Tangent: Bug in the Corrupt Raven's Rear

This is a vorish Side Story connected to "Drafting a Berry Good Plan"

Beneath Corvinight's tail which shines warmly in the dying day, and behind the sunkissed flesh of his vent, the crow's guts roar with noise none can know. Much of it is exactly what one would expect. The grotesque moist, squishy slather of moss-green crow crap crawls amidst the damp, boiling steam of his reeking intestinal vapor. The gas is like gauze: thick in its stench, sticky in its moisture, and it covers every inch of its constantly-swaying, pulsating halls. Cutting through it, mighty gurgles rumble as earthquakes. Bubbling gas squeaks and squorks, from nearby and far away—and from behind walls and close by—as it sprints through his digestive tract.

And then, there's another noise amidst the soup of sound: the exertions of a tiny yellow bug clawing through a landslide.

"I—I don't have much time…!" Joltik wheezes. His tired lungs, reluctant to fill themselves with the putrid breeze, lead him to start heaving. Midway through his clawing through crap, Joltik feels himself keeling over. He plants his tappers into the muddy floor, doubling over as his gut cramps. Inadvertently, he swings his face and all his squinty, wincing eyes directly into the goop he's sinking in.

The bug nearly melts. He's narrowly avoided burial thus far. This is the first time it's touched his face. Bits and bobs got smeared on his cheeks before. But now, when he doubled over and brought his head low, he's sunken the whole front half of his noggin into a mud pie. It is enveloping as a sauna towel. And it is nougat-y as hot, spoiled milk.

He freezes in fear for what feels like an eternity. It's just him, blind: feeling the vibrative sway of Corviknight's movements, the booming conversation beyond his body, and the plappering of waste shoveling in behind him, and the slimy grind of it sliding across his fluff.

Then, everything inside him demands he rip his face free.

"Mmmn!" He doesn't dare open his mouth. He's painted. He swipes his tappers along his face, desperate. But he fails to scrape it off. In fact, his dirty tappers add new layers just as they shive off the old.

I'm blind! Joltik thinks. It's all over me! I can't open my eyes!

He hears the avalanche: muddy treacle crackling, grinding, stirring, approaching. It was behind him. Now it's all around him. He feels warmth crawling from tapper-tips to knee, then thigh—all while he's bombarded by Corviknight's guts' body-shuddering groans.

Keep—moving—! Joltik demands of himself. This place is halfway full! Any more, and I'm going to have to dig to reach it!

Joltik drags himself, stumbling over the rounded, rugged terrain of the mashed-together shit-pebbles flocked together in the raven's rectum. The bug shoulders his way forward, bumping into walls and piled-high debris, kneading the terrible stuff coating him deep into his fur.

But it's at last, Joltik hits a wall different from the rest. His crap-caked limbs feel the wrinkles lining the surface. And it moves: grinding slightly as Corviknight's thighs push-and-pull on the tightly-banded bundle of muscle, distorting its surface.

There it is! Joltik rejoices in his mind. Open up!

It's nearly submerged. But with a little bit of elbow grease, he wedges the tips of his tappers inside. Then, like a fox squeezing itself into a burrow, Joltik shoves in head-first, his back legs kicking crap like butterknives shoveling muddy fudge, just removed from the oven, that's yet to cool and harden. And inside, it is oily, wet, and softer than the dirt Corviknight stands on.

But Joltik's advance cuts short. Just as he worms his way between those folds, everything comes clenching down.

"Nng!" Joltik grunts. He feels, and briefly watches, the crap smear from his face while the walls compress and squeeze. It squishes into the folds, which them bindi and blind him again.

He clenched! Joltik squeaks. I'm stuck in the wrinkles of his ass!

The bug tries to move back in a desperate wiggle. But the rectum's squeeze plugs his escape hole by mashing its build-up of crap into the wall.

Joltik screams in his throat, as the walls close in. Harder… tighter… then, release. He breathes sharply in the thin, stale air—before his worlds suddenly whips side-to-side. Corviknight's shudder reaches his shaking tail. And his ass clenches again.

"No!" Joltik unleashes one final cry, before the squeezing vent plunges him back into the filled rectum.

"Corviknight!" He cries, anguished, languishing in his shrinking pocket within the bird's waste. The mooshy walls are closing in. The many balls that form them melding into one another, gradually shaping into one continuous, bumpy walls that then starts molding around Joltik's own dirty, matted fur.

"You're killing me!" He yells out. "Please, you'll never forgive yourself! I don't want you to—mmph!!"

He shuts his mouth just in time for the muddy, greenish world to go all black.

Joltik tries one final trick.

Discharge—and Electroweb.