A Thing Becomes - By Hornlarry (Booru ID 49318)

There are things that you can see, and things that you cannot.

But whatever the delights and horrors of the material realm, these are as nothing compared to that which lurks in the void beyond our world.

The void exists just outside the corner of your eye. It dwells in the shadows, the gaps and unseen places. It is the emptiness that enables all forms.

But though it is empty, it does not remain so. Our dreams and nightmares are reflected within it - a bubble in the warp that causes things to become.

Some things are nameless; horrors that feed on the fear of children, crawling in the sewers and other uncanny places.

But other things have names; and lurk within the hearts of men, lured to our world not by human suffering, but by the suffering of innocents. Innocents that dream of a better world.

And though the creatures known as fluffies have dreamt a wonderland of happiness and love, they also dream of other things. Things that dwell in hatred and cruelty.

And so the thing becomes.

The thing named… Bozdo.


“Nuuuuu…” the pearly white mare wept, as once again, her babies were taken from her. “Babbehs! Babbehs!”

Her foals chirped in distress as they were plucked from her breast, mewling and squealing with fear. But the men just laughed and took them anyway. The mare knew that she would never see them, ever again, even though she had loved them dearly for the few bright times they had had together.

“Huu huu… Mummah wiww nevah fowget babbehs… wiww awways wub yu… Huu huu huu…” the mare lamented, weeping once again, for it was the third brood that had been cruelly snatched away from her.

“Mummah wiww dweam ov babbehs at dawk tiem, wiww see babbehs agen in da Dweamtiem… Huu huu huu huu huu…”

The mare listened as the sounds of her chirping foals faded into the distance.

And then they were gone.


Frank lit another cigarette and wondered what the fuck he was going to do. His boss was busting his balls about “the mess” as he called it, which was basically left over fluffy parts from last night’s entertainment. Frank just didn’t get it. The poor coloured fluffies were just fed straight into the mincer anyway, what the fuck did it matter if Frank and his buddies had some fun with the first? Sure, there might be a few eyeballs here, leggies there. A half-crippled foal might manage to crawl away and hide under the machinery once in a while, living on scraps of flesh and blood of its fellow fluffies for a day or two, before it was found.

But who the fuck cared?

Frank’s boss cared though. And the fluff-factory inspectors cared. Apparently there were “minimum health requirements” being brought in, as congress argued about whether or not fluffies deserved animal rights. Some crazy cunts were protesting that fluffies deserved human rights. Human fucking rights! As far as Frank was concerned, the little fucking Frankenstein’s were worse than animals, not good for anything but being toys for little girls, or stress relief for Frank and his friends. Frank fucking hated fluffies, but the Fluff Factory paid him well.

“Frank?” he heard someone call his name. It was Joe, who worked the early shift.

“Yeah?” He called back to him.

“Boss wants ta see ya Frank,” sighed Joe, looking tired and not really meeting Frank’s gaze.

Frank cursed and stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette. He knew he had to face the music, but it sure wasn’t any tune he wanted to hear.

Fuck it, he thought, and made his way inside.


Frank’s games had been a lot of fun.

On the night shift, there was very little to do. Once the fluffy feeding trough had been filled, and the little shit-rats had eaten their fill, the most entertaining part of the shift was hosing down the cages. Oh how the fluffies screamed at that. Frank loved to torment them, blasting the mares full in the face, and hosing the shit and other muck off of them. Of course, there were some fluffies in the lower cages that never really got clean. Encrusted with the droppings of the higher up fluffies, they lived and wept in misery.

Unfortunately, that was all the entertainment that the job provided. Once the lights went out, the fluffies mostly slept, and perhaps dreamed about a better life. There was nothing else to do but hose the floors, refill the hoppers, and clean the conveyor belts for the early shift. During the night, many fluffy broods would be born, and the early shift would collect and sort the foals into good, normal and bad colours. Frank knew that those early motherfuckers were making a fortune smuggling rare colours and Alicorn’s out of the factory, and selling them on to unregistered stores and breeders. He hated those fuckers, but couldn’t do anything about it. So instead, he took it out on the fluffies.

