Parasite Eve (34 page)

    Toshiaki’s entire body was
shaking. The shape before him was completely indistinguishable from the real
Kiyomi. The overhang of her shoulders, the shape of her breasts, the curves of
her waist...all Kiyomi to a tee. But the thing now writhing wetly in the
incubator did not have the supple, smooth skin of a real human being. Bile
pushed further up Toshiaki’s throat.

    Kiyomi smiled sensuously. Her
lips were full and pink like ripe, crushed fruit. Her long eyebrows furrowed as
if in distress, her eyes went moist, and large teardrops came to the corners of
her eyes. This was a face that Kiyomi had never shown, that of a true slut
desperately lusting after a man.

    “Toshiaki...I’ve been waiting
for you,” Kiyomi purred like a cat.

    She placed one hand on the
incubator door, then pulled her shoulders forward. The rest of her unformed
body made a foul, damp sound as it fell splattering to the floor. Bits flew on
to Toshiaki and he hastily covered himself.

    This unformed mass of flesh
writhed around and swiftly changed form. Her vagina and womb, the only fully
formed organs that had yet to assume their positions, ascended to her waist as
if swimming up a waterfall. Her lower curves chiseled themselves into symmetry,
and a long line yawned open down their middle. The womb was absorbed into
Kiyomi’s body, and the vagina settled in her lower abdomen, its mouth turned
towards him almost defiantly. Matted pubic hair sprouted above it. Her hips
swelled out and gained a luscious mass. Kiyomi swayed them left and right.

    “Toshiaki, look at my body.”

    She took a step forward with
a squishing sound.

    Then, another step.

    Toshiaki drew back with a
hand over his mouth, but the distance between them was growing smaller.

    Kiyomi was now fully rendered
down to her ankles. Her heels and toe nails were still ambiguous blobs, but
close to being finished. She took yet another step closer.

    “Look, this is my body,”
Kiyomi continued. “You remember it, don’t you? You held this body in your
strong arms so many times. You kissed me all over. I haven’t forgotten the way
you caressed my neck, the way you cupped these breasts with your hands, and
moved so intensely inside of me. You loved me, Toshiaki...You loved only me.”

    He wanted to scream that she
was not the one he had loved so dearly, but when he opened his mouth, he felt
like vomiting. He backed away, and would have fallen over had his back not met
the Cultivation Room door.

    “Come to me, my dear. Hold me
like you used to. Enter me. Ravage me to a pulp.”

    He turned his head in
desperation, but Kiyomi merely smiled and continued her approach. She stretched
her arms towards him. Toshiaki burst out the door.

    He had no idea which way to
run in the hallway’s pitch black expanse. Kiyomi emerged slowly out of the
room.

    Toshiaki felt his way to his
lab just down the hall. It was locked, but the door was old. After he rammed
into it twice, the clasp sprung off. Toshiaki stumbled inside and propped a mop
against the door.

    “Why do you run, Toshiaki?”
came a chiding voice.

    He leaned up against the door
with his entire weight.

    “It’s useless, no matter what
you do,” she warned.

    There was a sound like water
being dumped from a bucket. A syrupy substance flowed into the room from under
the door. It was flesh. Liquid flesh. Kiyomi had altered back into an
indefinite form. Once she was fully inside, she began to repeat the horrifying
spectacle Toshiaki had witnessed just moments before. She grinned broadly and
pushed up her body from the floor with both hands.

    Toshiaki let out a strained
cry and jumped back from the door. He could see almost nothing but her. He
fumbled around, having only a faint night light to depend on. He hit his shin
on the corner of a chair. He yelled out in pain, and bile dribbled out of his
mouth.

    Kiyomi followed him. She
grabbed his sleeve. Toshiaki flew into a rage and shook her off, but he was
cornered against a desk. Realizing it was Asakura’s lab table, he felt around,
grabbing whatever he could find to throw at Kiyomi.

    “Didn’t I say it was
useless?”

    Her smile returned. The agent
vials, pippettmans, and centrifugal tubes he flung in her direction were simply
absorbed into her body.

    His fingertips touched a
rigid steel stand. He brought it down upon Kiyomi’s head. It made a sharp
clang, but was soon swallowed up by her cranium.

    She laughed loudly, the stand
sticking out from her forehead. She grabbed it with her right hand and pulled
it slowly out of her face. Toshiaki cried out again. Though this creature
looked like Kiyomi, it wasn’t even human. It was something else inside. The
legs of the stand popped out with a gelatinous noise. She frowned and threw it
behind her.

    “Come now, be reasonable.
Just look at me.”

    She held out both hands and
clasped his face between them.

    They were slimy and he could
feel every cell in them writhing excitedly. He tried to look away, but could no
longer move. Her face came closer.

    “How I love you, Toshiaki.”

    Kiyomi pressed her lips
against his.

7

    Toshiaki’s vision swirled
with clouds of red as blood rushed in countercurrent to the top of his head.

    He wanted to run, but his
hands were restrained.

    Kiyomi stuck her tongue out into
his mouth with terrible strength. Toshiaki clenched his teeth to keep it out.
It was not enough. She pried his mouth open and her slug-like tongue thrust
itself inside. At first, it tasted of salt, and then came a rotten sweetness.
The taste of culture medium. Kiyomi was staving off dehydration by having
incorporated culture medium into herself.

    Her tongue began to wiggle
around, licking behind his teeth, the gum of his molars, the entrance of his
throat. She entwined her tongue around his own.

    She tugged his right hand,
bringing it close to her body.

    “Touch me,” she said in a
voice lush with arousal. Toshiaki made a fist in resistance. She seized his
wrist tightly with her fingers and the pain made him relent.

