The steps in the dark cavern were smooth, worn over from the ages of use by untold numbers who braved the choice to descend into this virtual night of darkness. How often would those that believed they alone deserved to know the secrets of the night take this very same path and attempt to explore the secrets of what was, what is, and what could soon come to be. There was no scent that lingered in these darkly hallowed ways, save for that which came from the silken smooth moss that coated the dimmed walls of carved stone on all sides, and the rank and bitter aroma of copper, a tell-tale sign of the spilling of blood.
None had made their way down here in a century, perhaps more than. None dared and over time, this place had become forgotten and a thing of mere memory and legend. A place where Her kind had gathered to meet in safety and secret, where the religious zealots would be none the wiser.
The footsteps were barely audible, as the soft shoes against the stone were as a bare foot against the lush grass of an open field. There was no light for the eyes to pierce the veil of darkness, but that was to be respected, and revered. Enjoyed. Not that light nor flame were truly needed, as She had lived these long years under the cloak of night, and so Her eyes had grown accustomed and She could see in the darkness as well as any nocturnal being, such as cats or owls.
As the last of the curving stone steps came to an end, She paused and looked around at the shrine in which she had arrived. It was an ancient place of knowledge and blood. The remnants of a bygone era of magic and power. The Christian faith had done much in the ways of exterminating Her kind, but for all their efforts, there was much ignorance on their part. Their arrogance led them to truly believe that they knew all that their was to know about those that dwelled in the darkness. When in truth, their knowledge and understanding was scant at best. A mere taste of what was truly out there, waiting. Had those that called the Hebrew Lord the true messiah actually known about this one sanctuary, thy would have wasted little to no time at all in raising it to the ground and destroying everything housed within.
There would come a time when the Night would take back what it once reigned supreme over, and it would come soon.
The first candle ignited without the aid of a match or torch, the candle's natural wax a golden amber and it almost right away had started to glisten from the heat and the trickle of the hot wax slid down it's tall pillar. Then more wicks ignited and around the sanctuary, what had to be dozens of these candles of black and golden color, came to 'life' as it were, giving a calm ambience as She walked across the path toward the alter. The soft glow of all of the candles's flames danced along the walls and Her shadow passed by many a shelf with tome and ceremonial trinket held reverently on their wooden space.
It was there, on the pedestal carved in black marble. The dark grimoire of Her kind. Within it housed the knowledge passed down since the burning times and beyond. The legends stated that the hard bound cover was fashioned from the hide of a hell hound, and the paper of the pages made from the skin of the humans they sacrificed during an earlier time. Personally, She always chose to pay little heed to the lies of legends.
As she approached, the cover of the grimoire fell open of its own accord and the pages had started to turn at a raid rate, while the flames on the candles waved in the slight wind that originated from nowhere. The pages were old, brittle, but under no threat of break nor tear as they slowed and finally came to an end on a single entry...
Bögeyman
"An ancient entity that incites fear in the young of heart and mind. This being of inherent darkness incarnate uses the shadows of the night to enter the otherwise relative safety of the homestead to attack it's victims. No locked door is able to keep him out so long as the shadows give him safe passage."
"Once past the barrier of the homestead's natural protections, the Bogeyman chooses only to enter homes that have young children in them. Those that are older than mere babies that can feel and recognize the fear that surrounds him are his favorites, and the ones most susceptible to his aura of terror."
"Once caught in his thrall, he will feed upon the fear offered to him until there is little left of the child but a mere shell of what could have been. He will then either leave the comatose child for the family to discover and mourn, or he will take the body with him to wherever he dwells in the night to feast upon until nothing is left save for bones and teeth."
"Children are not the only ones that can fall victim to the Bögeyman. Adults can be as easy of prey as those of any age. All they have to do is hold the smallest kernel of far in their hearts and he can use it to his own advantage."
"The last that was known of this grim specter was during the thirteenth century during the Black Death. A coven of white witches captured him and banished him into a void of eternal darkness, never again to be resurrected and plague humanity."
"His memory lingers on in beside tales told by mothers to frighten naughty children who misbehave. The simple truth is this being is very real indeed, and must never be released from his prison or else he will paralyze the waking world with fear and mayhem."
The cover of the grimoire slowly closed and Her hands caressed the cover..
