Chapter 6: Engineering A Horror

The whole riverside was cordoned off, with saws and torches hissing and whining in the cold. Every construction worker in the county had been hired for this project, many of which required either bribes, threats, or extortion to accept the job. They were paid in gold, conjured into existence with Dominion’s powers. They worked day and night, no matter how much it snowed or how sharp the northern winds were. The warehouses were being renovated under the guise that they would be turned into slaughterhouses and processing centers, while new buildings sprung up like weeds. Others were told that it would be a prison; two lies that were unnervingly close to the truth. The idea of new jobs coming in would entice anyone, and it explained away all of the holding cells and machinery being installed.

New warehouses were also being built for storage, holding truckloads of food being brought in, enough to feed several armies. All this work was giving the economy a rush, and Christmas passed with every company in the city boasting big profits. But while the public was enjoying blissful ignorance, there were many who knew that things were about to take a dark turn, and of those who were informed, their suffering had already begun.

At the moment, it was Mary who was suffering the most. She was hanging from the ceiling of the guest room by a system of ropes tied around her body like a sex swing. She was naked, she and her fellow slaves forbidden from wearing clothes. Along with friction burns from the rope, she also had frostbite from the bitter January breeze flowing through her broken window. The air was moist, almost steamy. It came from her evaporating blood. Once more, Dominion cut her flesh, making her cry out in agony. He was using a shard of glass, the same shard she had used to try and kill herself after breaking the window.

This was punishment for trying to escape him through death. What she didn’t know was that suicide wouldn’t save her. Her face, the face her husband had fallen in love with, had been branded. S003. It was an identification number, burned into her cheek and labeling her as Dominion’s property. It meant she was his third slave. Cho and Hijiri had also been branded, but these brands weren’t just for labeling, they were also seals. They acted as anchors on their souls, binding them to their bodies. Should they die, their souls would remain trapped in their corpses, unable to pass on, like being in a coma. At which point, Dominion could harvest them whenever they wished.

But they didn’t know that.

Cho knew what awaited her should Dominion kill her, but she thought it was only the wraiths attached to her that could prevent her freedom. She thought the brand was just a brand. As for Mary, she, like Hijiri, didn’t even know that her soul could be taken. She still lived under the delusion that if she could kill herself, she could escape Dominion’s cruelty. That glimmer of hope, he tormented her with it. This was not her first attempt at suicide, and every time she tried, he would torture her as punishment, to show her that there was still so much agony he could, and would, inflict. But she couldn’t stop herself. The pain of the daily rapes alone made her want to end it all, but more than that, she wanted to be reunited with her children. If only she knew that they were trapped within Dominion, enslaved, just as she was.

He walked circles around her, slicing through her flesh every few seconds and relishing her screams. Blood was pooling underneath her, not enough to risk her life, but it was more than she had ever shed, even during childbirth. Her beautiful, mature body, it was like he found a new way to defile and poison it with each passing day.

“You still don’t understand, do you? Every aspect of your existence belongs to me. You die only when I said you can die.” Standing before her, he sliced her across the eyes. Blinded, she gave her loudest shriek, with blood mixing with her tears. “You deserve to be punished, you deserve to suffer, because that is the life I have decided for you. You live only to receive my cruelty. You live only to beg for death.”

“Please! Just kill me! I want to die!” she screamed.

Dominion took the shard and stabbed her in the right nipple like he was putting out a cigarette. The rough edges of the glass cut the spongey flesh at a nearly microscopic level. She sobbed as he pushed it in farther, as if trying to insert it into the duct. “I will, when I grow tired of you. When you are so twisted and broken that you are numb to both pain and ecstasy, I will end you and throw your corpse aside like garbage. But until such a time, you are my toy.

Now, I’d say that’s enough for one day. I’ll leave you to think about what you’ve done. Goodnight.”

He then departed, leaving the room with the window still broken and the blind and bleeding Mary hanging from the ceiling. He tasked a wraith with keeping an eye on her. If she suffered hypothermia and was on the verge of death, he’d return to save her, but until then, her cuts, blindness, and advancing frostbite could wait until tomorrow to be healed.

