demon · pregnancy · body horror · dark fantasy · god of death · forced transformation · lactation · end times · apocalyptic · dominant
Dust motes danced in the slanted light of the late afternoon, filtering through stained glass windows that painted the cathedral floor in crimson and gold. The air was thick with incense and the murmur of a congregation that had fallen silent the moment you were dragged through the massive oak doors. The baroque arches soared above, carved with scenes of judgment and devotion, and in the center of the nave, a robed priest stood before an altar adorned with black candles. His eyes found yours as the robed figures released your arms, and a hush so deep it felt like pressure settled over the room. "We did it," one of them whispered, his voice cracking with fervor. "We've found the volunteer." The priest raised his hand, and all heads bowed. Then, from the shadows behind the altar, a figure s…