Nobody truly understands why we feel fear the way that we do. Some call it a 'fight or flight' type of sensation that we feel in ourselves, but what causes it, and why? And why does this manner of response seem to be at it's height more so during the twilight than during the day? Do people truly believe that evil thrives only when the night holds sway over this world?
Contrary to popular belief, the darkness might be he breeding ground of all things that go 'bump in the night', but by no means does it carry the monopoly on the fears we hold inside of ourselves. The simple fact is that evil is as active during the daylight hours as it is otherwise. We just take such solace in the light, that we don't notice it as much. Always remember that within the light, lies the origin of shadows. And within those very shadows, something is always watching.
Yet this particular story did not take place during the day. It was indeed set after dusk had set and the earth was blanketed by the coming twilight. After all, where would the fun be in a good tale of horror when the proper mood and atmosphere had not been set?
12:21 AM...
It was just past midnight, the `tween hour where the veil itself was at it's weakest point.
This was not a city metropolis. Far from it. The countryside was a place of calm and blissful beauty, no matter what period of the day or night. A lone stretch of vast forest stretched along both sides of a single interstate highway that went on for as far as the lone eye could see. It passed down across the distance and out of sight with no end in sight. No lights adorned this old country road that connected one part of the country to another. None save for the natural lighting of the stars and the moon high above in the night sky.
It was a humbling sight to see such a full moon dead center in the night sky. To bear witness to the magnificence of it's stature and light that allowed the brilliance of it and the stars to offer up the only light to what lay beneath in a humble existence. Yet beautiful as it was, it also held a tinge of ominous foreboding to it as the light wind of the night caused the gray and purple clouds so high in the sky to slowly drift across and past the moon. It was by no means a comforting sight to see the light of the full moon struggling to break free from the clouds that threatened to engulf it, but bit by bit, the light managed to peak through, only to become blocked once again over time.
The light offered by the moon and stars would be of little comfort down below while the trees, still bare to the wind by the nature of the season's chill. No leaves of green had yet started to sprout on the branches that stretched high overhead. The bare limbs of the trees resembled bony fingers that reached out toward one another to intertwine, and stretch over the road offering themselves up to whatever might pass down far below.
The eyes of a gray owl twitched as it perched on the limbs of one of those very trees, it's hunting prowess knowing that somewhere down below, prey would lie in wait. Somewhere ... there. A few blades of grass rustled, not from the wind but from the slight form of the field mouse that darted from the safety of the barren tree to make a run for a new shelter against the night and what might make use of it for an evening meal.
The owl craned it's head to follow the path of the mouse and started to spread its wings in order to take flight against its target, when the bright beams of the on coming car in the distance startled it into complacency. It remained where it was, the mouse all but forgotten as it's golden eyes watched the car come into sight from far over the ridge of the interstate.
Twenty two year old Jennifer Codiele sat behind the wheel of the car that had been a gift to her from her father on her twenty first birthday. She had pressed him hard for a ruby red convertible, but he chose to instead purchase for her something that he considered somewhat more 'practical'. She had scoffed at the thought, as she was only concerned that it was pretty and 'cool', but one could not expect a father to understand something as important as a young person's social standing. She cried and pleaded with him to return it and get her something closer to what she desired but her father told her that she should be more grateful for what she had, not for what she wanted.
She scoffed. Grateful? For this piece of junk? Granted it was new, but it was not cool nor was it what she considered to be pretty. He couldn't even do the one simple request of getting her a car in red, right. This 'monstrosity' was a nasty dark blue. Seriously! What kind of girl wanted to drive a 'blue' car? Especially a dark blue one!
Parents were so stupid!
The only reason she didn't trade it in for what she wanted more was because both of her parents refused to so-sign for the loan so she could do so. The fact she didn't have a job in order to pay back the bank was of little importance. That's what parents were for, wasn't it?
Of course it was.
Still, she was on her way home now, though god knows why she bothered. All her mom and dad could be bothered to do was ask why she had dropped out of college and when she'd get a job. Please! Like she didn't have enough time in her life to worry about things like a job. Her parents were rich, so why should she? Even when they tried to hold out, her tears and begging were usually enough to get her father to succumb to whatever she wanted. Her mother on the other hand, it was she who would doggedly put her foot down and refuse her whatever her heart desired. So unfair! She was Daddy's Little Girl but her mom had her father wrapped so tightly around her finger that she always would be solely responsible for ruining any fun she wanted to have.
