Mindbreaker (H83r)

A family of wilderness fluffies was drawn out from the brush by the foreign, but bewitching aroma of pasta sauce and wheat noodles on the cool, morning air. As is often the case with fluffies, this was a mistake, and it was going to cost them all their lives. The punishment will be as severe as it would be slow and meticulous. The victims will die the few deaths that precede that of the inert flesh: the death of hope, of values, and of the death of the mind.

Mindbreaker


Blurry images steadily came into focus. Already, the fluffy could tell that the horrid smoke was no more. He could not smell the chalky, choking gas that had been used to send his entire family to the worst kind of dream-place. As his eyes readjusted to the world around him, the stallion peered through the bars of his carrying-cage to see a sunny sky. Tall pine trees grew in a ring around the shore of the pretty lake, creating a scenic open vista, framed by the natural break of trees. The stallion could see that he was near the water, as were the members of his family. The herd was split up into a few of the cages, and each cage was positioned just outside of foreleg’s reach of each other.

The stallion learned this particular fact after he reflexively rushed to the side of his cage closest to the next, where his little fillies were being held. The fluffy stuck his legs through the bars and flailed them desperately in a bid to give his still-sleeping children hugs. In truth, this was less a parental instinct, and more a selfish desire to seek comfort; like a child clutching a stuffed animal for reassurance.

“N-nu! Nu be meanies to fwuffy, weggies! Nee’ huggies! Nee’ huggies!” the fluffy misplaced the blame for his predicament in all too predictable fashion.

The little, insipid complaint alerted the host of affairs to the stallion’s wakefulness. The woman was dressed in the attire of an outdoorsman: boots, jeans, gloves, and a bubble coat, all muted colors. If it were not for her exposed face, the fluffies would have thought her some otherworldly monster. Instead, they would soon find that she was a monster well of their realm.

She rose quietly, though her boots crunching across the coarse, gravelly sand, told of her approach. The stallion turned to look behind him, as limiting a position as it was for the pudgy thing, before gasping in pleasant surprise. He let himself flop onto his back, then laboriously rolled onto his hooves in order to waddle to the other side of the cage, where he could watch the woman stride towards him with less obstructed viewing.

“Nice wady! Nice wady!” the fluffy called out, as though if he did not attempt to hail the lady, she would not see him at all and simply pass him and his herd by. “Nice wady, fwuffy nee’ hewp! Wan’ huggies! Wan wun an’ pway! Buh nu can!”

The woman did not reply. She did, however, kick the stallion’s cage. It rocked and rattled. The fluffy felt the metal floor of the barred box heave and roll to one side, and he sprayed feces in fright. "EEEP! Wady, nu do dat! So scawedy! Ma’e – " She kicked the cage again, rattling and shifting it some more. The stallion peed from the utter terror, and started to quiver.

At this point, the commotion had roused the other tranquilized fluffies from their forced sleep, and they began to complain as well. “Whewe fwuffy famiwy? Wai can nu huggies odda fwuffies!? Wan huggies! Wan outsies! Weggies nu be meanies to fwuffies!” came the myriad distressed protests from the assortment of fluffy containers.

The woman stomped on the stallion’s cage, and the ensuing banging made him drop more defecation from his rear. He was becoming more and more self-conscious of his filth. “Huu huu, makin’ bad poopies! Nu smeww pwetty at aww!” Luckily, as the woman continued to drive her heel into the top of the cage, sand started to pour through the bars as the floor dropped centimeter by centimeter below the surface of the lake shore. Too gradual for the fluffy to notice, even if he were not being terrified. However, a caking of granules was beginning to form over the feces as the sand was disturbed more and more.

“WADY! WADY STAHP ID!” the fluffy sobbed, his heart pounding from the terror of the experience as if to mimic the unholy metallic retort ringing through his ears every time the woman struck the cage. In response, the woman punted the cage so that it ended up rolling over. The stallion tumbled with it and landed hard on a set of bars. “OUGH!” he grunted painfully. Before he could recompose himself, the woman used the toe of her boot to prop the cage up, and then flipped it once more so that it was upside-down. The fluffy landed in a heap on what was once his ceiling, and then his sandy waste fell unceremoniously onto his head and back. It got caught in his fluff, clumping up with the fur, resulting in a decidedly uncomfortable sensation of tactile feel and horrendous smell.

The stallion’s mind took some seconds after the fact to catch up with what had transpired, but when that initial shock wore off, his wail was prolonged and piercing. The fluffies that had watched his cage overturn were snapped from their own disbelief, and they too started to shriek and sob. Whether this was empathy for the fluffy under assault, or a general response to their own displeasure, was anyone’s guess. The woman responsible did not care for these technicalities herself. She afforded herself a moment to indulge in laughter at the stallion’s expense before she descended upon the cage to right it, then she undid the latch of its door. The woman kicked at the bars until the stallion came stumbling out into the open, panting with tears streaming down his face.

“Nee’ huggies! Nee’ huggies!” the stallion huffed in a moronic mantra. He made a beeline for the nearest cage and practically threw himself against it, to the dismay of the fillies inside. They resorted to infantile peeping and cheeping as they hugged each other, which made their father’s heart ache with envy and betrayal. “Wai nu huggy daddeh!? Daddeh nee’ huggies! Nee’! Huggies!” he whined.