    Kiyomi pressed his hand against
her chest. Her nipple turned hard and rose sharply erect. She squeezed his
wrist threateningly, as if to say:
More...

    Her other hand was busy
loosening his necktie. She yanked off the buttons of his shirt. Toshiaki’s
mouth was still blocked, though he was suffocating.

    His right hand was guided
downward. From her chest to her navel, then to the damp growth below. He
resisted, but she had him in a grip of steel. Her lower abdomen shuddered.
Viscous matter flowed from it and spread across her skin. Her whole lower torso
was a simmering cauldron. Toshiaki couldn’t tell what was mucus and what was
flesh. Only, it burned. The heat was terrible.

    She pushed him over, pressing
his back against the top of the experimentation table. Something fell to the
floor with a clatter. His shirt was torn back. Kiyomi put her hand on his belt
impatiently.

    She took her lips away.
Toshiaki coughed, spitting out gobs of cultivation liquid. A thread of slime
was drawn between their lips.

    “Stop...”

    He could hardly speak. She
was upon him, drenching him in the deluge of slime flowing from her vaginal
opening. Through the haze of his helplessness, he saw it swelling and
contracting, about to rush down upon him at any moment.

    “I’ve been waiting for this
moment,” Kiyomi panted urgently. “For millions of years, I have been waiting...
Now enter me. Thrust inside of me, churn me. Release millions of years of
love!”

    An instant later, she had
slid down his pants and underwear. Her waist became formless and wrapped itself
around his lower body.

    It was like a crucible.
Toshiaki screamed. His body from his waist down seemed to be melting, as if a
huge stomach was digesting what it had swallowed.

    “Come now, what’s wrong,
Toshiaki? How is this different from before?” she snorted.

    Impatient that Toshiaki was
still totally shriveled, she started moving her melting hips up and down. Flesh
shifted inside her, pleats gathering around his genitalia. A hot whirlpool of
cells captured his manhood and tugged it upwards in a corkscrew motion, guiding
it forcibly toward her vagina.

    “Toshiaki, how I cherished
being held in your arms.”

    She drew her face near again.
He turned his away.     

    “The number of times we did
it, the positions, even the number of strokes, all of it is etched in my
memory. I remember where you touched me, and where you licked me. Because I
love you.”

    He did not want to listen.
Hearing Kiyomi, who’d been so shy, utter such vulgar things was just
unbearable.

    Kiyomi ran her tongue along
his ear and neck and implored him in a sultry tone to hold her like he used to.
As she spoke, her body shook with gratification.

    “You’re mine and mine only...
I’ll never let anyone else have you. Please, I want you to release it into me.”

    Kiyomi’s flesh began to
bestow its terrible stimuli upon him. Countless tentacles emerged inside her
body and held fast his waist, and her hips found their rhythm. The hole
swirled, contracted, and sucked him upward. Before he knew it, her upper body
was melting, too, breaking off in all directions. Still hugging Toshiaki with
her arms, she enveloped him completely.

    “Toshiaki, love me.”

    He felt like he was submerged
in lava. Her body was indistinguishable from his own. He couldn’t tell whether
he was clothed or naked, or where any of his body parts were. The only thing he
was aware of was the heat, which was burning from within him.

    Her flesh pushed and pulled
like tides in the ocean, washing against him, spraying into the air with a
crash, receding back out with a whir. Toshiaki was helpless before the pleasure
she gave.

    He felt like he had
disintegrated into his component cells and that they were mingling in a swirl
with hers. Kiyomi’s cells attached themselves to his, then blended into one.
Kiyomi’s mitochondria burrowed into him and touched his own. Their membranes
fused, first the outer, then the inner.
[34]
Their mitochondrial DNA tangled together and swam around crazedly in the fused
mitochondria, weaving through the interstices of a maze-like matrix. Electrons
went wild, shooting out signals like lightning. Toshiaki’s cells trembled. The
mitochondria trembled. Fats, sugars, and proteins trembled. His nuclear genome
was ecstatic. Codons, nucleotides, and bases were ecstatic. The very carbon
vibrated from Kiyomi’s caress.

    Toshiaki screamed. Something
was being sucked out from the center of his genome. He shouted
No, No!
but it was useless. All of him was being sucked out, upwards, ever upwards
toward Kiyomi, as a hot mass. The discharge occurred over and over. Kiyomi went
into a storm of convulsions. Toshiaki’s consciousness melted away.

8

    FLAP.

    What was that?

    thought Toshiaki.

    Something had brushed his
cheek.

    Something like pebbles. It
hurt. He slowly raised a hand.

    He touched his cheek with a
finger.

    It was warm, slimy.

    What was that?

    FLAP.

    ...

    Toshiaki woke up with a
start. He shook his head, blinked his eyes. His vision was blurry. It was dark.
He wiped his face with both hands. The lack of feeling in his fingers
frightened him and he cried out.

    He looked at his palms.

    Something was stuck to his
fingertips like soft calluses.

    He tried to stand up and
stretch his legs, but slipped in his daze, floated in the air for a second, and
came down hard.

    He pressed his head and
looked around. He’d suffered a mild concussion. The scene looked unstable.

    He was in a room. He could
see the silhouette of what looked like a desk. He remembered now.

    The lab.

    Toshiaki stretched his back
and went over to the wall switch. He turned on the light. He heard a flicker,
then a steady buzz. He shielded his eyes from the intense brightness.

    When his eyes grew used to
the light, he was treated to a strange sight.

    Pieces of flesh were
splattered all over the room. Some were beige, some red, and others black. They
ranged from the size of a fingertip to that of a fist. Asakura’s table was
covered with what looked like ground pork. There were even some slender pieces
dangling from the ceiling. Strangely, there was not a single drop of blood.