Alas, it seemed that the fearsome plague demon dallied too long.  Try as he might to soak his venom into the Flesh rapidly enveloping him, Bal'Tazor held back—not putting the entirety of his wretched power into the fight.  Too late the condescending monster realized that the stoic, unintelligible avatar of the Flesh stood for a presence not younger than it, but far, far older, one whose power outstripped his own.  A horrible wail, outrage blended with pain, rose from the pit as the components of Bal'Tazor were assimilated.  Vile, green flesh took on a tinge of pink, and tumors of condensed Flesh developed in the folds of his belly where his plague minions had dwelt.  Even his mind couldn't escape the torturous agony, for the tiny tendrils of the world's greatest organism penetrated even its rotten brain.  After prolonged struggle, the demon's thrashing quieted, and Bal'Tazor grew still, a prisoner in his own twisted skin.

The Progenitor approached.  It laid a hand on the demon's shoulder, and the creature's nerves fired in response, slave to the parasite pulling its strings.  With some guidance, Bal'Tazor made his way to the massive, steaming Heart at the pit's center, and climbed into its recesses to join his minions.  [i]”You are not yet perfect, spawn of Pestilence,”[/i] the Progenitor murmured in its alien tongue.  [i]”When you reemerge, you will be Ours.”

New developments necessitated new orders.  In the course of several minutes, the Progenitor transmitted chemical instructions into every living thing in the pit.  Snatchers began to move, and the insides of the Heart began to churn, turning the tissue stored inside into mouldable Flesh.  Having withstood and adapted to Bal'Tazor's virulent slurry of sicknesses, the Flesh that Hates had come to understand it.  Though not overly harmful, the plague demon's pathogen could not be eradicated from the Flesh, and over time it could pile up and spell its doom.  A new creature, then...one that incorporated the sickness, expunging the toxins from the greater organism into a lesser one.  With the Snatchers on their way to nearby villages once again, the Progenitor entered its Heart itself, and set about crafting the next abominable being to embody the Flesh that Hates.

[hider=Status]
-=-The Flesh That Hates-=-
Territory: Excavation Pit
Volume: The Progenitor, 12 Scabs, 4 Snatcher, Bal'Tazor
Infection Progress: Negligible 
Current Activity: Synthesising second creature, 0/5 posts
[/hider]