The Parody of the Worst Moment in the Life of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him: When He'd Been Cummed Up Boss.

What this new fact, in this new entity, would mean in terms of their fighting it in their mutual goal of remaining being alive, and then the other things.

The first obvious signs of the thing's change in comportment, were this:

A solidified cummy semen brain half out its own skull, caked in semen from head to foot, drying/solidifying, the Parody of the Worst Moment in the Life of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him: When He'd Been Cummed Up Boss released his hands from the bars on the ceiling, set their for this purpose, and hit the floor with a thunderous echo that indicated purpose if nothing else.

And then, an obvious cognitive enhancement revealed even in this first action, it got on its belly and started crawling up the corridor toward them.

A semen encrusted coupon approached up the hall toward them.

Its exposed brain, yellowy, bits of reds, chunks of other organs visible, but still, clearly and visibly predominantly a semen shit, it pulled itself prone on its face, and one massive spade hand at a time, slapping, slippy with semen themselves – a giant wet spunk monster at this point really; with slappy and slippy palms; it pulled itself inevitable, intractable, toward them.

backs against the wall they let the cockhole have everything they had.

His super[natural]shotgun released one fatalistic bark in its exposed coupon; one after another - the Hero Dreamt fired; he fired; he kept firing, the automatic reload sequence the only pause in his firing into the hole in the head of the spunky giant fuck approaching on its belly up the hole slowly toward them.

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The Golden Bow let the Golden arrows fly.

The same time a surge of fellow feeling passed through the Hero Dreamt – the Golden Lad/Chap had said nothing to him of the horrible event that had occurred to him in here, and the obvious and permanent humiliation with which the event had scarred him – now parodied by the giant fuck dragging itself up the hall toward them. He hadn't, in fact, judged him – even observed him, with consciousness of this event; never said anything, of it – not even mentioned it, or as far as he could tell – even consciously; he felt, in his own head, he was sure of this. Even thought it. Of, it. In any terms. Let alone insulting.

The Golden Bow had never even recalled it after the event – he had not been judged at all by the Golden Bow. Was the point. And this was a gift, at this point, that he felt rather a lot of gratitude for.

He fired ceaselessly, back against the wall – if they were to die in this fashion never giving up till the end then, in that event, at least he had died with... he didn't want to be fruity about it – but a brother.

He let the shells fly, exploding in its exposed cerebral cavity that contained a semen shit, reloaded, then he let them fly, reloaded, then he let them fly, reloaded, then he let them fly – exploding those shells in the exposed cerebral cavity that contained a semen shit.

He reloaded, then he let them fly – reloaded, then he let them fly, exploding again in its exposed cerebral cavity that contained a semen shit.

Golden arrows passed exploding shells, and the thing was having an effect – the fools had exposed its brain.

Larger chunks than ever were being decimated off the red bar atop his perception, between him and reality that indicated still the remaining health-vitality of the thing – maybe five percent of what remained a minute was coming off – with the combined unloading of the super[natural]shotgun and the

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of the Golden Bow's arrows. At this rate he'd be finished within – within, no time, a very short period. This was a much faster way to annihilate the fuck than previous – they could kill him, in this way; they only needed – and he never thought he'd have prayed for this in here – a longer corridor.

Because –

His exposed brain was clearly a – semen shit – weakness; the problem was actually that now –

One of its giant spade hands seized him, and dragged him screaming back down the hall.

Kicking him in his brain and struggling to get out of that mighty semen encrusted grasp, he couldn't – the strength of the obscene thing was dreadful, impossible – there – no recourse to it. Kicking himself from side to side he couldn't get out. The Golden Bow roared something pursuing – he was pursuing – past his face a poignard plunged directly in the semen-shit cortex of the fuck dragging him back the hall, taking again another three percent of what remained with every plunge, but – the hall wasn't long enough.

The Golden Bow fought to pull him out the grasp of the insane giant fucker, stabbing him poignard deep in the cortex, kicking him in the face, same time fighting to drag the Hero Dreamt back, to no avail. The thing was impossibly strong and inevitable.

