EVENTS:


A gurgling sigh leaves the Meatblob's throat, and the faces growing from its tonsil grit their teeth as it raises its rumbling voice.



Meatblob: "Yes, I've slain and consumed hundreds. Thousands, if you count the zombies and other offal. And I would do it all again, a hundred times over, if it meant completing my mission. I would burn the world and devour its ashes, just to make sure no shred of Rosa remained.

It's not about justice. It's about payback. I am no mere ghost, nor just another echo. I AM THE REVENANT OF VENGEANCE, AND I WILL HAVE MY POUND OF FLESH!


So. Eigla, or however you prefer to be called. Move aside. Or die."



Rosa takes the chance to call for help. Breathing deeply, she focuses on the distant song carried in the wind, letting her thoughts flow in a continuous stream of subsonic hums. The song echoes back.


...

Something, something's wrong. The answer comes in fits and bursts, and is interspersed with frantic, almost panicked growls and shrieks.

Fire. The surface engulfs us.
Too many, too far. Fire and blood.
They turn us against ourselves.
On land, we are slow.
You, come to us. Become one. Come.




____________________________________

BATTLE!





Klimt spins around in place, flipping back onto his feet while projecting his tentacles around like lawnmower wire. A few of the mudmen are cut in half where they stand, but more importantly he succeeds in pushing the crowd back for a moment. A few muffled yelps from his backpack let him know Peggy is still awake, at least.

Malia launches herself towards the remaining Mud King with preternatural speed, her jet nozzles propelling her bulbous body like a living battering ram, fabric and flesh smashing against the creature with a series of sickening crunches. She feels own her spine shatter with the impact, and her overfilled innards are nearly torn off as they jostle around violently, but the sheer ectasy of battle is enough for her to overlook such small details.


Emilia answers Klimt's call for help, lungs inflating out of her ribcage as she runs towards him. He makes to cover his ears, but it is a futile gesture.


SUBMIT.


It is not a mindless scream, or a pleading call like her previous uses of her voice. Instead, the eardrum-bursting tone carries a very distinct order, and it takes all of Klimt's willpower not to prostrate himself before her. The mudmen are even more affected, stopping in their tracks as if frozen solid. The banshee breathes deeply once again, then whispers a second order through gritted teeth.

Emilia: "Kill."


With inhuman agility, the mudmen turn on their tracks, charging at their previous king. The creature, disoriented from the sonic blast, is hit by a flurry of uncoordinated yet implacable attacks, tearing away large chunks of flesh.



Malia is stunned for a moment, as she tries to process what just happened. Just like in her dream, the sound had been unbearable and soul-piercing. How was Emilia capable of that? Even more, it seemed to have caused the rabble to turn on the monster she'd been fighting.

That, just would not do. It was her prey, and hers only.


Extending her threads, she tears at the Mud King's extremities, removing any sharp bits and protuberances that might make it hard to swallow. Her gargantuan maw unhinges once again, liquefied flesh and gastric acid bursting forth from every opening, and she sinks her teeth deep into the creature's flesh, a myriad tongues slowly pushing it inside, using its body as a stopper to keep her previous meal from falling out. Her legs break due to the sheer weight placed onto them, jagged bones poking through the fractures, and she falls over on top of her prey, using her own mass to help push it through her gullet.


For a few moments, it looks as if she might just burst open - Tentacles and limbs push against her skin, trying desperately to escape, but grow weaker and weaker with every passing second. Within moments, her flesh begins to contract, crushing her contents into an easily processable paste. The Mud King is no more.



It seems, you've won. The mudmen look around confusedly for a few moments, before their heads suddenly pop open like overripe fruits, spraying everyone with sizzling hot cranial fluid and bony giblets.
Emilia approaches, cradling Klimt in her arms once again.


Emilia: "Klimt! Are you okay? I, it still came out too strong, I'm trying to work on managing my volume. Are you too hurt?! Do You need any of my parts?

...And. Uh. What, are we gonna do with that?"


She nods towards Malia, who's currently little more than a 6-foot-wide sphere of stretched fabric and skinless muscles, with comically small limbs and a head jutting out in random directions. The girl looks perfectly content as her body pulses and gurgles, slowly digesting the Flesh within.


Malia and Klimt's Coffins let out a shrill beep, indicating they are ready to function. Chances are they'll be needed, too.

EVENTS:


The meatblob sounds increasingly frustrated, its voice oscillating between several accents and tones.

Meatblob: "I-

I, I- I don't-

I- Why, why are you making this SO HARD?! I've even, stopped to talk! Even Rosa herself let me eat her peacefully! YOU TWO ARE JUST - A, a leg, and a bucket of fish, and an armless corpse. WhY Do YoU sTiLl ReSiSt?! RRRRRRRRRAGH! WHY ALL THESE QUESTIONS? J̗͙ͪ͑̈ͤ̍̊ͣŮ̹̪̣̙͎̝ͅS̼̬̜̘̲͍͑͂ͦ́̀̉ͧ͡ͅT̲ ̦̳̫͕̹ͭ̅̔̍̈́̽ͯͅͅSͦ͑ͩ҉I͓̙̤̫̼͕͒͐ͨ͑͗͗͂T̰̩͖̪̾͂͞ͅ ̺̬͇͙̬͖͊Ḓ̖̪̝̭̯ͤ͊ͩͩͫ̏̍O̪͕̪͕̪̦͈̊ͥ̚͢W̠̬̺͗ͅN͖̱͙̠̭̰̭͌͛̄͐ͫ ̵͎̞̤͓͙̖ͬ̐͋Ȃ͙͇͖̫̺̊̽͐͑̊̾N̪͓̞̞͕̔͗͐ͪͩ̑͂̀D͏͍ ̘̬̖͎̠̄ͨ̆L̠̳͎͉E̝̬̣̱̱̭͌ͭ̀T̘̼̫̻͔̪̲ͫ̂̌̏̾̆ ̶̘͇̏͂M̧̳̥̓̇́̽Ȩ̹͕͉͎̋ͭͤͥ̇ ̩̱̳̮̤K̗͓̟̔̒̀͒̄I̯̜͎̪̹ͮ̈ͩ̋̆͌̎͞L̦̬̬̿̆̀͝Ľ̪͙̕ ̀͘Ỵ̡͇̹̬̭̳͆̇ͣ̂͌ͯŎ̗̝̹̣͖͓͈̌͗ͨÚ̙̻̼̻̘̇ͦ̔͗̂!̺̰̩̜̼ͪ"


