In The Manga Artist’s Grasp (Rohan Pred)
For my followers who don’t know, this is a JJBA (JoJo’s Bizare Adventure vore story.)
This was actually one of the first vore stories I ever wrote, so have fun.
WARNING: DIGESTION, PLUS ULTRA MEGA SPOILORS FOR JJBA AHEAD IF YOU HAVEN’T ALREADY SEEN IT!
Diavolo was only able to give one more blood-curdling screech of pure terror for his very life and sanity before his consciousness was teleported to the location that would be his next death.
At first, Diavolo could do nothing but take deep breaths. He wasn’t sensing any immediate danger, so he decided to take the sudden opportunity to let his mind take what little of a break it could before the next death.
Finally, Diavolo decided to check himself and his surroundings out. He looked up. He could immediately tell he had been shrunk and placed in some sort of house. There was a large desk with a chair scooted up to it, bookshelves along the walls, and a few machines Diavolo couldn’t bother to decipher the functions of, though he could tell one was a copier. Diavolo then checked out his own form. The first thing he noticed was his legs. They were not human legs, so Diavolo knew he was not in a human form. They were light brown, thin, and hairy, with smaller hairs attached to those hairs. But the most important fact that Diavolo was able to observe about the legs was that there were eight of them. It was then that it all made sense in Diavolo’s mind. He was a common brown house spider.
All of a sudden, the door to the room was unlocked and swung open. Someone then walked through. He was a tall, lean man, with a green headband and earrings that resembled pen tips. He was carrying a sketchbook and pen in his hands.
Diavolo almost instinctively dashed up a bookshelf, having been through enough deaths to realize that this human was most likely the way he would die. He scuttled into a shelf and hid in the back corner behind a few large books. He then attempted to take a deep breath, only to realize that spiders don’t breathe the same way humans do, so that wouldn’t really work the way Diavolo thought it might’ve.
Diavolo could vaguely hear footsteps echoing from in front of the bookshelf. Diavolo immediately began to panic, his brain quickly racing over how stupid it was to think that he could actually escape his fate of death by hiding in a bookshelf. As a last-ditch attempt, Diavolo abruptly decided to flee the bookshelf. He sprinted out from behind his corner just as the human he was attempting to escape from pulled out the books he was hiding behind. He then lept of the shelf and landed on the floor. Only to immediately realize how horrible of an idea that really was.
All Diavolo could hear was a loud “Woah!” before he realized he had been found out. He almost immediately froze in place, realizing there was no more use in resisting. He instead simply braced for it to come. Brace for him to be mercilessly squished underneath the giant shoe of the human that he knew was fated to kill him. Instead, to his sheer surprise, Diavolo felt a few human fingers wrap around his body before he was gently lifted up off the ground.
“Ah, well would you look at this.” the human spoke with a hint of curiosity in his voice. “Another one of those common brown house spiders. I wasn’t able to get a full look at the first one because whoever that guy was that came with Koichi that day distracted me by throwing up. I guess this is my second chance then.”
Diavolo was utterly shocked. I mean, it wasn’t really too much of a surprise considering it was very clear to Diavolo that this guy was some kind of artist, but still. What kind of artist would be brave enough to straight-up pick up a living spider to examine it?
Diavolo was promptly carried over to the artist’s desk. Diavolo could only watch in nervous anticipation as the artist poked at his body, picked at his legs, and just generally manipulated Diavolo’s current anatomy in a way that made him feel increasingly uncomfortable. Surely a guy this dedicated to examination wouldn’t stop there, would they? Diavolo was exactly right. After the artist had finished with the initial sketches of his outside body at different angles, he then moved his pen over to Diavolo’s abdomen. Diavolo could only brace himself for what he figured out was coming.
The artist gently sunk the tip of his pen into Diavolo’s abdomen, trying his best not to damage any important internal structures. For Diavolo though, it probably would’ve been better if the stabbing was faster and deeper because then the pain and internal damage would make him die faster and with less pain overall.
Unfortunately, though, that was not the case. Diavolo was ultimately and inhumanely forced to do nothing but feel what was happening to his current body as the artist’s pen gently poked and prodded around his internal anatomy. He could feel every moment in excessive detail as the pen leisurely moved around in Diavolo’s body, causing pain and internal bleeding at specific, individual points within him. Slowly and positively cruelly did he experience his fluids and organs leaching from his body, steadily draining the life out of him, unable to do anything but cry out a good amount of spider squeaking noises in place of human screams.
“Ah. I see. So that’s how that’s structured.” the artist mumbled to himself before lifting his pen out of Diavolo and placing it onto his sketchbook. In all honesty, Diavolo was just glad to get even an inch of breathing space after all of this craziness.