If things were done properly, the bad colours were simply fed into an industrial meat grinder, as by now, there were so many fluffies that even live snake food was only worth a few cents. The entire operation was about sorting the rares and Alicorns by this point, which meant the browns and greens were simply waste. Frank sometimes wished he could work the meat grinder on an early or day shift, but it eviserated the fluffies in the blink of an eye, which was far too quick for Frank. He really wanted them to suffer, and to suffer slowly.

So Frank came up with an idea. One night, he adjusted the hopper that fed the weeping foals into the meat grinder, so that it wasn’t quite lined up properly. Sure, 99% of the fluffies went straight into its cruel metal jaws, but a “lucky” 1% or so fell into a sack that Frank had set up alongside it, escaping a quick death, only to become the “entertainment” for Frank and the rest of the night shift in the strange hours between 3 and 5am.

And the hours were strange.

At first, the guys had fun with the fluffies, hurling them around like little baseballs, catching them and dropping them and crunching them into walls. Then the obvious torments began, cutting off their legs, setting them on fire, feeding them to hungry cats and dogs. It was good for a while, and certainly made the night shift pass more quickly. A few of the guys thought it was “a bit fucked up” and stayed away, but Frank thought it was delicious.

As time passed, Frank tired of the obvious forms of torture, and hungered after ever more ingenious ways to agonise the fluffies. He would get them to roll dice, making a form of Russian Roulette, complete with vodka, and a baseball bat, and the cages of mother fluffies watching as their foals desperately “rolled to survive.”

One foal lasted six days. Six days, before Frank crushed it to death in front of its howling mummah. Oh how she wept that night, grieving for her “lastest babbeh”, even as another brood was growing in her belly.

Their suffering awakened something in Frank. Something that started to grow.

Soon Frank and the others were slowly peeling the fluffies alive, seeing if it was possible to remove the fluffy pelt from them in one piece, then hurling the wailing skinless creature into a bucket of bleach, where it would either drown or wail in agony for an hour or two before death finally claimed it.

They would take it in turns to throw lit matches at the creatures, betting on which of them would finally “light it up” making the thing into a shrieking candle of agony as the flames devoured flesh and fluff alike.

They would play a fluffy bingo, with phrases like “bad upsies!” and “Fwuffy nu wike dis game!” for the foals that were old enough to talk. Many could only chirp though, and Frank would delight at impaling them in front of the caged and wailing mares.

Sometimes, he would take a mare, pretending it had died in the night. He would force the mares to eat their own young, or mince them and force-feed them to her. Sometimes he would cram the chirping foals back inside the wailing mare’s vagina. Sometimes he would stuff them up her ass. Then, he would have to kill her with a hammer, lest she told his boss or one of those early shift fuckers. The meat grinder hid all the evidence though. Well, most of it.

The whole thing awakened and fed desires that Frank had never even known he had. Something that he rightly knew was hideous, but which festered and grew inside him anyway. There were times that Frank realised he needed to stop, that what he was doing was wrong, but the hunger was simply too strong now. He needed to feed it, and feed it well, with ever more depraved suffering.

It lasted for a while.


“Come in Frank,” his boss said, motioning for him to sit in the chair opposite his desk.

Frank hated his boss. He hated that he sat in an air conditioned office overlooking the factory floor, while Frank and the others stood all day, sweating in the heat of a New York summer, stinking of fluffy sweat and shit. He hated his boss’ beady little eyes, his pig fucker nose, and his crappy black tie. But most of all, he hated that the shit-eater thought he was better than Frank, and the insincerity of the grin he always wore on his face. Frank wanted nothing more than to wipe that grin off of his face. He wanted to wipe it off his face with a hammer.

“Frank… we’ve gotta talk.” his boss began. Frank decided to sit back and listen first, to find out what the fucker wanted.

“Frank you’ve worked here, what, coming up on a year now?”

Frank just grunted and tilted his head slightly. This asshole didn’t deserve a proper response. He just stared at his boss’ desk, and yesterday’s paper, which was telling him that war with China was all but certain now.