It slams its hands against the ground, apparently throwing a tantrum.




____________________________________


Klimt prints a new spool of barbed wire and another important piece, both of which attach quite readily to his body. The Coffin truly is a godsend, considering how easily he seems to get his, attributes, damaged. There is indeed no Flesh to be had - Malia consumed both Mud Kings, and the mudmen... Though they are possibly usable, the thought of what happened to Rosa is enough to stop him from risking it.

He opens his backpack, finding Peggy... Mostly functional. Her jaw seems to have partially detached, and a few broken ribs poke through her deformed torso, but she'll be fine.

Peggy: "Ah, ah'm okai. *Cough HACK spurt* Jus' a flesh'und. Y-you hur'th?"

Emilia: "T-thank you, Klimt. I am, trying, to do what needs to be done.

Hold on. She's looking at us. Get behind me!"



Indeed, Malia looks at Klimt and Emilia contently for a few moments, humming to herself, before her body starts convulsing and churning, indistinct shapes writhing beneath the taut fabric. Her eyes roll up in their sockets, and a veritable torrent of blood-laced mud starts spilling forth from her mouth, spraying across the sand like a nightmarish power washer, as her body purges its recent meal of the Mud Kings' slime coat, and other indigestible bits. The sight reminds Klimt of Peggy's imprisonment back at the factory, and for a moment he is thankful for lacking a digestive system.


Malia closes her mouth, licking her lips as she stems the tide of otherworldly corruption. There, much better - Should be enough slack in her tissues to start making the necessary modifications.
Using the material dispensed from her coffin, she commands her threads to remove and replace her broken knees and ankles, while dramatically raising her body temperature to speed up digestion. Detaching most of her skeletal muscles from their respective bones, she starts pumping her recent meal around, filling every available cavity with liquefied Flesh. Thighs, arms, even her fingers engorge as more material is crammed onto them, pushing nerves and muscles around with little regard for logic or appearance. Her spine is regrettably still broken, but by keeping her torso as full of offal as possible, she manages to keep it upright like an wacky wavy inflatable arm flailing tube man overfilled water balloon, using the extreme tension in her skin to hold her form together.

Still grotesquely bulbous, but much more proportionate, she pushes herself upright and begins to waddle through the muck towards Klimt, intent on using her medkit on his wounds. However, Emilia places herself between them, holding her arms open in a clear gesture of defiance.


Emilia: "Don't come any closer! I, I won't let you devour Klimt, heretic!"

EVENTS:

The meatblob starts shivering, holding its head with its claws as its tonsil retracts back into its gullet. Mouths of varying sizes burst through her skin, covering her body in a cacophony of wails and groans, and adding an otherworldy echo to her voice.


Meatblob: ”I am Rosa. I AM EIGLA. I am an abomination. I AM VENGEANCE. I AM LEGION. I’m scared.

I AM IN CONTROL. STOP. STOP. I AGREED. ROSA MUST PAY. I TALKED TO HER, I DID MY PART. NOW SHE DIES.

She doesn’t want to.

ShE mUsT.

I’m dying.

It doesn’t matter if we die! I HAVE to die! This is my last chance!

I DESTROY EVERYTHING I TOUCH. I AM DEATH.

I am Eileen. I lost all I loved. I must make her pay. I am Eigla. I love Rosa. And I am Eileen?

HATE. LOVE. I HATE ROSA. I - she tricked us. She tricked us. We don’t love her. We love Violet. Violet is dead.

I love Eigla. I want to avenge her. I want to hurt the one who hurt her. I love Rosa. I want to- to- I hurt Eigla.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

The giant begins to smash her head against the ground, screaming manically, as the mouths begin to grow into faces and push out of her body, atop monstrously long necks like the hydra of legend. Some growl and snap at the party, others begin fighting among themselves, while others sit withered and still, blood pouring forth from their mouths and eyes.

The meatblob trashes about, its gargantuan bulk missing Rosa and Eigla by inches. Things are looking dangerous!

_______________________________



Emilia turns back to look at Klimt, but before she can respond, she clumsily stumbles out of the way, falling on her knees a few meters to the side.

Emilia: ”W-what?”

Malia: "She's quite inconvenient, isn't she? Calling me of all people a 'heretic.' Oh well."

Emilia: ”...”


The seamstress walks up to Klimt, lifting him off the floor with her stubby arms, then lets her tendrils stitch him back together. His torn hamstrings are replaced with red thread, a dislocated shoulder is pulled back into place, and several cuts and bruises wrapped in thick bandages. It’s not a perfect repair, he’s still quite scuffed and bloody, but it will suffice for now. She inspects her work with some pride, noting how vibrant and smooth her threads look, now that she’s properly fed.



The stilt-walker, freed from the entangling creatures, continues on its path. Gunfire and screaming tell you the battle continues to rage, up ahead.