The music from Justin Bieber's latest album blasted on the state of the art stereo system her mother deigned to allow her to get installed as she moved her head and upper body to the beat of what she called music, but both parents thought of as simply noise. It was one of the few things that they agreed on -- their general loathing of Justin Bieber who she remained of the loyal opinion to be the greatest musician ever!
They also both apparently hated Twilight but again, parents were stupid so it's not as if their opinion was of very much merit.
She continued to cast sidelong glances at the GPS system on the dash of her car to make certain she was going the right way, and of course, she was. She had no qualms about driving at night like her mother. She preferred it actually but even so, driving for this length of time on such an abandoned stretch of highway <I.was a bit spooky. The sooner she passed by these freaky deaky woods and got into something resembling civilization, the better!
So entranced was she in her music and watching the GPS that she didn't even pay close attention to the light that seemed to come on so suddenly and without warning on the dash of the car. Not until it was too late, that is.
"Oh what the fuck..." She huffed when the car had started to make a 'clunking' noise and a rattling sound emanated from beneath the hood. The headlights flickered as the car came to a grinding halt 'winked' in and out of existence until they finally blinked out completely, leaving her in a stranded darkness.
"Shit!" She exclaimed as she fumbled with the keys and turned the ignition repeatedly and stomped on the gas pedal, but neither tactic served her any good because the car was as it seemed -- dead.
"Son of a...!" She scolded to herself. She told her father and mother she deserved a better car! Now here she was, stranded in the middle of nowhere! Wait until she got home! Her mother was going to hear about this! Just you wait! She would give her mother a piece of her mind and she wouldn't stop until she got the car that she wanted! Not the car that her `rents felt that she should have!
She knew enough to turn on her blinkers and she sat there for a moment, silently fuming, before she reached over and grabbed her purse. The soft velveteen purse that her aunty bought for her, for no reason at all. Just because she was special and deserved to have nice things. Popping it open at the clasp, she reached in and grabbed her cell phone.
Whom should she call? Her father? he was the logical first choice, but the house was still over an hour away. She wanted this problem fixed now. So she reached over and opened the glove compartment and pulled out a pamphlet that had the number of the auto club scribbled on it. It was a twenty four hour system, and they'd be here faster than anyone else. That was all she cared about.
Dialing the number and holding the phone to her ear, she waited as the phone rang three times before an operator picked up.
"Triple A Auto Club." The operator answered. "How can I direct your call?"
Jennifer, almost haughtily, answered, "Yeah! My car just broke down here on Interstate 66 and I need someone to come get me, or fix it. Whichever."
The operator said, "Okay, what is the make and model of your car?"
"It's a dark blue Chevrolet Malibu." Jennifer said, the sneer almost heard in her voice. "A 2012." She followed up with the only hint of pride in the year, if not the make.
"Okay, and where exactly are you located?" Asked the operator.
"I told you," Jennifer said. "Interstate 66."
"Yes ma'am, but we need to know what part of Interstate 66 so we can find you." The operator explained.
"Well, I just got into Massachusetts from Vermont."
"That helps, certainly." The operator said and Jennifer sighed and rolled her eyes. Were all adults this dumb? "Is there a marker on the roadside?"
Jennifer frowned and asked, "A what?"
"A marker." The operator stated. "It tells us what point of Interstate 66 that you're on."
"Well how the hell am I supposed to know that?" Jennifer cried with exasperation. "I just need someone to get out here! It's dark and I'm kind of freaking out here!"
"I understand that," The operator said with tense politeness that made Jennifer believe she understood nothing. "This will help us get there faster."
Jennifer huffed and leaned over to look out of the windshield and then out of the driver's side window. She squinted her eyes when she spotted a yellow sign down along the roadside.
"I think I see it." She said. "It's a yellow sign..."
"That would be it." The operator confirmed. "What does it say?"
"I can't see it from here!"
"Is it possible for you to get closer?"
"You want me to leave my car and go out in this dark?" She yelped in disbelief. "Do you know who my daddy is!?"
Yes, she played 'that' card.
"I'm afraid that I do not." The answer came with feigned politeness. "But even though we have a good idea of where you are, this will help us pinpoint you exactly."
"Fine." Jennifer growled. "But my father will hear about this." She added for good measure.
She was hesitant at opening the car door, and who wouldn't be when she was alone and at night, stranded in such a frightening location. But she wanted to get this done and over with and the sooner, the better. She took a deep breath and opened the driver's side door and carefully slipped out.
