One of the matryoshka, this one with a blood-encrusted female human torso, was bound to a metal folding chair with thick iron chains. The fat iron vise gripping her chest was overkill.
Oozing sores dotted the raw red skin along the top of the chains and her tiny head was missing a chunk, like it had been bitten off. The demon had lost all blobbiness, her body more a teardrop than a water balloon. Ribs protruded from her human torso and she'd shrunk to about a third of her size, though slumped over unconscious as she was, her exact height was hard to determine.
Clear plastic tubing was attached to her nipples with metal clamps. The other ends of the tube fastened on to a still, like the one we'd found at Candyman's previous residence. That still was some kind of fucked-up mad science, with a humming box dispensing cornstarch into the glass beaker collecting the oshk's dripped secretions.