In her room, Cho sighed as the screams at last ended. It had been a month since Dominion brought that woman, Mary, to the mansion. She was confined to one of the guest rooms almost 24/7, and like Cho and Hijiri, only let out for meals. Mealtime was also the only time they were allowed to use the bathroom. Cho couldn’t really get a sense of her, mainly because they were forbidden from speaking to each other. The only time she saw her was when she had her face buried in her food bowl, and when they did make eye contact, she could see a glimmer of contempt, but she didn’t understand why.

And she wasn’t the only newcomer. There was also that man, that ... thing. Dressed in an SS officer uniform and missing the entire front of his skull, he seemed to be Dominion’s second in command. Tasks were often delegated to him that Dominion couldn’t trust to Misato’s men, but never out in the open. Dominion hadn’t yet exposed himself to the world, so he was keeping his minion hidden as well. She saw him during meals, providing updates and reports as Dominion ate. He paid no attention to her or the other slaves. Mary would always watch him with a pained expression, but for Cho, that was just another mystery. She had a feeling that he used to be a regular person, because the mansion’s chef had been transformed into something similar.

Then there were Dominion’s new minions. Despite loosely resembling people, there was nothing human about them. They were abnormally tall, with pale, lanky bodies and arms hanging down to their knees. They didn’t have noses, instead exposing their sinuses, and cruel eyes. “Sentinels”, that’s what Dominion called them. He seemed able to create them, but she didn’t know how. She never heard them speak, unless asked a question by Dominion, and every word they spoke had a sort of “clucking” sound, as if the bones in their necks were being snapped. They handled the day to day chores, such as cleaning and laundry.

The peace was only temporary, as she heard Dominion’s approaching footsteps. She instinctively stepped back, retreating towards the corner. It was pointless, she knew there was nothing that could be done to escape him, but her fear of pain was telling her to run, that even a moment’s prolongment would be worth any amount of effort. She heard him stop outside her door, the handle jiggled as he grasped it, but then he let go and departed. Just as quickly as Cho released her held breath, she heard him open the door to Hijiri’s room.

“No! Please, no!” her sister screamed at his arrival.

Hijiri had been raped almost every day since his arrival, but still, she’d beg for mercy every time he came for her, and scream like he was ripping her virginity away all over again. Cho hid under the covers of her bed and blocked her ears, but the sounds always slipped in. Dominion would taunt her, smack her around and beat her for her lack of compliance, and then violate her for an hour or longer, with Hijiri’s screams never-ending.

To Cho, it was torture. Hearing her sister being raped, she was unable to see it but forced to imagine it. Dominion often told her what position to take, and Cho had a feeling he did that so she would know. This was just another way of making them suffer. Most often, he’d rape them together, leaving Cho and Hijiri drenched in their master’s cum and each other’s juices. They’d have to watch as he took turns with them, emptying himself into one and then grabbing the other and making her suck him off.

On days like this, he kept them separate to isolate them. He’d rape one, leaving the other to wallow in fear and anticipation. The guilt would eat away at them, the feeling of helplessness, each unable to help or protect the other. All they could do was listen to the other’s screams. This daily abuse was taking a heavy toll on Hijiri. Cho often heard her singing children’s songs or talking to their dead mother. During meals, she’d see her with clumps of hair missing and scars from cutting herself. It was like Dominion’s semen was acid, melting away her sanity with each passing day.

For Cho, the only thing keeping her sane was the fact that she was still alive. She knew that whatever Dominion did to her body would pale to what he could do to her soul. She just had to be grateful that she still had that.

More than an hour of screams and clapping flesh later, Dominion finally ended his assault, leaving Hijiri passed out. But he wasn’t done for the night. Cho automatically began to cry as the door to her bedroom opened. Dominion stood there, wearing nothing but an insidious grin. His member was still erect, and glistening with Hijiri’s blood and wetness. His strength and cruelty made bleeding common in his victims.