She left the door open, however. She was taking no chances and somehow, it just felt like the right thing to do. She held her jacket tightly around herself with her free hand while holding the cell to her ear with the other.
"Okay, I'm going." She said to the man on the other end of the line and she started to walk first at a quickened pace, then turned that into more of a hurried jog towards the sign. This definitely had her heart beating at an accelerated pace. It was scary!
And where did that fog come from that clung to the ground and road like some kind of freaky carpet!?
She came as close as she was willing to the sign, close enough to read the mile marker of thirty-two, before she paused and talked into the phone.
She said, "It says thirty two." She waited, but heard nothing from the other end. "Hello? ... Hello!"
She pulled the phone from her ear and looked at it closely and cursed silently to herself! It was either dead or lost all of the reception because of all the trees around her. Now what was she supposed to do!? Maybe they would come anyway. Yes. The operator knew the type of car she had, and they had a vague idea of where she was. That was enough. Someone would be along soo...
She jumped and turned around the moment she felt the sensation. The headlights of her car were back on! The motor was running! It felt as if a giant weight had been lifted up off of her shoulders! Now she didn't have to wait! She could get out of this dump and get home! Forget about Triple A!
She ran back to her car with an apprehensive smile on her face and practically jumped through the door and into the driver's seat. She slammed the driver's door behind her and looked up into the rearview mirror -- and she froze at the sight of the chalk-white face staring back. the golden eyes that seemed to petrify her on sight.
She suddenly found her voice and screamed.
She screamed and screamed as the car rocked violently until it came to a screeching halt -- and a gush of gore splashed against the windshield, blinding all from seeing inside.
The owl watched, then stretched its wings out to its side and took off into the night sky.
The clouds in the night sky overhead had finally cleared thanks to the wind, and the full moon was in all its splendor. It seemed larger than it had before, and it's white brilliance seemed to have become tainted by a slight red hue, giving it the dark omen of having become a Blood Moon. The ancients would speak of such a thing, saying that to witness a Blood Moon would foretell of blood having been spilled through the night.
But that is just silly superstition, now isn't it?
His footsteps against the forest grounds were silent save for the rustling disturbance of the leaves that bedded the dirt and grass, and the snapping of twigs that had fallen from the branches high above. A snake slithered between the trees and vanished into the murky depths of the forest that surrounded him. The same owl watched in curiosity as the figure moved through the trees, almost as if they did not even exist in his path.
A female fox, a young vixen, peered out from behind some bushes, having sensed the chill that seemed to follow him; a chill that spoke of dread and paralyzing fear. She never would have ventured from her den on her own, but she had young that needed protecting, and she felt the need to seek it out and be a witness if her pups were under any threat. She whined at the very sight of him as he passed, far too close for her own comfort, but he paid her no mind. Only then when he had passed through a small embankment of fog and vanished from her sight did she let loose with a protective snarl and she turned and hurried back to her young and the relative safety of her foxhole.
He saw the vixen, of course. Little escaped his attention, but he felt good about this evening's activities. It had been so very long since he had felt such dread in his presence. It would be almost accurate to say it made him feel like a kid again -- had he ever been one in the first place.
No, he had always been as he was now. And he had no time to have fun at the animal's expense. Not that he ever sank to such depths, mind you. It was not as if he cared about animals, or felt that they were beneath him. He simply saw no intrigue at targeting such creatures when mankind gave him all the thrills that he longed for in his black heart. Besides, he had a visit to make, and spoils to share in.
He stepped over the embankment of the flowing creek, proving that it was most definitely not true that his kind could not cross moving bodies of water. The entire way as he walked the old, dirt path, passing by thorns and brambles without so much as a scratch or catching his attire in a snag, Grimm is murmuring in a low, melodious tone that could be compared to warm honey being poured over a blood encrusted razor. If one could listen more carefully, but that would mean getting closer to him physically, you might hear the ironic tones of a child's nursery rhyme ...
"During afternoon tea, there is a shift in the air
A bone trembling chill that tells you she's there.
There are those who believe that the whole town is cursed.
But the house in the marsh was by far the worst.
What she wants is unknown but she always comes back.
The specter of darkness, the woman in black."
And that moment was precisely when he came to a halt, his eyes having fallen upon his intended destination.
