• Babykiller
  • Devourment
  • 1.3.8.

Devourment - Babykiller (1.3.8 version)

Here I come

They call me

A beast like none before

I suck the abscess of dead infants

I want some more

I Am Baby Killer

I kill pregnant sluts and whores!!
Splaying inside the womb

Red and wet I tear chunks from the pussy Red and wet mangled unborn baby

Eat the meat dripping from filthy…Cumstained, blood-soaked, rotten cunt Infant skull exploding in my mouth

It’s brain on the floor

I grab it’s tongue and tear it out

Dead meat for me. I can’t believe

How much this baby is bleeding

It’s tiny stumps pours out more

Than it’s dead mothers open sores

It’s guts paint the floor

It’s flesh I shall gorge.It seems feasting on young infant flesh has made my semen leak.I am aroused. Fuck I’m crazy

I fuck the blood. I need meat on my cock.No meat can satisfy me. I must spew my seed

Spunk flows throughout the mangled infant. now I’ll chop it up

Chunks of guts fly as i stand with baby skin all over me

Forcing the blood-soaked gore unmercifully down my throat

Pieces of baby are lodged inside of me

Over and over I feast on it’s death

It’s all gone. I want some more

I turn to it’s mother

Blood is still flowing strongly from her butchered pussy

I drink from her fountain, stench of menstrual gore

Gagging on chunks of sliced up pussy

I feel pressure….Pushing in my brain

The force caves in my head

My eyes eject slowly

Where’s my knife?I plunge my knife in

Inside my head

My veins are seeping

Warm streams of red

My tongue tastes so horrid

I must swallow it

Gore taste so scrumptious

Enough to wash it down with piss.

Shotgun ; Winchesters Headcanon

The general rule of thumb is, don’t let it get personal when it’s not.  Don’t get attached to the victims or their families and sure as hell don’t try to find reason behind any of it.  But all of that flies right out the window whenever kids are involved.  Kids are just one item on a list of things that are not to be fucked with in WinchesterLand.

Dean tosses over a look that says This babykilling sonofabitch is toast as he opens the Impala’s trunk, lifting the false bottom.  My own expression has pretty much been a perpetual grimace since we first picked up the trail of this thing, almost a week ago.  It’d already racked up a body count before we hit town, and snatched another kid last night when we’d chased a lead in the wrong direction.  And enough was enough. 

I am no sensitive; touching cursed objects or talismans or any of the leavings of otherworldly beings never gives me more than a hunch or a mild case of the heebie-jeebies.  That’s the job.  ‘Weird’ comes with the territory.

But there’s weird, and then there’s… 

“Look alive, Sammy,”   Dean snaps, and hands me his 12-gauge.  “If you’re right about this, we got less than an hour to gank this ugly bastard.” 

“We could always come back in five years and try again,”  I say darkly, taking the shotgun, and the look my brother gives me is a black thundercloud of a scowl. 

Not like I’m serious, anyway.  Not like there’s a snowball’s chance that either of us are letting this thing skip out on us..

It’s over a lot faster than I am expecting it to be.  Adrenaline speeds everything up; in hindsight, all I can really remember is the roar of the shotgun and then the banshee screeching in a pitch that made my ears throb.  Hell, my ears are still throbbing.  But the shot struck where it was supposed to, staggering that nasty undead thing for long enough to finish the ritual and send it on to wherever nasty undead things go.  Before that, it took a swipe at me; I’d ducked out of the way, but one of its claws still managed to bite into the curve of my left ear.  Nothing worse than a bad paper cut, and a clipping blast from Dean’s sawed-off got the thing away from me in time to get in a lucky shot, but it still stings a little. 

We get the kid home safe. 

After that, we drive to the edge of town and sit on the hood of the car.  Dean hands me a beer.  “Could’ve gone worse, right?  ‘Least the kid’s okay.” 

I pop the cap off my beer bottle and take a long drink, before conceding my brother’s words with a nod.  “Who knew you could take down a banshee with a buckshot.”

“Gimme a monster, Sammy, and I’ll show ya the buckshot that’ll take it down.” 

There’s a pause.  I glance over, cracking a smile.  “Shotguns,”  I say. 

“Shotguns,”  Dean grins, and takes a sip of beer.