Again, random thoughts as I type.


She pushes, breathing hard.

His whore is in labour.

He grips her hand tightly, smiling into her face.

Come on now! Push! Don’t make me rip it out of you!

She screams in agony.

She screams in pain.

A thousand discordant voices rent the air.

She’s losing blood!

A nurse shouts into his ear.

He runs out of the room and comes back, priest in hand.

Save her!

How? The priest is baffled.

He brings out his katana and slices of his head!

Your blood!

More! The whore screams.

In frenzy, he rushes out again.

With him, back, more priests.

She needs the blood of the saints.

A doctor intones in a somber voice.

Here they are!

He slays them, their blood splattering on the birthing garment of his whore.

He watches the child crown from between her legs as blood drips down to her thighs.

It’s coming! The baby’s coming!

Suddenly overcome, the nurse undresses.

With unbridled lust she mounts the doctor.

Their moans of ecstasy, mingles with her pained cries.

The blood of the saints weep loudly for their master.

It is all too much for him.

His trouser tightens as his phallus thickens, and rips itself out of its cage.

He basks in the disharmony of the birthing chamber.

His whore, holds him by his phallus, screaming as she pushes his child into the world.

Her hand beats down on his red member.

He throws his head back and groans, black fluid flowing, as his seeds spill into her hands.

She gasps as her walls finally expel the child.



The nurse is back in her uniform.

Congratulations, you have a baby boy.

He smiles at the bundle in her arms.

My son.

He picks him up roughly from her arms and cradles him.

He touches his head and feels them.

His horns.


All complete.

He walks away without a backward glance at the screaming whore, demanding for her child.

He smiles at the child.

It is awake.

Pure red eyes look back at him.

It smiles too.

His child; dark-skinned at birth with his jet black, curly hair.

Behold, The Antichrist.