Five guys: berserkers and flies.

Althea blinked hard into the torchlight. Through her blurry vision, she discerned five figures of varying height and size. They all seemed to be humanoid in stature, but their robes and the sudden blinding light left her momentarily dazed. The tallest of the three, who must have stood over six and a half feet tall, lowered his hood. With her focus returning, Althea scowled at his blatant corruption. He had a stocky build, not unlike the ogre--though thankfully not nearly as big--, but it was his head that left a sour lump in the girl's stomach. A ring of oozing pustules wreathed his bald scalp like a diadem of disease. Streams of bile and pus ran down every side of his head in brackish rivulets.

"Looks like she's finally awake," he chuckled and split his yellow smile into a lewd grin. He folded his arms and silently nodded toward her. Two of the other men strode into the meager cell and immediately grabbed both of her arms, keeping her from scuttling away.

"Let me go, you monsters!" Althea thrashed in their grip, but that's when one of the men put his other hand on her shoulder. It felt like the ogre, and when she looked, she saw his right arm was hideously disproportionate to the rest of his average body. Thick cords of muscle strained beneath red, stretched skin; numerous bony protrusions pierced out of the strained flesh like skeletal spikes. And by the looks of it, the hand sported six fingers. Demonic magic, no doubt.

"Easy, Ivan, we don't want to break her," the big man said to his muscly-armed accomplice. Ivan, still holding Althea still with his meaty grip, offered a gurgling chuckle in reply. She watched a bubble of bile pop between his dark, crusted lips before joining the many stains in his befouled beard. The big man turned to the other hooded cultist holding Althea and added, "I know your were looking forward to filling her up, Izaac, but you heard the boss. Edgar and I have top priority for desecration duty." The brutish man in charge pointed at one of the other men beside him when saying the name Edgar. Desecration? That didn't sound good. Althea craned her neck up to get a better look at the man called Izaac, and she gasped.

He also bore clear signs of corruption. Beneath his hood, one of his eyes appeared normal, but the other... the other was red, faceted, and bulged out of the socket, thrice the size of the other. It looked like the eye of a common housefly. But that wasn't the worst of it. Izaac had no jaw. It was simply gone, as if torn off of his face. And instead of a tongue, it appeared that a floppy, hairy fly proboscis dangled out of his gaping maw. The sucker at the end of the tube flexed and twitched with excitement.

"What do you want with me?" Althea cried out, tears once again welling in her eyes. "Please! I-I didn't do anything to deserve this!" Althea wriggled in their grasp again, but the panic sent her domed belly into a tantrum. The pale, grime-coated flesh stretched and strained, and Althea threw her head back in anguish, teeth clenched as she began hyperventilating. Then, as quickly as it began, the sensation stopped. And a new one took hold. Nausea returned with a vengeance, and Althea whipped her head forward just in time to vomit up a puddle of the black ichor and a half-dozen of those wretched, waxy worms.

"Ooh, zhe iz a lively one, Andre. I can't wait to zee her zquirm," Edgar spoke with a distinct buzz to his voice, playfully nudging his elbow into the big one's ribs. Andre, crowned in nauseating pustules, frowned and jammed his own elbow hard into Edgar's side, the heavy blow shoving him back and knocking off his hood. Edgar's face seemed to be the least corrupted of the lot of them, but he had a constant swarm of flies circling his head and crawling in and out of his robes. Althea's eyes dropped, and she saw one maggot after another fall out of his pant leg.

"Shut up, Edgar." Andre rolled his shoulder and stepped toward Althea. Towering over the prostrated girl, he took a knee and clutched her chin between his fat fingers. "If you're too stupid to figure out why we're here, girlie, then you really are only good for breeding stock," the big man laughed. His hot breath washed over her face, reeking of rotting teeth.

When Althea's stomach let out a rumbling gurgle from her unsated hunger, Andre snapped his fingers. "Felix," he barked, and the last of the men approached his side. Andre barely had to look up at the man, even on one knee, he was so tall. Though it didn't help that this cultist stood with a stooped posture. Judging by his robes, he even had a distinct hunchback.

"Yes, Andre?" Felix lowered his own hood voluntarily, and Althea beheld a face and bald head covered in thick, coarse fly hairs. When he stood idly, he even wrung his hands like a housefly cleaning its forelegs.

"I know we were supposed to wait until tonight, but why don't you go fetch the elixir. I think it's time we help this breeding bitch fulfill her purpose," Andre said with a gleeful leer. His fat hand scooped up one of her breasts. Despite the swelling and milk, they still looked small in his broad palm. "You're going to birth the heir of Nihilipox, little priestess," Andre spoke in a low, ominous tone. "Aren't you excited to be a mother? Isn't that the dream for you maidens of Helestria?" he let out a dark laugh. Felix turned his back to leave the room, and that's when Althea saw the holes torn in the back of his robe. Atop his hunched back, she saw more of the thick fly hairs, but it also looked like his back was covered in some kind of hard, black carapace. And from the hunch hung two vestigial fly wings, like a diaphanous cloak of pestilence.

What elixir was he talking about? Was she to suffer another ritual? Or worse? Althea's mind reeled, but again she was interrupted by wicked stirrings in her bloated womb.