“Your little whore sister fainted on me. Now you have to finish the job. On your knees.” Trembling, she kneeled down and he approached her. She opened her mouth and received his cock, sucking it clean like a good slave. “Yeah, she tastes sweet, doesn’t she?”

She nodded, knowing that disagreeing would earn her a smack or worse, but it seemed that there was no right answer. Rather than simply letting her work, Dominion grabbed her hair and began skull-fucking her. There was no warning, she could only flail her limbs and release a gargled cry. The flow of her tears increased with the stimulation of her gag reflex, while every breath sounded like a croaking frog. A rope appeared in Dominion’s hand and he wrapped it around the back of her neck like a reverse garrote. He pulled it tight, forcing her face against his lap with his balls awash in the waterfall of spit pouring down her mouth.

After a minute, he pulled his cock out and smeared it across her pretty face, mixing her frothy spit with her tears. Then it was back into her throat for resumed abuse. The brutality continued for several minutes, with Cho retching several times on his cock without any mercy to show for it. Then he stopped and a shiver moved through him. She coughed and wheezed as he came, shooting his load directly into her throat and making her feel like she was drowning in his semen.

He pulled out of her again and she immediately vomited, sending his semen and the contents of her stomach pouring down her tits. His hand wet with the combined fluids, he smacked her face and then jammed his fingers in her mouth. “Look at yourself, revolting. You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

She nodded with her eyes screwed shut to keep from being blinded by the filth. His cock replaced his fingers and he resumed raping her mouth. This continued, Dominion skull-fucking and blowing his load again and again, only for her to puke it up. He changed positions a couple of times, just looking for new ways to abuse her. On her knees, kneeling his fingers wrapped in her hair, that was the most common. Next, he threw her onto her bed, her head hanging off the edge. He’d start thrusting deep into her throat, letting his balls smack her filthy face, just like when he first raped her on her father’s desk.

The last was him sitting against the headboard of her bed, she leaning over and sucking him off. This was the worst position to her, since she had to replicate his cruelty and force herself to choke on his cock. Her head was lowered all the way down, her lips to the base and the head of his dick scraping against the back of her throat. He bucked his hips, his manhood punching her uvula. He came once again, an inhuman amount of semen pouring into her stomach, only to be regurgitated due to the punishment to her throat.

After an hour of abuse, he finally separated from her. She was painted head to toe in filth, her skin a sticky, slimy mess. She lay on the ground like roadkill, exhausted, her throat feeling like an old sock. Yet Dominion still was not satiated. The rope he had created, he wrapped it around her neck like a leash and dragged her up onto her feet towards the bathroom. He threw her into the shower and turned it on, and despite her aching throat, she screamed from the stingingly-cold water.

Dominion stepped in and grabbed her, roughly washing her face with his palm. “A filthy whore like you needs to be cleansed for her Master. Feel that water on your disgusting body? That’s the tears of your family, seeing how pathetic you’ve become. I’m doing your father a favor by keeping him out of here. He shouldn’t see what a revolting slut you’ve become.”

He then bent her over, her body shivering both from the cold and from her tearful whimpering. Smack! Dominion slapped her ass hard enough to leave a welt. She screamed but that just brought her another slap. He spanked her like a machine, each strike reddening her flesh and drawing fresh cries. He was pulling her hair, controlling her and keeping her bent over in that position. There was nothing she could do to resist him, nothing to lessen the pain.

“I’m sorry!” she shrieked the words, her face a mess despite being forced into the shower. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” She apologized with each slap, pleading louder and louder every time. She didn’t know what she was apologizing for, she didn’t even know to who. She just hoped that it might ease Dominion’s wrath if she repented for whatever it was that she had done to enrage him.

“There is no point in apologizing. You’ve done nothing wrong. This isn’t punishment or karma, nothing in your life brought you to this moment. This is just me having fun at your expense. You are weak, so you are preyed upon. This is the harshness of the world, the cruelness of reality. It is a law of nature for you to suffer at my hand. Accept this horror, embrace despair, drown in your suffering.”