Finally, after the artist was finished sketching Diavolo’s insides, Diavolo thought that the worst was over and the artist would just throw him away in some manner and leave him to slowly wither away in peace. Unfortunately for Diavolo, the worst was just about to begin.
The artist picked Diavolo up one more time and held him up to his face.
“I should taste it again too, just so I can really understand how a spider tastes.”
Diavolo’s body was instantly jolted with pure horror. Was this guy really going to taste him just for the sake of knowing what a spider tasted like?
Diavolo’s question was then answered when the artist stuck out his tongue and began to rhythmically stroke it across Diavolo’s body at different angles, getting Diavolo rather wet with the artist’s saliva. Then, after having licked poor Diavolo for no more than twenty seconds, the artist paused to speak to himself again.
“You know, I guess I might as well go the full mile and fully commit this time…” he murmured to himself as his voice trailed off. Diavolo was hit with yet another bout of panic. What did he mean by “fully commit?”
Once again, Diavolo’s question was then answered when the artist opened his mouth once again, only to place a now-shaking Diavolo inside before closing it. At this point, Diavolo was in so much shock that he didn’t even resist what was going on at all. He figured that if he just accepted what was to happen to him, his ultimate death would be a lot less painful, whether physically or mentally.
Diavolo was jostled around inside the mouth with the artist’s tongue as he was violently swished from cheek to cheek, positively smothering his body in saliva. Then, after a few seconds, the tongue moved Diavolo to the back of the artist’s mouth. It was then that Diavolo fully understood where this was going. Diavolo’s heart began to rapidly pick up its speed as the artist’s body covered the entrance to the windpipe and pushed Diavolo down into the esophagus with one large swallow.
The esophagus’s muscles slowly pushed Diavolo down the wet, squishy, flesh tube that would ultimately lead to his doom. Diavolo’s instincts urged him to consider using his legs to cling onto the esophagus (and possibly even climb back up it) a few times, but the powerful pushing muscles that escorted Diavolo down to his pink, slimy, warm, acidic grave continuously denied him this action.
At last, Diavolo reached the esophageal sphincter. He made one last attempt to cling onto the walls of the esophagus as the sphincter pushed him out, but this effort was ultimately in vain. Splashing deep down into the gastric juices of the artist that was insane enough to actually swallow a living spider whole, Diavolo’s instincts immediately kicked into overdrive as he proceeded to focus on but a single thing: Getting out of the acid.
Diavolo swam as fast as he could as a spider over to the stomach wall and used what little strength he had left to forcefully haul himself up. It was by no means an easy task. Nor was staying on the stomach wall. Sure, it wasn’t as bad as the esophagus, but the stomach wall still made constant pulsing and churning motions that helped mash-up and digest whatever food was already in this guy’s stomach to be converted into molecules his cells could use to power themselves. There was also the thick coating of a mucus-like substance along the walls that prevented the stomach from digesting itself.
Nonetheless, even though Diavolo had no idea why he was doing it, his body still fervently demanded that Diavolo clutched onto the stomach wall and not let go no matter what. His initial plunge had caused most of his exoskeleton to burn away, so Diavolo knew that if he fell again, it was game over for him. His rational mind screeched at him to just let go and end the death without any more unnecessary pain, and yet his bodily instincts screeched at him to cling onto not just the stomach wall, but what minuscule hope there still was for survival at this point.
In the meantime, the artist’s stomach continued to grumble and groan as it began to kick up the digestion in response to it sensing Diavolo’s entrance. The acid began to slowly rise and sizzle more as the walls began to pulse and churn even more than it already was with the intent to, eventually, grind what little of Diavolo still remained into a goopy mush. Yet Diavolo continued to grip the walls for no good reason other than what his instincts were shrieking at him to do. Diavolo began to feel his body warming up. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the inherently hot nature of internal organs, or his own body heating up in response to Diavolo’s stress. For all he knew, it could be both. All he did know was that between all of his pain, all of his used-up strength, all of his physical injuries, and all of his mental anguish, his body simply could not cling onto the stomach wall any longer.
Deciding one last time in his last moments in this life to simply accept his fate, Diavolo allowed his body to slide down the stomach wall and into his watery-acidic grave beneath him. The last things Diavolo heard were the growling, groaning, and rumbling of the stomach chamber around him before he splashed down into the acid, passing out almost instantly from an overload of pain before melting away into a goop a few seconds later. Now nothing but a bunch of digested cells that would go on to fuel the body of the very artist who was insane and unhinged enough to swallow him whole in the first place.