短文生成结果

Dr. Aris Thorne was **resigned** to his fate. For years, he’d served as the **Psychosadistic** master of a clandestine project, **Insemination** of human **wombs** with celestial **parasites**. His lab, a sterile **abomination**, reeked of **pungent** antiseptic and another, **pungent** odor—that of fear. The key was **Regurgitation**. The entities—**Yog-Sothoth**, **Nyarlathotep**, **Azathoth**—required a physical bridge. A subject would ingest a **creampie** laced with cosmic matter, then **regurgitate** it into a host. It was a vile **Summoning**. His latest subject, a defiant woman named Ira, changed everything. During the forced **insemination**, she didn’t scream. She whispered names back: **“Hastur. Ithaqua. Shub-Niggurath.”** The **Usurpers**. The **Doomswitch** in Thorne’s mind flipped. He saw it now—he wasn’t a master, but a tool. The project wouldn’t bring transcendence, but **Annihilation**. In a moment of clarity, he acted. He **Eliminates** the containment on Ira’s cell. “**Run**,” he hissed. But the ritual’s momentum was too great. The **Tindalos** shapes bled from the corners. **Hellfire** flickered in the **ice-turkey** trays. A psychic **Nurgle** of despair filled the air. Thorne witnessed the final, horrific **Submission**. The entity **Mh'ithrha** manifested through Ira in a violent **splay** of light and **entrails**. It wasn’t a birth. It was a **defloration** of reality itself. The last thing Thorne saw was the being’s form—a **Bloodstain** against the void, a **murderer** of worlds. It **Split** Ira apart with a sound like tearing silk, then turned its gaze to him. He finally understood the true text of the **zibenlun**, the purpose of the **ryp kscd**. It wasn’t a guide for control. It was a recipe. And he had been the final ingredient. **Death** came not with a scream, but with a sigh, as the **murder** of all he knew was complete.