. Morgan stood there, looking perfectly regal in her green and brown robes and perfectly kept hair. Like a queen. "Yroo did thris?" Asked Winnifred, unable to speak past her new fangs and tusks. "Well, technically my little gifts did. The ale was actually a potion of transmogrification. It turns anyone who drinks it into the creatures whose musk I use as a key ingredient. They've had lots of names over the years. Hobgoblins, Bugbears, Ogres, Trolls. I like calling them orcs." Said Morgan. "Whry?" Asked Winnifred, furious. This woman, this gorgeous, gorgeous woman, had poisoned the whole convent. "WHY?!?!" Demanded Morgan, "Ask my daughter, buried in the forest, alongside the unborn grandson I'll never know. You allowed my daughter to be raped, and then cast her out like a leper. She couldn't take the heartbreak, and so she took her own life, one month ago today." "Anna..." Said Winnifred, "Me srorry, me try hrelp her." "Oh, yes, I heard." Said Morgan, "Find a man. Love doesn't mean anything. But it meant everything to her." The first contraction hit Winnifred, and she grunted in pain. A thick splash of liquid hit the hay behind her. "Oh, right, I forgot about the Barley." Said Winnifred, "I wanted to give my child and grandchild a chance at life anew, so I put a little bit of their essence into that barley. Anyone who eats it will either give birth to either a boy or a girl." "Wron't let you... Get...awray..." Growled Winnifred. "You think I want to escape?" Laughed Morgan bitterly, "No. This damn abbey robbed me of the only thing I cared about..." Winnifred looked down at Morgan's hand, there was a mug of ale in it. "I didn't want to commit until I was sure you all suffered for your part, but don't worry, we'll all be happy together." Said Morgan, before downing the mug. She shed her robes and stood before Winnifred nude, her flesh supple and tan. "Pleasure me, Winnifred, I know you want me. I heard you whispering my name last night while you ravaged your own aged cunt." Said Morgan. Her voice was sultry and inviting, but there was power to her words. She had given a command, and Winnifred must follow. Winnifred lurched forward on all fours, her child pressing hard on her cervix, and standing on her knuckles, dragged her long tongue on Morgan's labia. "Fuuuuuuck. That's good." Said Morgan, "I'm not sure if it's the elixir or if you had a missed calling as a lily licker." Morgan laughed at her own joke, but the laugh was cut short with a pained yelp as her fangs started coming in. The elixir she used was faster acting than the ale she poisoned the nuns with, and allowed her control over them. Winnifred dug her face into the vagina, her tongue reaching as far as it could go. Her tusks stayed outside, rubbing the folds. She even managed to open her jaw wide enough to rub her incisors against Morgan's clitoris. Her next contraction almost stopped her cunnilingus but Morgan grabbed the beast by her hair. "I didn't say stop. I better cum before you deliver." Barked the witch. Winnifred obeyed, working her tongue as hard as she could. The infant felt stuck inside her birth canal, almost born, but held back by Morgan's command. Morgan's hands pulled harder on the hair as she got closer. Winnifred could feel her fists enlarge into the disgusting monster hands that she already had. Morgan began to grow, her flesh taught against her increasing muscle mass. Winnifred had to adjust to stay with her pussy. She was rewarded with feeling the mound of flesh blossom out into something lewdly hanging from Morgan's crotch and covered in hair. Morgan moaned and grunted, her sultry voice fading into something haggard and deep. Winnifred could feel the baby squirming in her canal. It wanted out so bad. She had to make Morgan climax. With nothing to lose, the former nun whipped her head sideways and bit down hard on Morgan's pussy. The bite would have rent the flesh of a human body, but Morgan's new leathery cunt was more than capable of handling it. Morgan finally came, screaming loudly. Freed from her mistress's command, Winnifred whined as the infant finally slid from her own vaginal lips. The human infant was much smaller than her new form, and as such, she was easily able to birth it. It landed gently in the remains of her habit. It cried as it took in its first breath of life. Winnifred picked up her human child, daughter and brought the little one to her breast. The girl immediately latched on to the sagging, warty nipple and was rewarded with a gush of milk. It wasn't as sweet as human milk, but it was hearty and would have her grow strong. "Rittle... Anna." Slurred Winnifred through her massive teeth. "Grood nrame." Said Morgan, leaning over the elder's shoulder. The two embraced. Their hatred and former lives forgotten. --- Cardinal Reginald Iverson's guards banged impatiently at the gates of the convent. Iverson sighed with contempt. He was supposed to come give the winter sermon, but these stupid old crones were taking their sweet time letting him in. Iverson normally only traveled with one guard, but there were strange tales of monsters in the area. Giant beasts stealing valuables and livestock. The guards finally forced open the gates and the three went inside.  "You two stable the horses. I'm going to give that bitch, Winnifred, a piece of my mind." Said the Cardinal. The guards nodded and guided the horses to the stable. The Cardinal wandered the halls, looking for the nuns. Their convent was in complete disarray. Dishes piled everywhere full of moldy food. Sacks and chests piled in every corner.  "These sows really let the place go to pot." Said the Cardinal with a sneer. He had secretly hoped that shy young thing he had bedded at the end of summer would still be here, but maybe it best if he kept himself this time. He finally made it to the dining hall. He heard strange voices on the other side. Deep, sonorous voices, as well as... Babies? Reginald could swear he heard an infant crying through the door. Could the nuns have been killed and the band of marauders taken up living here? It would explain the mess. He waited for his guards to join him, and threw open the doors. The dining hall was completely changed. It looked more like a tribal ceremony than a place for nuns to sup. A great fire sat in the middle. Strange beasts with green hairy flesh, large teeth, and hanging breasts sat around the fire. Most were nursing. There was one human in the bunch, naked as the rest of them. On a rough shod throne at the far end of the hall, sat a beast larger than all the rest. She was in far better condition than the elderly one to her right and left, but she was still clearly older and also clearly in charge. Before Iverson or his men could respond, one of the nearest monsters, who was rocking her babe in a crib, had gotten up, and bashed into the two guards, before slamming the door shut, blocking Iverson's escape. "What devilry is this?" Demanded the Cardinal, looking around him, panicking. "Is this fetcher him, Winnie?" Said big one in the chair. "Oi, luv, dat's 'im alright." Said the old one next to her. "Winnie? Christ Almighty, Winnifred?" Asked the Cardinal, recognizing the older creature.  The monsters grabbed the priest and began tearing away at his clothes. "You raped my daughter." Said the leader, "And now, you're going to be eaten by me and my crew, but first, I been saving myself just for you. You're going to sire one last bastard before we put you in the pot." "You can't! I'm a messenger of God!" Cried Reginald, trying to process what the beast had said. "You abandoned your God long ago. And that's why He sent me to ravage you." Growled the creature, "Now, be good, and maybe I'll make your death painless." END
