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Crispin

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Crispin

Many years ago I lived. I lived dead. My name is Crispin. I was to be burned at the stake for the suspicion of witchcraft. I was no witch or sorcerer. I was a necromancer. I practiced in secret in graveyards and cemeteries. I was forced onto the stake. It took 12 men to capture me. While on the stake, I pleaded for mercy. People through rocks, food, sharp sticks, and nails. For an hour, this continued. For an hour I was tortured, blood dripping from all of my body.

After which, a man in a robe held together with a rope around his waist, and a cross around his neck. This man was a priest. He came up to me with a filled bucket, three others behind carrying piles of wood. They set the wood in a cone around the stake to witch I was hung. The priest poured the bucket of liquid among the wood and myself to which a torch was thrown. I hung there panicking among the stake. My feet began to warm, then my legs, to my waist, and so on. I cried in pain. I prayed. Not to God, but to the devil that was to spare me.

I burned from the bottom of my feet to the top of my head. I burned for another hour before it had begun to rain. A large crowd still stood, the four priests standing the closest with their heads down and hoods up. The day went by until the next. It was still raining and my body was no longer alight. Later, the priests had returned. I felt their presence. I was alive. But how? Was my prayer answered? Or did god accept my cry for mercy? I was able to slightly open my eyes and see the four priests standing in front of me. I do not know how I saw, for I had no eyes, or even lips, or ears. All but fried, melted skin and bone. Below me laid a pile of ash and mush of what once was my organs and the wood set into a cube shape. Yet how is it I live? I did not care.

I first moved my head. The priests looked down with their hoods up. I then moved my hands and fingers, then my feet and toes. I could feel the rain upon me. I let out a yell of vengeance and snapped the rope off my feet then my wrists. I flung myself to the ground. The priests were gawking. I pointed at them and spoke, "Now you die!" They split in all directions.

I chased after the first priest, the one who carried the bucket. He ran as if a demon from hell was after him. I ran faster and eventually caught up. I grabbed him by the throat. He gurgled a few words, "By god, how do you live!?" I answered, "I am a spawn of the devil." I proceeded to clutch my hand harder on his throat and ripped it out. Blood gushed out everywhere on down his robe and forming a puddle at his knees. I went on to track down the other three. I found the second one, he who carried the fire wood. He ran with such speed just as the other did. I eventually caught him. He spoke to me, "Demon! Go back to your hell!" I placed my right hand on his ear on ripped it from his head, blood spraying for a brief moment then down his side. I replied to him, "I will meet you there."

I then proceeded to kill him. I swiftly bent back his head, causing a snap. He was nearly headless, and dark blood pouring out like a fountain. Later, I found the third priest, he who placed the wood. Again, he ran from me with such speed and I caught him. He said nothing but, "Do it." So I did. I turned him around and punched my foot into his back and broke him in half. It took me the next day to find the fourth priest. The one who threw the torch upon me. I smiled, "You killed me. You will die in a special way." I drew my arm back, hand in a fist. He pleaded, "Have mercy!" I whispered, "No." I blasted my hand into his chest and ripped out his heart. It beat in my burnt hand, then it suddenly stopped. Again, his robes absorbed large amounts of blood and a puddle formed at his knees.

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