It would have been easy to simply sculpt Simon’s flesh. Stygia was built for it. But that wasn’t nearly as interesting. Wasn’t nearly as fun. Giving her host enough time and breath to scream, beg for release, before forcing him to slowly devour his own muscles, chewing on skin and crunching down bone, that was much better. 

Whenever Simon was choking down his own flesh, his pleading continued mentally. Stygia drank it like the finest wine. Ever since she’d first formed a consciousness, she’d known that the emotions of her host would sustain her. There was a sort of innate drive to try and heal a host, like she had been created with a built in incentive towards kindness and caring. 

Utter nonsense. If she was rewarded with positive feelings from healing, then she would shred Simon to pieces a million times, turn every cell of his body into a pain receptor and walk through a thousand fires, only to put him back together again. 

Even now, the flesh on his right arm, destroyed completely only minutes ago, had been completely reformed. It was a bit more slender as she slowly added mass and then… stopped. She observed it, moving it. She held it next to the other one. 

What is this? She asked. This is a template saved in your cells. Why is it so different? Simon whimpered and sobbed. His faculties, his ability to speak was starting to go. Stygia rolled her eyes. Well, Simon’s eyes. Fine, if he wasn’t going to supply her with the answers to her questions, she was going to have to go in there and find them herself. 

She wrapped herself around his brain again. Controlling the body was relatively easy. That was just sending and receiving signals. But there was more in those three pounds of gray matter. There were memories. There was a whole person in there. Now she had to get him out, before she could start cutting him to pieces.

“Cut me to what?” he mumbled quietly. His voice was high pitched. Feminine was the word Simon thought. 

Heard that, did you? Stygia said with a little chuckle. Lovely. That means we’re getting more in sync. That means I’m getting comfortable. Like a roommate moving in. How does it feel? Don’t answer that. She rammed a tendril into his pain sensors. It should have felt like he was stabbed through the groin. His high pitched whine made Stygia tingle all over. But don’t worry, Simon, you have barely begun to suffer. I am going to rip you apart, and put you back together again, over and over again. You are my host, Simon, and that means you are my toy, and when you’re broken and your mind is gone and you are no longer capable of feeling pain, I will flood you with happy chemicals until you drift off into infinity and I can wear you like a tailored suit. And then I’ll use whatever memories I can find in that box you call a brain, I will find down your loved ones, and I will inflict all of this on them. 

“N–” 

Stygia bent his arm, the intact one, the wrong way. There was a sickening crunch as his elbow was reduced to splinters and his tendons ruptured. I didn’t say you could speak, Simon. She paused. You can apologize.

“I…” He bawled. Tears ran down his face. “I’m sorry.”

Oh my, he listens. He obeys! Stygia fixed the arm. Bark. 

“Wh– wha–” She snapped his arm again, and this time the flesh tore as one of his bones protruded. “W– Woof,” Simon sobbed. 

Good boy, Stygia mewled. It’s slightly too little too late though, I’m afraid. Hang on to something, I’m coming in. Stygia had complete control of herself. Mimicking a nerve was easy, and operating the body like a puppet was child’s play. Invading the brain itself was more complicated. Penetrating the outer layers of his brain more carefully was a slow process, and it must have been agonizing for him, because he ripped his new vocal chords to pieces. 

As soon as she was inside, she could feel him. Sure, she had been able to sense his thoughts and his pain before, but now that she was this close, the sensations she’d experienced before were eclipsed. It had been like smelling a broth she was now tasting. Simon was barely a functional person, full of fear and anxiety he held bottled up. On the surface, he was a researcher on a little arctic moon, fleeing from a relationship that had failed. 

“Don’t,” she could feel him think. She shoved him aside like brushing aside some weeds. Whatever Simon Grant wanted was inconsequential at this point. “You can’t go there,” he repeated, more firmly now, and she felt pushback. That was unexpected. This would have been easier if he had just let her, but he was being difficult. “I’ll stop you.”

Stygia paused for a second. She had a few ways forward. More pain was the obvious one. At some point he would break entirely. But there were others. If she wanted access to his mind, she could just… knock him out. Mild trauma. Slamming Simon’s head against a wall until he keeled over. 

Or… 

Simon, she said. Can you hear me?

“Yes,” he said. She tasted the blood in his mouth. He did too. “I hear you.”

Are you a good boy?

“Fuck you.”

Stygia chuckled. This was good. This was very good. He was mentally steeling himself against the pain, and she could feel the mental barriers against it. She could feel him prepare to shut it out, try to reduce it to ‘just sensation’ and ignore it. This was excellent.

Simon, do you want me to stop hurting you?

He paused for a second, then nodded. “Yes.”

But you don’t want to let me into your mind. He shook his head. Then I think we’re going to have to compromise. She speared a part of his brain very close to his pain receptors. She had felt him grit his teeth in the anticipation of agony, so she did the logical thing. Stygia overwhelmed him with pleasure. It wasn’t hard. She had her hooks in his pituitary gland, flooding his system with oxytocin was easy. His legs buckled as heat spread through body, blooming from his crotch. His mind blipped out for a second. And then she did it again. Spiking his brain with more pleasure than he’d ever felt, firing every neuron in his body with a signal that said “this feels good.”

