Flesh boiled away from Heathcliff’s body. Feathers from the massive goose kept the skin intact, allowing for far larger chunks to slough away from the bone. He smelt delicious.
The ears, being large were the first part of Tea Time to dissolve. The enormous rabbits left eye burst into a gelatinous mess first. His second some time later. Pain was left behind ages ago, that sensation being a far too weak as a descriptive.
Scarlett burnt, inside and out, no longer resembling the ginger cat she was. She had swollen, then her stomach had split. Intestines tangled around her legs as she kick reflexively. She had dislocated her jaw under the boiling water whilst mid unheard scream. Her ears had burnt away. Her paws were now stumps. Her limbs no longer able to move, either dissolving at the joint, or welding said joint into a fixed position.
Mr. Darcy sat beside Death. He was a Bad Dog. Because he was such a Bad Dog, his friends were being punished. Because he was such a Bad Dog he would have to sleep Out Side for the rest of the month. Because he was such a Bad Dog he had to face his friends, the beasts of the Four Horsemen, when they reformed, and he was to ‘Get What Was Coming To Him’ and ‘You Are Not Allowed To Fight Back. It is the reciprocity of those beasts you deserve, and you shall get.”
Disciplined, the Fox Terrier remained seated beside his mistress. He didn’t like being ‘A Bad Dog’.
An hour later Scarlett, the left hand to Famine, had torn the skin from Mr. Darcy in ragged strips randomly about his body. The skin on his face was peeled back to the start of spine, and rock salt then vinegar was poured beneath it. The skin was then replaced.
Tea Time, the fist of War, had bent all of the Fox Terrier’s limb’s the wrong way, breaking and dislocating them. She slowly gnawed his feet off mid shank with her rabbity teeth. Next, Tea Time gnawed away the tail, then the nose, and his ears. She then torn limb slowly from limb, Mr. Darcy screaming the unwavering high pitched scream of the damned.
The blood loss was astounding.
Heathcliff, the thunder of Pestilence, with the sharp hook of his beak slowly sliced open Mr. Darcy’s belly. Again slowly, always slowly, using the same beaky hook, he withdrew the intestines, then the lungs, but only after Scarlett had cracked the ribs. He left the heart intact, that would be of use later. Mr. Darcy was forced to eat his own liver. Everyone watched, no one cheered.
His body regenerated in the space of ten minutes, so they did it to Mr.Darcy again.
Mr. Darcy learnt his lesson well. Death’s invoice hefty, the price of failure being what it was.
Click the octopus, a ‘Mr. Hooker’ and a ‘Mr. Morrison’ are in the house.
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