Then he got behind her and spread her ass cheeks. She tried to beg him not to, but still slick from the filth in the bedroom, he forced his cock into her anus. He had never sodomized her before, it was her first time ever even touched there, but as expected, it brought her screams to a whole new level of volume. She could feel it, the disgusting mixture of fluids inside her, it was like liquid proof of his abuse.

Dominion, having amassed quite a lot of experience in anal rape, began hammering her at his top speed, leaving her without any time to brace herself or get used to the feeling of insertion. She was so tight, she felt like he’d tear her open. With freezing water pouring on her back, Cho, still bent over, clung to the bathtub faucet, sobbing as the sound of wet flesh striking like a flint and steel overshadowed the hissing shower above her head. The rope from before, he tightened it around her throat, strangling her and leaving her to gasp for air as he raped her asshole.

No matter how loud she screamed or how hard she sobbed, the abuse continued. It didn’t stop until, at last, she felt warmth inside her, in the form of Dominion’s semen flooding her anal cavity. At last, he pulled out of her, and she fell to the shower floor, drained of all energy. He stood over her, a drop of sperm falling from his deflating manhood.

“Savor this pain, because the day will come when you dream of having living flesh.”

He then departed, leaving her curled up in the shower with the cold water pouring on her.

It was a frigid January morning, with Dominion doing a walkthrough of one of the newly-built facilities. The warehouse was filled with holding cells resembling a prison. At his side was Blight, his posture perfect, and his “face” unreadable as always. He had been tasked with overseeing the construction of this place, and Dominion’s expression told him that he had done well.

“Exquisite, Blight. Your knowledge has certainly come in handy.”

“You humble me with your praise, oh Lord.”

“Are all the preparations complete?”

“Yes, we are overstocked on anything and everything we might need. Everything is ready for the arrivals.”

“Good. Gather the men, we move tonight.” Blight bowed and then departed to fulfill the order. Alone, Dominion held out his hand. “Now to build the new breed of soldier.”

A talon extended from his thumb, which he used to slit his index finger. Blood began to drip out at a slow trickle, but rather than simply pooling at his feet, it spread out, as if possessed, while growing in mass. It stretched across the entire floor, and then from the blood, they rose. These weren’t mere spirits given corporeal form, these were biological entities. Each was imbued with one demon and ten wraiths, with their minds shaped around the order of total obedience to Dominion. He injected their minds with knowledge and heightened processing ability, making them far more versatile and useful than his deranged pets. He watched them rise, their hulking bodies taking shape, and couldn’t help but let slip a laugh in anticipation of the holocaust waiting to happen.

It was midnight when the ground began to shake, a frigid evening with a steady snowfall. What shook the ground were the rhythmic footfalls of Dominion’s unholy troops as they marched down the streets of the capital. There were only a hundred of them, but their monstrous size and great weight gave them concussive synchronicity. Ten feet in height, their limbs were like tree trunks. Not only were they thick with muscle, but their flesh was covered in a dark bone armor. Their prints in the snow were massive, measured not in inches, but feet. Their faces had no lips, exposing their triangular teeth, while their eyes were blood-red without any discernable retina or iris. Their heads were decorated with bulbous horns, reminiscent of the headpieces of Egyptian pharaohs, with beard-like tusks growing from their chins. On their shoulders were folded wings, but it was a mystery if such massive creatures could actually fly.

“Hulks”, they were called, for obvious reasons. Like the sentinels, they were a branch of the new race that Dominion nicknamed “the spawn”.

Following them were Misato’s men, each of them nearly at the breaking point. They had been given their orders, they knew what was coming, and they wanted to resist with every fiber of their being, but even if it weren’t for the evil spirits hiding in their shadows, the behemoths before them had broken their spirits. It was as if the Devil had taken the very essence of violence and granted it physical form. Their enlarged knuckles, tipped with what almost looked like segments of a spinal column, could rip through flesh and pulverize bone with ease. Just as terrifying were the sentinels, the lanky black troops marching alongside. They only spoke when one of the men lagged behind or looked like he was wandering, a quick and harsh threat to return to formation. Like the hulks, they didn’t carry weapons, but that was because they didn’t need them.