Shortly thereafter, he felt his mane go taut as the woman yanked him away by it. His shrill cry made the fillies make a mess of themselves and each other simultaneously. The woman dragged the kicking and screaming fluffy to table set roughly center in her camp. It was a short, round table made out of a dark, reddish wood. She slammed the fluffy hard onto its surface, and his countenance contorted into that of sheer pain as he writhed, temporarily silenced.

“Owwies!” he groaned. “Hab owwies!”

While the stallion was preoccupied with the pains shooting along his spine, the woman produced a pocket knife and a lemon. A quick slice across the yellow fruit brought its juices practically frothing to the incision. Without a second tarnished, she squeezed the sour, stinging fluid straight into the fluffy’s teary eyes.

“Oww – aaaaAAAAAAH! AAAAAH! SCREEEEE! SCREEE!” The woman cackled at the sight of the fluffy desperately rubbing at his eyes with his forelegs, and when that brought no relief, he started to beat his front hooves against his eyes. Every so often he attempted to kick himself in the face with his hind legs, but of course, he was far too fat and inflexible to manage that feat. It was hilarious to witness nonetheless. For the woman. The other fluffies did their best to cover their ears and shut their eyes to avert their senses from perceiving the suffering. Yet, their best was far from sufficient to keep the cries from resounding about their eardrums.

The woman smacked the stallion’s flailing limbs away from his face so that she could squeeze some lemon juice directly into his gullet. At first, he choked on the foreign liquid intruding in his throat. Then stark tartness registered to his tastebuds, which caused the fluffy to tense his body in a painful cringing wince, before he started to gag.

Vomit surged up the stallion’s esophagus and flowed down the sides of his mouth. The regurgitation came in steady, disturbingly rhythmic waves that made the fluffy almost undulate as his body acted on its own accord. His eyes shot wide when he realized that the vomit was beginning to pool up in his throat faster than he was able to expel it from his mouth, and that breathing was suddenly extremely difficult.

Acting out of pure desperation and instinct, the stallion attempted to swallow down his bile. This caused him to choke again, and begin vomiting with greater violence. The pain was so great, the stallion willed himself to roll onto his side in order to ball up, much like a fetal position, with inadvertently assisted in clearing his peril. He cleared his peril right onto the table, spewing pale sick that flowed across the polished wood and cascaded onto the sands underneath.

The fluffy sobbed and shivered. “Pwease… nu moa… fwuffy sowwy fo’ wha’ebba fwuffy did! Pwease wed fwuffy go! Huu huu, ta’e fwuffy famiwy if wan’, buh wed fwuffy go!” The offer to abandon his family did upset the small creature. His voice cracked, and he scrunched his eyes shut when he spoke the words as shame and sadness ravaged his tiny heart. So, he did not see the woman reach for one of his hind legs.

But he felt the harsh pull, and the tearing of ligaments that sent a searing burning racing along his nerves. The neck of his femur, where it connected to the pelvis, was snapped like a wishbone. The agony made the fluffy vomit one more time. But it did not stop; the woman used her pocket knife to slash at the destroyed joint, tearing fluff and skin away until blood started to flow freely.

The stallion wriggled, cried, and started to bash the side of his head against the table in a maddened search for relief. “STAHP! STAHP! STAHP! STAAAHP!” the fluffy begged with single-minded simplicity. The woman put the knife away before she ended up utterly devastating an artery, and squeezed more lemon juice over the open wounds. Without pause, she proceeded to pummel down on the fluffy with her fists, absolutely tenderizing his small body with her knuckles. Finally, she relented and stepped back to see what the stallion would do.

Impulse was in control now. The fluffy’s consciousness was second to its innate need to make the pain go away. The woman chuckled darkly as she watched the fluffy scramble off of the table through his own vomit, and fell to the sand without an iota of fear. Sand was in his eyes. He howled, but trudged on with crawling along on his belly, dragging his ruined leg behind him. She found it telling that for all the pleas for hugs, the stallion did not retreat towards his family, but to the gently lapping waves of the lake.

It took several minutes, but the stallion soldiered on until he reached the wet sand, and kept going until the water took him. He drowned himself in the shallows, leaving a thin trail of reddened sand behind to mark the final stretch of his horrific journey to death.

One down.

A few more to go.

And already the remainders of the fluffy herd were irreparably traumatized.

That was fine, though. It was already ordained that they would never heal from this experience. They were already dying the few deaths that precede the inert flesh.

End

31 Likes

Amazing. Holy shit that was good.

6 Likes

Fuck that was brutal. Great work!

3 Likes

https://tenor.com/view/çrpik-kurdî-kurmancî-awesome-great-gif-23613304

1 Like

I’ve been meaning to write about a fluffy getting abused with nails and power tools, and a fluffy getting its ass literally torn apart for ages now but every time I try writing these concepts out they morph into something else.

Which is to say that there will be more of this eventually, probably with the same abuser character.

I’ll get back to writing OVERHAUL eventually I swear.

5 Likes

I think I’m moving you to the top of my “must catch up” list. Now to actually start catching up instead of finding other things to do.

2 Likes

I know this pain well

1 Like

This is good, I love the brutality. Great work!

1 Like

Thank you much!