Thrashing side to side – the same time he couldn't even fire his shotgun in the things exposed brain, it had a finger on it, their only – the only thing they could do was fight that red bar, take as much as they could which was clearly what the Golden Bow, at this point, approaching the end of the corridor and the chamber in which they'd have to stand and trade with the fuck-wit – best case scenario – in.

The Youth stabbed continually, ceaselessly, into that brain that was a spunk cake – over and over and over again, and again but –

He dragged him back across the entrance of the chamber. There were all in the larger space now. The Parody of the Worst Moment in the Life of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him: When He'd Been Cummed Up Boss, still grasped in that massive claw – slammed the Hero Dreamt against the wall, releasing him, then vomited senseless arcing gallons of – semen – apparently – it had suffused him in some fashion – all the liquids-results of the council of important Science Priests that also happened to have been also an extremely graphic and disturbing orgy. A clerical gang fuck.

The vomited avalanche of ejaculate immediately hardened, white, cement like, against the entrance into the chamber that – they were now trapped; they were obviously now trapped in, and they couldn't leave. It had formed an impenetrable barrier – the vomited cement semen, apparently he could do this now too, the new version of the Parody of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him Boss, now: the Parody of the Worst Moment in the Life of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him: When He'd Been Cummed Up Boss. The fresh update to a killing monster.

At this point it was revealed the real weapon of the freshly baptised Parody of the Worst Moment in the Life of the Hero for Killing the Demon who Dreamed Him: When He'd Been Cummed Up Boss.

It's exposed brain now pointed at the ceiling and impossible to reach – its only weak point – 41, roughly, per cent of its health still remaining.

Its real weapon was revealed – and –

And they were going to die.

It was this:

The vomited chunky semen acid, that was flying at them.

The thing vomited.

Stepping left, nicking barely a side, the Hero Dreamt missed a flying streaming spout of the vomited spunk out the coupon of the circling Boss-Fuck.

Steaming; bubbling against the wall, it let off a corrosive steam that clearly indicated a serious amount of that boiling semen on your face, body, or person – in any manner, would burn through your accoutrements, and then your flesh.

Communicating nothing, just knowing, just operating in a symbiosis that was actually quite shocking given the relatively limited period they'd spent together, they circled in an exchanging rhythm around the boss, still vomiting its ejaculated backup in bloody milk arcs.

They burned the walls they hit; set them steaming, set them – in fact it seemed they were burning through.

The thing had a rhythm; a new relentless one, but a rhythm nonetheless – therefore – that could be learned – it required their complete concentration, in circling, the same pace, avoiding each other, overlapping occasionally, unconsciously always aware of the other, and around it.

The Golden Bow continued to

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, ceaselessly. Causing still noticeable but minimal damage upon every arrow fired into its thorax and then re-pulled out by whatever means allowed for that in the Golden Quiver.

The thing swallowed, hacking, pulling out of its stomach, fighting - vomiting, in fact, flying vomit in great chunky lumps of digested acid semen. The stuff –

A miscalculation; in the rhythm of the Dream Slave's circling – releasing bark after repetitious bark of the super[natural]shotgun – induced a trip over a midget sized globule of semi-digested semen shit.

Immediately back on his feet, it was too late – he'd hit the turn in the rhythm of the circling boss fuck wrong, and a splotchy load – drowned him – but momentarily and then was weirdly disappeared and absorbed – his somehow still 90 health immediately reduced to 67 – a few more facials and he'd be – he didn't know – dead – but it worse, this – he'd absorbed it through his metaphysical health stat.

Which indications of reduced reality, the demonic mode itself imposed upon reality, were only becoming more explicitly the means by which he must operate in, and even understand this, this world. This reduction had to be the means through which he saw everything. He had a sense that at this stage this stuff was not even fully instantiated. That this reduction of reality into the modes in which demon's saw it, was still in the process of being imposed – that these statistics between him and reality where merely only one of the more obvious representations of this.

There was also – the sensation of having absorbed this stuff and that it had disappeared was worse than if – a big dirty drippy load was still sitting on his face and lips – okay in fact it was nowhere near as bad but still – creepy as fuck.

All of which was:

Merely reminding himself that these fucks had to die.

Shotgun released angrily, he set about circling the thing in that unending rhythm, as ropes of jism flew past his face.