This late at night, there was almost no one out on the streets, save for those who worked night shifts or were stumbling out of bars. The sound of footfalls would draw their attention, where they’d stare in utter disbelief, assuming their eyes were playing tricks on them or it was some kind of prank. Then the reality would dawn on them and instincts would take over.

On Main Street, a man was heading to his car after locking the doors to his diner, but upon seeing the marching beasts, his fatigued steps became a hurried sprint. He ran to his sedan and jumped in, but as he fumbled with his keys, the driver-side door was ripped off. One of the behemoths had raced over, its speed nothing short of a cheat. The man screamed as it pulled him out of the car, its hand large enough to crush his skull like a grape. With the man in its grip, it returned to the army and moved to the back, where a school bus was waiting. The man was thrown inside, where he was forced to take a seat at gunpoint. There were others already on the bus, most of them homeless people who had been grabbed off the street.

The army spread out through the city, a combination of men and monsters tasked with capturing every inhabitant. Misato’s men, sick to their stomachs and terrified, stormed into apartment buildings. At each unit, they’d bust the door open, guns aimed at whoever they found inside. Thanks to the records they had taken, they knew exactly which buildings to strike and who they would find. Men, women, children, and the elderly, they were dragged from their beds under threat of death and tossed into buses and trucks. Standing in the snow, barefoot and barely clothed, many wept in fear and confusion, but their tears turned to ice on their cheeks. Those that resisted or tried to run were caught and dragged back by the sentinels. Even hospitals were raided, every patient taken, even if they couldn’t walk or had to be kept on life support. Dominion had plans for them.

If the hulks were tanks, then the sentinels were foot soldiers. Each one was a combination of three wraiths, giving them more than triple the spiritual power in their bodies than a human. One spirit in a body granted normal function, like a human. The second provided enough energy for metabolism and cellular respiration to no longer be necessary. They didn’t need to eat, sleep, or breath. The third provided enhanced endurance and healing, making them immortal. Bullets could rip through their flesh, but no injury could kill them.

Gunfire filled the night, armed inhabitants trying to fight back. The muzzle flashes lit up the streets and the pops drowned out the howling wind. Everyone in the city was waking up from the commotion and grabbing their weapons as they heard the screaming of their neighbors. To answer this challenge, the next wave of Dominion’s spawn advanced to the front line. Walking on four legs, their muscular bodies resembled giant pit bulls, but their revolting bodies were hairless and their skulls were more like a spider’s. They had four massive pincers and a large eye where their throat should have been.

These creatures took the place of the human collaborators and the sentinels, as they were immune to the pathetic resistance that the citizens put up. They burst into people’s homes, either smashing down doors or breaking through windows. Men, desperate to protect themselves or their families, rained hot lead upon them, but not only did the bullets barely break the skin, the wounds healed almost instantly. Their bodies, imbued with five spirits, were all but immune to anything not made of silver. Unlike the sentinels, which might be slowed down or dismembered by strong prey, these hounds were unstoppable. The beasts then lunged, grabbing their victims with their pincers like a bear trap and then dragging them outside.

As the smaller beasts handled the fighting inside, the behemoths were busy chasing down cars and battling residents on foot. They raced across the snow-covered ground like they were weightless, propelled by colossal muscles and inhuman power. On one of the roads leading out of the city, a cop car had stopped and the officer, not on Misato’s payroll, was opening fire with an M16. One of Dominion’s troops charged towards him, a deep grunt rumbling in its throat with each mighty footfall. The bullets struck its armored hide but might as well have been ping pong balls. It leapede into the air, released a mighty roar, and brought its fist down onto the hood of the car. It punched through the sheet metal like paper and ripped out the engine. It grabbed the officer and crumpled his gun, then proceeded to drag him back.

On one of these buses, everyone was packed together so tightly that they couldn’t move. There wasn’t even enough room to actually sit on the seats. There were two of Misato’s men, the driver and the armed guard. The guard had his weapon raised, ready to shoot anyone who stepped near him.

