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“The sensation of malice overcame me, cracking the brittle shell of my humanity and transforming my soul into a despising servant of Hell,” Quentin Schultz murmured another one of his demonic phrases under his breath.
“Why are you doing this to me? How can you do this?” the man begged for his life as he writhed against the tight ropes across his arms and chest. Quentin had laid the man out on a rotting billiard table, and tied him down for his play time.
“One man must know the consequence of what he has unleashed into the world, for his very being is corrupt; he must regain his purity only through demise.”
“Wh-what the f-fuck is that supposed to mean?” the man stammered as he mildly convulsed at the thought of this looming monster being the last image he saw before he died.
Quentin slowly took his time and traveled around the table rhythmically towards the shelf of tools. His gliding gait brought back old memories. It had been too long, almost three months. Such a long period of time caused such a longing to purify the poor misled souls of the world. Quentin knew that this poor sap would need a fast awakening to the world around him, a tool that possessed enough strength to make one aware. A soft whimpering came from the billiard table behind him. Quentin could hear the innocence trying to break free, trying to see the light of the world. His eyes darted to the dusty, but sharp shears on the left. It was too dull for this type of cleansing. His eyes found what he needed, the pickaxe. Not a single spot of corruption was on it. Quentin had never used the pickaxe before. It was new. The innocence required a pure tool to bring restore what had been lost in the soul. The pickaxe was merely destiny.
“Why? What did I do to deserve this?” the man begged the question as he saw this creature lift a pickaxe off of a shelf. The pickaxe appeared to lack weight upon being carried by the brute. The man tried with as much energy as possible to loosen the rope. To break the rope. To escape.
“Fear not my child, I observe your corruption infecting your body with each move you make. For the cleansing to be true, I must request that you cease your movement.” Quentin raised the pickaxe with both arms above the fragile being lying on the table before him. “At last my child, for you shall be purified, and your innocence shall be free.”
“NO!” the man shouted as loud as he could in an attempt to stop the behemoth’s violent behavior.
Quentin swiftly swung his arms downward towards the miserable youth on the billiard table. His tool of purification made contact with the skull, releasing innocence. He slowly lifted the pickaxe from the man’s corpse, now so full of life. Another purification was complete.
Written by Zach Zeman
aka The Hooded Werewolf