Slaughter Stance
|
Oh my! The following may involve masochism or icky bits beyond TH's normal cartoon violence. |
| Slaughter Stance | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Tier | 5. Empress | Type | Electric |
| Variety | Command Grab | Speed | Epic (120) |
Slaughter Stance is a particularly extreme, imposing stance You are prophesized to sometimes execute—without even consciously thinking about it—upon defeating or especially upon hyperdefeating a rival. It's rumored to be one of Your victory poses in Super Smash Sluts for example.
Duration
This stance normally involves You and whichever one of us You defeated interlocked in (at least) the following ways, with my own body heavily dismembered. (Cartoonishly, of course! Sluts don't have blood.)
- My decapitated slutskull is impaled neck-first, balls-deep, and all-the-way-through as the glorious Godcock emerges triumphantly from my stretched lips even as my tongue coils around it. Importantly, my head is pointed down, with hair hanging down (likely resting against the Orbliterators) as I am thoroughly electrocuted with sperm-lightning throughout the stance, to such an extreme extent bolts lash out of my neurogaoing eyes.
- My disembodied heart and brain are each nutted inside one of Your Orbliterators, where no matter how much they regen are shredded apart by Godsperm for as long as the stance persists.
- Any halo or tiara I previously wore is now stretched tight around the Godcock's shaft, likely straining with every triumphant pulse.
- My disembodied womb is impaled on the tip of the throbbing Godcock, with its plush pink interior suctioned tight around Your entire cockhead, with my cervix locked past the glans.
- Two to four of my limbs are transformed into bitch-blades, which orbit You rapidly in a Slash Storm if they aren't dual wielded in Your fists.
- If only two limbs are transformed into bitch-blades, the others become wings floating behind Your back that reach under Your arms from behind to embrace Your chest in a tight hug sustained throughout the stance.
- Your bare feet stand triumphantly upon my disembodied melons, each of which are impossibly plush pillows molding under Your soles—with lipples lavishly adoring Your bare toes.
- Throughout this entire stance (and presumably after it) Your entire body is lovingly armored with my soul, through astral projection if nothing else.
Termination
Whenever You decide to exit this stance, an explosion of sperm-lightning detonates from my eyes, shattering my face into voidgao.
- If I am not blessed by a fucknuke, every part of me shatters in an explosive pop of electrified parts that shred into ash before evaporating into nothingness indefinitely. (I cannot regen from this, but of course I can still experience resurrection or reincarnation.)
- If I am blessed by a fucknuke, Your victoriously detonate point-blank inside my disembodied womb which—thanks to Your hyper-virile Godsperm—spawns new sluts through processes such as impregnation or a wombtree. Any physical part of me other than the womb is still shred into nothingness. In practice, some or all of the newly created sluts might be clones of me.
Normally, my soul persists as a layer of Your soul armor. You can of course to decide for any parts to persist, especially bitch-blades You prefer to wield for a little longer.