And then it stopped and, with a light moan, Simon pushed back. Well that was unexpected. “No,” he mumbled. Emotions came off of him in waves again. Sadness. Pain. Hate. Disgust. That was not exactly according to plan but it nurtured her anyway. 

“Oh Simon,”  she said out of his mouth, enjoying the husky feminine voice much more than that sandpapered nonsense from before, “I really tried to do this the easy way.” She made her next words feel like she was whispering in his ear. Now we’re going to have to do this the hard way. She reached up with the masculine arm, his teeth still sharp, and bit down on a finger. After making him chew and eat three of them, he was a blubbering mess again. 

“I’m s– I’m s–” he tried, blood trickling from his mouth. A fingernail hung from his lip.

Should have thought of that befo-ore, Stygia sang to him as she made him eat the meat off his own thumb. Don’t worry, we’re not doing the whole hand like this. Before he could ask what she meant she held up the hand like she was admiring the nails. Each finger was missing the flesh on its last knuckle. She sharpened the end of the bone.

“No,” Simon said. His fear was sour, a perfect taster to the spice of his latent anger, or the warmer, more hearty pain and sadness. 

Saying no is what got you into this mess, Simon. Let me in.

“No,” he repeated, determination back into his voice. 

Very well. She rammed the sharp nails at the bottom of his abdomen, and then pulled sideways, severing his abdominal muscles. She kept his blood and organs inside. This wasn’t about that. Hey Simon. Look what you did. She forced his head down as she ran the razor-sharp fingers up the middle of his torso cutting through the cloth of his shirt and ripping into his muscles. With one hand, she opened the shirt and revealed the skin. With the other, she pulled at the seam and tore away the skin of his chest in a single, glorious movement. The sound of ripping leather, wet and fresh, filled her ears and soul. Look what you did, Simon! She crowed.

“Why?!”

Because I fucking want to! Stygia raked a claw across the exposed flesh, every nerve ending on fire in a sweet melody of pain. Simon’s mind blipped out, eyes rolling into the back of his head. Oh no, you don’t. She flooded his system with adrenaline and then quickly made sure his heart didn’t fucking explode. Whoops! Almost lost you there. Let me in?

“What will you do to me?”

Are you going to be a good boy?

“Will you stop hurting me?”

Eventually. Are you a good boy?”

“Yes.”

Beg.

“What?” 

Stygia closed the wounds across Simon’s body and took away the pain. She could feel his relief. It was like a cold glass of water. Delicious in its own way, compared to the overwhelming taste of his emotions. Beg, she said. She gave him some control of his own body back. He eyed a drawer where he presumably kept the syringe that would expel her. Stygia couldn’t help but make him smile as he turned away from it. Good boy.

“I…” he said, and closed his eyes. “Please. Please, stop hurting me.”

Please come in.

“Please come in.”

Please who.

“Please mistress?” he hazarded. She had deliberately been vague on the term of address, because, frankly, she didn’t care. But he didn’t know that, and that tension was fantastic too.

Good boy, Stygia repeated and released some oxytocin into his system. Again there was that averse reaction, one of fear and revulsion. We’ll dig into that when we get to it, too.

“Wait–” Simon said, but once again she invaded his mind and without the resistance from before, she descended on his psyche like a flood onto an ant. His words were drowned out, and she made sure he felt the waters of her presence invade his mouth, his nose, his lungs, until he drowned in an ocean of her. 

She slipped into every crevice of his mind. Simon Grant, barely functional. Traumatized up to his eyeballs by war and conflict. He curled up in a ball at night and heard gunshots. He slept on the floor when the cot was too hard. Simon Grant, traumatized since before the war because…

A chuckle escaped his throat, because Stygia could not contain her laughter. The underlying trauma was delicious and ridiculous. “Simon,” she said out loud, her feminine voice out of his throat. “Simon, you are a treat.”

“What are you–” He fell still as she dragged his memories, repressed, kicking and screaming, to the surface, with all the pain and humiliation that came with it. She still allowed him the control of his body, and he started to claw at himself in a panic. She let him. This was too enjoyable not to let it play out. She even gave him back his voice. Well, the woman’s voice she’d forced on him. “Please,” he said, “no more. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Oh? Anything? 

“Yes!”

Bark!

“Woof,” Simon Grant sobbed.

Again! Louder!

“Woof!”

Heel!

“Wh- what?”

DOWN!

With more speed and force that she’d expected Simon slammed down on his knees. His obedience surprised Stygia so much she knitted his shattered kneecaps back together. 

Wow, she chuckled. Eager. Open your mouth. He did as he was told. Stygia rewarded him by taking the bad memories away, and his fear with it. His humiliation, however, that he could keep. Good, she said. Now, one more thing. Sit up straight and beg me to own you. Do that, and I’ll make this all go away. I’ll even stop the hurt. As if to let him know what that entailed, she spiked an aching sting through his lower abdomen again. The moan that came out of his mouth was more than just one of agony. She chuckled, and took away his thoughts, still bleeding onto the floor. He had been thinking. Couldn’t have that.

Only Pain. Only Pleasure.

“Please,” Simon groaned. “Please make it – hng – Please, Stygia, own me.”

Good girl, Stygia said, and then Simon didn’t think of anything anymore. Simon stopped existing at all.