A paragon of rot and ruin.

Althea lay there, a feeble mess of grime, sour milk, and birthing fluid. At last the immense pressure in her belly was gone, but in its place she felt the cold, sinking realization that she had entered an unwilling role of motherhood. Spent and exhausted, the young priestess propped herself up on one elbow. Though her stomach still showed a slight distension, she knew it would flatten out eventually. What she was not prepared for, however, was the slimy, lukewarm tentacle of her bastard offspring flopping against the inside of her thigh. The contact made her flinch, but fear and shock seized her body when she finally gazed down upon the awful thing that had brewed within her youthful womb.

It had the general shape of a humanoid face, that much was clear, but that was where the similarities ceased. Her newborn son's face was twisted into a ghoulish and macabre parody of an infant. It's flesh was a noxious, bile-colored yellow, with thick, dark green veins running beneath its waxy skin. In place of one of the offspring's eyes there was a honeycomb of porous flesh. Thin, noodle-like roundworms peeped their lengths out of the numerous holes, like pestilent meat oozing out of a sausage grinder. Its mouth was more reminiscent of a toothless lamprey, round and puckering as it gaped mindlessly at the air. At a glance, Althea knew the thing craved the vile nourishment spilling from her corrupted teats. A patchwork of small lumps and pustules covered the back of its head, but the familiarity of the babe halted at the base of its neck.

Below its malformed head, the wretch cast aside any shred of its humanity. In place of a left arm, the tiny thing had a trio of slimy tentacles sprouting from its shoulder, each as thick as a grown-man's cock. The right arm looked mostly normal, though Althea counted six fingers, and the arm itself bore strange markings. They looked like runic tattoos, but the longer she looked, the more she recognized the fuzzy, black texture. It was that damnable black mold again, though now it grew with purpose. Distinct patterns and sigils ran up and down the short, yellow-green arm. Even more disturbing was the nigh-translucent cavity in the infant's chest. Covered in a thin layer of that same off-color flesh, there was a hollow chamber where its heart should have been, and inside there was something writhing around, like a lively black eel.

Below its waist, the child sported a eight larger tentacles in place of legs; each one expelled a constant seepage of putrid ooze. These all squirmed and thrashed blindly between Althea's thighs. Though it hardly looked alive, her abominable son drew long, ragged breaths. Each inhale seemingly inflated a patch of thin-skinned blisters on its back, and each exhale deflated them. And then it opened its other eye, and the young priestess saw a familiar ocean blue staring back at her. If ever she doubted that such a disgusting thing sprang from her loins, that piercing stare shattered any self-delusions. She was a mother, and this was her child.

"Congratulationz, my zweet," Edgar leered before scooping the infant up in his filthy hands. "You are the mother of peztilenze, and your bloodline shall zpread **** upon thiz world. In the name of Nihilipoxz," he added with a hissing laugh. When the spawn floundered in his grasp, Edgar loomed over Althea. She felt another familiar plop of a freshly belched maggot land on the creamy flesh of her quivering thigh.

"Take it away. Please... I've done what you asked," she said through weak and shallow breaths. But Edgar showed no sign of retreating. Instead, he held out the dripping, horrid newborn for Althea to take into her own arms. She wanted to vomit, but she found her body moving on its own. Perhaps it was her maternal instincts, perhaps this was some new curse the heretics had placed upon her, but either way she took her slimy, thrashing offspring into her arms, cradling it like something far more precious than it appeared. "No... I don't want... this." But plead as she might, her inhuman son lashed one of its arm tentacles around her throat. Not tight enough to **** her, but tight enough to secure itself and reel its face closer to her weeping bosom. As she expected, it secured its puckering, monstrous mouth around one of her leaky nips and drank deep of her vile milk.