Meat Points: Guidance

You wake to a pair of enormous hands around your throat. The fingers squeeze. The thumbs seek the windpipe and hyoid bone. In focus now: behind the hands and arms, the beard rusty brown. Eyes like pools of bacteria - brilliant blue with a red rim, burning hot. As beautiful and as painful to look at as the first time you shoved them back into place. The voice, repeating mechanically in a breathless hiss.

GIVEITBACKGIVEITBACKGIVEITBACKGIVEITBACK

Yes, again. A dissatisfied customer, unhappy with services rendered. Trying to spread open your heavy body. Look inside for things he thinks you’ve taken. That he put there.

It takes a moment to decide, although it’s not really a decision. If you pry him off the others will hear. The skinny little mage will deem his behavior unacceptable. Will modify his behavior with a whole program of Suggestions and Geases so he behaves himself. Will sever the bond you’ve forged. Wipe clean his body’s automatic reactions, so carefully honed through experience and cultivated by your healing hands, that outpace his endlessly dreaming mind in the moments where seconds matter most.

His grasping hands battle the thick muscles and cushioning fat of your throat. You close your eyes. His face stays in your perception as a smear of color. The shape changes. The hands defeat the throat. You feel lightheaded. Euphoric.

River of blood flows from Tower of Pain. River of blood flows to the deep temples. To the Hammerer and the Hungry Dungeon. Knacker float you on the river. Meat God, lover of filthy men and fallen women. This collision of flesh on flesh, these grunts and exhalations we dedicate to you.

And the Knacker grants you a moment of glorious unification. The choking hands are your hands. The parts you replaced are your parts, whether misaligned or placed with exquisite care, unfamiliar only because the self must always be unfamiliar to the self. Surge of blood to the extremities. Surge of life. His hatred and his fear and his burning need are yours. Have always been yours.

The Meat God’s Protection fortifies your throat against destruction. The rush of air is stronger and sweeter than the beer that once filled your metal jug. He presses harder, unaware or undeterred. He’ll tire himself out soon. You lay back on your bed of stone and wait for great things.

You want to feel him smash your face.