“And look, you’ve been good in that time, cleaning up well, maintaining the machinery, but…”

His boss looked him in the eye for a moment, then quickly looked away.

“Its the foals Frank. I know you’ve been torturing them, and if it was just a few, I could turn a blind eye, but Frankly…”

Frank’s boss let out a nervous chuckle at his poor attempt at a joke. Frank knew what was coming though. He gripped the sides of the crappy metal fold out chair he was sitting on, half willing himself not to lose his temper, and half-willing himself to murder the mother fucker, right there and then in his office.

“…its just gone too far Frank. We keep finding blood and body parts. Yesterday we found a foal, half burned to death, squealing about a monster daddy. And mares have started going missing. Brood mares are the life-blood of this business Frank.”

His boss dared to look him in the eye again.

“I’m afraid I’m gonna have to let you go Frank. I’m sorry.”

Frank just grunted again, but his grip on the sides of his chair was so strong that his knuckles turned white. For a moment, he imagined himself smashing the chair over his bosses head, again and again, until there was nothing but a bloody pile of blood, brains and bone. Something within him hungered for it, but the slender shreds of sanity within him prevailed, and somehow, he found himself standing up, sliding the chair back under the table, and leaving the office, without saying a word.

“I’ll pay you until the end of the week,” his boss was stuttering, clearly afraid of him, but Frank just ignored him and made his way down the steel steps, back onto the factory floor.

By now, the words coming out of his boss’ mouth were a meaningless blur. Frank didn’t care what else he had to say. Frank just knew that he had to feed. One last delicious meal of fluffy suffering. Something truly special.

It would be Frank’s revenge.


Frank made his way to the conveyors. There were four main conveyors in the Fluff Factory. One was for the “specials” rare colours and alicorns, and was mostly empty, save for the occasional lonely foal, making its way to a nursery and on to a fluffy store. Next was the “good colours” far more populated, with groups of foals, desperately clinging to one another, wailing for their mothers, not knowing what their future would hold. It also led to a nursery, and on to a cheaper fluffy store. Next, was the meat-train. Bad colours, browns and greens, heading for the meat-grinder, or a more exquisite death at Frank’s hands. Finally, there was the feed trough, which was also a conveyor, sweeping kibble past rows and rows of fluffy mothers, eating as quickly as they could.

Frank made his way to the control panel, and told the guy there he’d been asked to take over for 20 minutes. The kid protested, but Frank gave him a smoke and sent him on his way, happy for the extra break time.

Then Frank pressed a button that moved the conveyors so that they all fed into the meat grinder.

Finally, he pressed the release button, that opened up the mare cages, letting them out and onto the feed trough, which was also leading to the meat grinder.

Then, he lit a cigarette and waited.


“Eeek! Eeek! SCREEEEE!” came the screams from the meat-grinder.

With all four conveyors feeding the death-machine, as many as a dozen weeping foals were fed into its jaws every few moments, rather than the two or three it might handle at most at any one time. As a result, the foals lasted several seconds longer than usual, as the cold metal jaws rended and ripped them into chunks, stirring and turning half-eaten foals over the mush of their companions, only to be covered by further foals, falling in from above.

“B-babbehs?” the first fluffy mother called out, hearing their offspring’s wails above the hum and din of the Fluff Factory’s machinery.

With nothing to stop the mares, a few of them ventured out into the feeding trough. Some were lured by the wails of their babies, others simply by the prospect of more kibble. As soon as the shit-rats set their hooves onto the moving conveyor they were swept away, joining a cacophony of screaming foals on their way to the death machine.

Frank leaned forward to watch the first mare tumble into its jaws. The grinder ripped her back legs off, then twisted her spine into an impossible shape, before ripping her belly apart to reveal a half-developed brood of tiny hairless shit-rats.

“SCREEEEEE!” the fluffy wailed, “SCRRrrrr…uukg.” as the machine crushed her lungs, then her front hooves, and finally her head.

