Finally the seemingly
unending line came to an end, and the skinless figure paused, tensed, and finally
screamed out, a horrid piercing shriek of hate and anger.
“What was that
for?” Measgrim asked evenly.
“You always were
an unfeeling bastard, Measgrim. Feeling is what I do… but this massacre, as
much as I enjoy it, is too slow. Dying one at a time is too good for these
human vermin. We must annihilate them in throngs, hurt them by the millions,
curse them by the billions…” His skinless face had worked itself into a frenzy of pure
hatred, each individual muscle bunching and tense without its covering of skin,
his teeth barren and exposed in his perpetual lipless smile. “And I know how. Come
with me.” His eyes sparkled, with the color of a black hole. “There is one we
can strike, and annihilate not only its line but the hope of hundreds of
thousands as well.”
Measgrim broke
into a rare smile, with all the charm of rigor
mortis. They spread their wings, which filled the room with bat-like skin
and scales, and with one unison beat, had vanished as if pulled from existence.
For those of you also writing, chime in on your progress this week. I'd love to read some blurbs of your creativity. Keep it up and you'll make it to the end!
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