Supernatural Odyssey: Death and Rebirth

Chapter 35

"Ahn.... hnngh..." Her breath was forced out of her as the cockroach thrust deeper, legs clamping around her chest and stomach. Its wings flickered, the hard chitin of its underside pressed tight to her back. Unlike the female, the male cockroach wasted no time.

Its thrusts soon grew to a blinding pace, pulling back until its cock nearly left her pussy and slamming itself back in. Its abdomen slapped against Eve's ass with each thrust, the clap audible as it reverberated off the walls, punctuated by her own desperate moans.

"S-...s-... sl..." Eve stammered, her mouth fumbling over the words as her whole body was rocked back and forth.

"Ahn... fuck!" she cried, head hanging down as she struggled to keep her body upright with her hands planted before her. There was no slow buildup of pressure, no anticipation of an egg about to slip through her cervix.

This was raw, and instinctual: uncaring one way or another for Eve's pleasure or agency. Eve wasn't even a tool to the creature. The overgrown insect could hardly comprehend the act beyond a biological need to reproduce. Eve loved it. She had no choice but to love it, helpless before her captor's strength and her own body's treacherous feelings.

"Y-yes!" She breathed, begging the uncaring creature for nothing more than it was already giving her. Its cock shuddered, sliding deeper down her soaked canal with every thrust until it reached right against her cervix. Just beyond it lay dozens of its mate's eggs: packed tightly together and waiting to be fertilized...

Sam felt the sensation of himself being squeezed through a tight rubber tube as they teleported through space and time. When Sam opened his eyes again, he saw that they were in a field, next to a very familiar village. "Oh God..." It was the Mikaelson Family village, where it all started--his cursed experiment, the release of Nyarlathotep...and the death of Dean.

On Earth of the Prime Universe, Sam found himself walking towards a large, wooden cottage with a barn attached to its side and crop field behind it. It was the house of the Mikaelson family. "Please don't tell me I have to 'face my past' or whatever bullshit." Sam groaned, "that's why we're here, aren't we?"

"No." The Spectre's voice spoke in his head. "The Spectre must deliver vengeance." Walking on back, he saw a cellar door which the Spectre phased through without trouble. In the cellar was a man frantically digging through a pile of straw, almost like he was searching for something.

The man was the infamous thrive of the village, so skilled, so mysterious that no one knows his name nor has seen his face. His hands were so slick and subtle, the villagers have gone on to nickname him the 'Ghost Hand.'

From the nickname, legends grew, folklore told by the people to explain the seemingly impossible. Many thought he bore the hand of a real ghost, intangible, unseeable, and capable of prying anything off anything.

"Bingo." Ghost Hand whispered, lifting a small silver necklace from the hay. "Gotcha." He held it under the dim and examined it carefully. Under his dark mask, he cracked a smile.

Suddenly, a nail flew from the dark shadows, nailing his hand to the wall, causing him to drop the necklace. He bit his lip hard so as to avoid crying out. Looking up in terror, he saw a pair of glowing green eyes beneath the Spectre's green cloak staring him down. "Ansel Aakre. You let your jealousy of the Mikaelson family's success rot your soul. You will be judged."

The Spectre glared down at Ansel's hand. "Judgment has been passed." Immediately, his whole hand began to sizzle and disintegrate. "You will live up to your name--Ghost Hand." Finally, Ansel cried out in pain as he fell to the ground, clutching his stump where he writhed around on the floor. Outside, footsteps sounded. Someone was coming...