Blascronoret - Page 666

"FUCKING KILL!!!!!!" you bellow into the crisp mountain air. A flicker of flame dances past your lips and you savor the taste, drinking in your own acrid stench. Despite your lack of sensory organs, the world is alive with sensation. Your hollow eye sockets gaze around the room. The fear emanating from the four pathetic humans hangs like a palatable aroma in the air.

"Your weapon, my lord," a chained servant calls from somewhere deep in the bowels of Hell. You turn, stretching your ancient bones and flexing, and reach down into the burning portal to your homeland. The servant struggles under the massive weight of his chains and is barely able to lift your heavy sword up through the crevice.

"Engelschnitter..." you muse, inspecting the perfectly balanced hilt. Everything is as it should be. Your skeletal fingers curl around the familiar metal and draw the blade forth, angling the weapon down just enough to slice the fingers from the chained servant trapped in Hell. "You master has arrived!" you scream at the four cowering idiots in front of you.

Four... Your orb-less eyes count the cowardly humans again. One... two... three... "Number Four!" you howl so loudly that the concrete walls shake in fear. Number Four escaped! She will make a useful servant. You swing Engelschnitter easily through the air and take a menacing step toward Number Three. The wretched blonde girl screams and quakes.

"You will be the first sacrifice!" you tell her. The poor human creature kicks feebly against the concrete floor, trying as hard as she can to escape through the very foundation of the house. "You should relish this moment, weakling," you explain, grabbing her fragile wrist and moving it away from her face.

"You won't kill me?" she pleads through a fit of snotty tears. If you had any lips, they would curl up into a smile.

"If I cut off your hands, you can't serve me for an eternity in Hell!" Engelschnitter trails a thin wisp of smoke as it cuts through the soft flesh of her pale skin. Her weeping head falls to the ground with a splash of sticky blood. Engleschnitter pulses in your hands and relishes the kill.

"Good," you whisper to the cold steel of your legendary sword. "The hands are still intact."

You pick up the severed head and turn it over in your bony hands. "So weak," you snap at the bloody trophy. "Unworthy of the Dark One." You walk out of the stuffy basement and stretch your neck from side to side. It has been exactly one hundred years since you have seen the surface and your bones click in violent protest. You toss the head down the hill like the piece of useless trash that it is.

Something catches your attention from the side of your vision. "Number Four!" you yell into the wooded hillside. Your Hell-given sight catches another flicker of movement right at the treeline, only fifty feet from your position. It must be Number Four.

What do you do?

To march toward Number Four and add her violent death to your innumerable list of kills, turn to page 582.

To go back inside and finish off Number Two and Number One, turn to page 103.