Her eyeball was the last thing to be consumed, before a basket load of foals fell on top of the bloody paste she had once been.

“Frank! What the fuck?!?” Joe screamed, running towards Frank and trying to grab the controls.

Frank had no intention of letting him spoil all the fun though. He picked up a fire axe and swung it menacingly, stopping Joe in his tracks.

“What the fuck Frank?” Joe repeated, “You’re gonna be in a world of shit for this Frank!”

“I am.” spat Frank, “In a world. Of Shit.”

They were the the second to last words he ever uttered.

A few seconds passed, and in that time, more and more fluffy foals and mares were eaten by the death machine, wailing and screaming and crunching as it consumed them with cold and harsh enthusiasm. But it was as nothing compared to the sickening joy that Frank felt at that moment. Something inside him had finally snapped. It was released, born inside his soul and slowly burrowing its way out. Hatching from within his mind. Scrabbling with chitinous legs to escape from within his skull, and to become within this world.

“Frank!” Joe cried again, as increasingly more scared and angry early shifters turned up. His boss was there too, frantically talking on his cell phone, as workers tried to approach Frank, only to be held back by their own fear, and the careless but powerful swings of the fire axe that Frank hefted.

“Frank! You’ve gotta stop! You’re killing them all man!”

Frank could see that other workers were desperately grabbing fluffies from the conveyor, and trying to carry arm fulls of them away from the death machine, but the fluffies simply flew by too quickly, and the machine continued to eat well. Frank had the circuit breakers. He had the emergency stops. He had the levers that moved the conveyors, and he wasn’t going to let any of these weak cunts touch them. None at all.

“Frank! You’ve got to…”

Crunch.

Joe had tried to force his way past Frank, trying to reach the controls. Frank couldn’t allow that, and swung the axe with all his might, embedding it deep into the space between Joe’s right shoulder and his neck. Joe went down like a sack of shit. He was too stunned for a moment to say anything, then he let out a low moan, before blood started to spurt from his body, and then out of his mouth. He was dead within a few heart beats.

The rest of the men stared at Frank in shock and disbelief. In the background, the machinery continued, unknowing and uncaring at the crimes Frank had committed. The fluffies continued to scream and wail, their deaths creating a psychic shockwave, that echoed deep within the void.

Frank gazed upon his fellow humans and opened his mouth, giving birth to the Thing. Enabling it to Become.

“BOZDO!”

Frank uttered the thing’s name, as its legs began to protrude from his mouth.

And at that same moment, the missiles began to launch.


[Next Story in the Jellyverse Saga - Coming Soon]

Link to Index of Hornlarry Stories

14 Likes

I love industrial abuse like an IV drug but the missile launch? Ehh… Still top tier though :+1:

4 Likes

The missile launch is part of the wider story, but still connected to Bozdo

4 Likes

Fuck this is great, were you the original creator of Bozdo or did it already exist?

3 Likes

Bozdo is one of those crazy Russian monsters that no one really understands. I went looking for the origins of Bozdo on the Booru and found the oldest picture, but it didn’t really enlighten me. I think it exploded out of a fluffy, and the6 have nightmares about Bozdo. I’ve basically made up my own lore going forward though

2 Likes

I can’t get enough of these stories. Hopefully anthro’s don’t have to worry about Bozdo or it’s in another realm cannon. Either way, I love the writing so so soooooo much

1 Like

so fucking weird but somehow thrilling
Also, did we meet Frank and Joe in some of your stories or not?

1 Like

So this cause mortal insanity too much enjoying torture and personal anger and awaken that sick being cared only of death. Frank either shot dead or jail for manslaughter by now.

2 Likes

Frank seems well-adjusted.

1 Like

No, we’ve not met Frank or Joe before, but I realise I over use the names. They’re quintessential average guy names to me.

1 Like

Maybe, if he survives the nukes, he’d end up in jail. Or whatever passes for jail in the post apocalyptic wasteland. Bozdo has infested Quimby’s mind too remember

2 Likes

Yeah last chapter it was showing added he is a worthless president as well.

1 Like