I’d always wanted to have a child, but I never imagined that in order to earn that right, I would have to give birth to the Emperor.

After only two months of pregnancy but intense hours of labor, the Emperor’s fully formed homunculus emerged through my birth canal, clad in a blood-stained gold and purple robe, and an exalted smile on his reddish, swollen face. A miniature clone of the Supreme Leader.

The homunculus awkwardly unsheathed the sword with which he was born, barely larger than a finger, and cut his umbilical cord.

I could hear my husband’s screams and bangs against the delivery room window. I had told him not to come with me because I didn’t want him to witness what was about to happen.

Doped up on the drugs released during childbirth and gestation, which allowed his development without rejection from my body, the Emperor’s homunculus appeared to be the most perfect thing that existed, and I had birthed him myself.

Before placing him in my arms, the doctors performed the royal greeting, cleaned his robe, and kissed his small feet and hands. The homunculus spoke in a high-pitched, rat-like voice that I could barely comprehend, but his intense gaze and the midwife’s gestures reminded me of what I needed to do.

While the doctors sang the imperial anthem, I delicately undressed the homunculus, and he handed me his sword.

I didn’t have to use it. His delicate, cartilaginous body was easy to chew. I began with the left leg, tearing it off with a bite, splitting the femur. The homunculus writhed in ecstasy among the blankets, bleeding. His tiny brain was linked in real time to the Emperor’s, who was experiencing the same thing in his palace.

Through the window, my husband’s face filled with terror and despair.

“Don’t you want my son?” I asked him, savoring the tender flesh with a mouthful, even though he couldn’t hear me through the window. “Don’t you want a piece of him too?”

I knew that if it hadn’t been for the drugs that the homunculus had flooded me with, I’d be incapable of devouring my baby. Because he was exactly that, my baby. It made no difference that the Emperor had implanted him in my womb to satisfy his fetish for being eaten alive. I had conceived and delivered him. And by consuming him, he was all mine once again.

I felt pity for my former self, who would have refused to experience this miracle.

I severed the other leg and the right arm. I took my time savoring them. I’d never tasted anything as delicious as the tender flesh of his feet and hands.

I felt sorry for my husband because he would never be able to experience something so wonderful. There was something primal about giving birth and consuming my own offspring. Mice and pandas did it to maximize survival; so we did too.

I looked at the homunculus’s grateful face; his enormous, yet little, erection; and his breath stirred by jets of blood spurting from his amputated limbs. He was just a newborn, but he already knew the greatest wonders of existence.

“Now the head,” the anesthetist said gently, “but only the right half, or he’ll lose the link with the Emperor. Make sure not to decapitate him; he still has a few minutes to live.”

Even with the bioengineering that enabled his existence, the homunculus couldn’t escape the limitations of the flesh or prevent the loss of his few milliliters of blood from his severed femoral vein.

I bit carefully into his skull. In my mouth, his blood and his spongy brain seemed to melt. Even with only half a brain, the homunculus and the Emperor himself must have felt a joy infinitely greater than the sum of all human pleasures. I was deeply grateful to be a part of this transcendent moment.

The torso was difficult to chew. His internal organs went down my throat uncomfortably. I was disgusted. The drugs in my system were starting to lose their effect. I stared at the doctors, seeking reassurance that what I was experiencing was normal.

I could see his heart beating through his severed torso. He closed his eyes and appeared to have passed out.

“Get this thing away from me!” I yelled as I tossed the homunculus to the other side of the bed.

I looked around for my husband, but he’d already left.

The doctors restrained me and gave me what I thought was a sedative, but I soon realized it was a synthesized version of the substances released by the homunculus during pregnancy and childbirth.

As the drugs took effect, I felt a renewed affection for the creature, for my baby. I caressed him and told him how fortunate I was to swallow him alive. He regained consciousness gradually, and his wide smile indicated that he was ready to return to me.

With overwhelming ecstasy, I tore the homunculus’s head off with a bite. His skull crunched against my teeth. I savored his blood, cerebrospinal fluid, and the crushed marrow from his spine. I chewed on his heart just as it was about to stop beating.

The homunculus’s final scream mixed with my own pleasure cries inside my mouth. After experiencing the delight of being devoured, the remaining grace belonged fully to me.

* * *

I awoke a few hours later, drenched in sweat and surrounded by bloodstained sheets.

The doctors praised me for my bravery. They handed me a message from the Emperor, congratulating me on completing my service and stating that no one among all the volunteers who had given birth to and devoured his homunculi had done it better than me.

Now that I had fulfilled the imperial requirement for procreation, my brain was no longer affected by the drugs. But still, I fantasized about the day when, after nine months of insatiable anticipation, I could finally devour my own baby.

* * *

Ⓒ Damián Neri