A man took a chance, he leaped forward and tried to take the rifle out of his hand. Fighting for control over the weapon, the guard inadvertently pulled the trigger, shooting a woman in the eyes and splattering brains and blood across her fellow prisoners. More joined in, trying to take the guard’s weapon, but hearing the commotion, one of the hulks forced open the door and released a deafening roar into the bus, silencing everyone and crushing any hopes of escape.

Once the apartment buildings were taken care of, Dominion’s forces crossed the river into the suburbs. This time, the hulks were in charge of collecting prisoners. They didn’t even bother kicking down doors, they just ripped the houses open like cardboard boxes and grabbed the people inside. The citizens resumed trying to fight, of course, but no bullet or blade could break through their armor plating. The spawn were forbidden from killing anyone, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t get rough. Those that resisted would get slammed and punched with their boulder-like fists, beaten to within an inch of their life until falling to the ground in a pool of blood. Many people succumbed to their injuries, but like their master, the beasts could harvest the soul of whoever they killed.

Once the buses and trucks were filled to maximum capacity, they returned to the warehouses, driving past perimeter walls and barbed wire fences. At the entrances to the buildings, the people were forced out of the vehicles and then divided up. The old were separated from the young, husbands separated from their wives, mothers separated from their children, boys separated from girls. They were sent to different warehouses for processing. This task was performed by guards with snarling attack dogs. These dogs were originally used to help patrol the Misato estate, but now they were terrorizing the innocent, making children scream in fear.

It was a disorienting and terrifying experience, being deafened by shouting orders and barking dogs, blinded by searchlights beaming down on them from watchtowers, and bludgeoned by the guards trying to avoid punishment by the overseers. Many of the captured men had been contractors and construction workers, hired to build these facilities. Only now did they realize that they hadn’t built a meat processing plant or anything like that. It was a concentration camp.

On a catwalk over the entrance to the main building, Blight watched the huddled masses driven inside. Many saw him, saw his “face”, but it was far from the most terrifying thing on this night. Upon entering the warehouses, first came the confiscation. With guns pointed at their heads and monsters surrounding them, the people were stripped of their belongings. Though, considering they had been taken from their beds, there wasn’t much to take. All they had were the clothes on their backs, maybe some jewelry.

Then their heads were shaved. The men struggled to put up a brave front, but the women and children screamed and cried. They were tied to chairs, staring at the inhuman sentinels working the clippers with their spidery fingers. Then they were all hosed down and deloused. This task too was performed by the sentinels, holding fire hoses and washing everyone en masse. Naked bodies were crammed together, both by the guards and by the water pressure. Everyone shielded their faces from the brutal spray, harsh enough to almost tear flesh, but they couldn’t even see through the clouds of delousing agent thrown at them. For clothes, they were given prison-style uniforms.

The last step was the branding. Performed by the sentinels, every citizen had their name recorded and a corresponding number burned onto their face. No tools were used, the spawn simply held out their index fingers and their claws would glow red hot. The civilians screamed and fought to escape, to turn their faces away from the incoming burn, but all were marked, and all screamed in agony. Even Misato and his men were branded under threat of death. Like Dominion’s slaves, the brands locked their souls to their bodies, so even if they committed suicide, they could still be harvested.

Their IDs corresponded to their professions, with one’s level of usefulness determining their quality of confinement. Collaborators© and their families got to go home. Doctors and other medical professionals (M) were given solitary prison cells, each with a sink and toilet. Skilled engineers, craftsmen, and technicians (W) were housed together in massive pens. It was a forest of triple-level bunkbeds, and against the far wall, a line of toilets and sinks. Aside from the clothes, they were each given a single bowl for meals. The rest (L) were just housed in similar pens, but forced to sleep on the ground like animals. Their only bedding was an insulating mat on top of the cold concrete. The sick and the crippled were housed elsewhere until they could be used. Regardless of one’s level, everyone was watched at all times by sentinels, patrolling on catwalks above their heads.