The hut was of a modest size, more of a old-world cabin than anything else, but a curious one that seemed to be crafted of some other material rather than from the wood that surrounded it. He had smelled the place far before he had laid eyes on it, and it was a sickenly sweet scent that turned his stomach. The scent of gingerbread and sweets. Already the light of the moon over his head dazzled the candies that were set carefully in the very fabric of the cabin, shimmering as jewels would under the sun. The path he walked on grew curiously more pronounced and free of bush and bramble the closer it got toward that humble dwelling, as if it were tended for smaller bodies -- children perhaps? There were two windows, and only two, but both were shuttered and closed to hide the goings on from within away from prying eyes. Grimm sniffed again and almost wished he hadn't as the scent grew stronger, and seemingly carried away in the winds. he glanced up, his golden eyes catching the moon's light like it might a cat's, and he saw the soft trail of smoke wafting from the small chimney set into the slanted roof.
He shook his head at the sight and stepped forward towards the lone door.
No sooner did the door of the hut open inward that Her soft voice spoke with authority, "You've been out hunting?"
"No." Grimm answered, smiling rather maliciously as he held up a large canvas sack that had a dark residue soaking the bottom. He glanced at it with morbid humor before lowering it back down and he continued, "To use the word 'hunt' would also imply a bit of sport. This one was no fun at all."
He stepped further inside and with a casual flick of the wrist, he dumped the bag onto the wooden table, causing the unlit candles and utensils to rattle where they stood. He paused and stood with a stoic precision, looking across the cabin's modest interior to the figure that sat in the rocking chair. Her back to our eye and only Her general shadow visible to us.
She gave a faint chuckle and asked, "Then why bother?" Although her tone implied it to be more of a statement as opposed to a question.
"Amusement." Grimm answered as he walked casually over toward the oven that had a cast iron grating over the mouth. He tilted his head to the left at the form of the poppet doll in the shape of a male figure and picked it up, examining it closely. He continued, "And besides, you rarely leave this place. If you intend to gather your strength, you need to eat, don't you?"
"Not necessarily." She answered, the shadow of Her head looking up from the knitting in Her lap that She had been working on. "And besides," She went on. "I think I prefer the taste of the tender flesh of the babies that you've been providing for me."
"Hunh." Grimm nodded, setting the poppet back down where he had gotten it. He passed the oven, his fingers gliding along the hot iron yet he acted as if he felt no pain from the roaring fire inside. if he did, he chose to ignore it. He said, "I find the babies to be alarmingly easy to get hold of in this day and age. Times have changed. I seem to recall an age where parents actually took on the responsibility of watching after their young."
"It's as you said." She replied. "Times have changed."
Grimm paused in thought as She went back to her knitting and he turned to give the oven a casual glance. He then looked back to her and with a raised eyebrow of questioning, he asked, "The sweets. Are they really necessary? It seems a trifle ... off setting."
She chuckled and used her feet to begin rocking her chair as she answered him, "You'd be amazed at how far the scent of sweets carries in a conjured wind. It brings the curious and the hungry."
"Right out of one of those mortal fairy tales I gather." Grimm scoffed. he then cast a sidelong glance to the oven and frowned. "It smells vile."
Without warning, a blinding flash of pain erupted in Grimm's skull and he grabbed his forehead with his right hand and staggered against the table. His left hand gripped the back of a wooden chair and almost as quickly as the pain appeared, it vanished as if it had never been. He looked up and his eyes flashed in annoyance towards the shadowy form.
She said, "Dear, a witch I may be but at heart I am still a woman. And no woman appreciates being told that her cooking smells 'vile'."
Grimm stood upright, brushing his hands along his attire as if to clean the taint of the dust built on the back of the chair from his palms. He looked more bemused now than he did angry. He started to walk back around the edge of the table and as he passed the corner, he casually flipped open the opening of the canvas sack he had carried and peered unabashedly at the contents within.
She broke the silence and asked, "So ... the goddess. What exactly did she want that was so important she attempted to summon you?"
"An alliance of sorts from what I could gather." Grimm said casually as he closed the bag once again. He looked up and met her eyes and continued, "According to her, the hunters of this age have grown quite bold, hunting many of the Night to the brink of extinction. She wanted me to join a group she is a member of to help protect our kind."
"And what did you say?"
"Oh, you know me." Grimm smirked. "I told her that it was not my choice alone."
"Did you?"
"You broke my prison." Grimm admitted. "It was the very least that I could do."
"No, dear." she spoke. "The very least that you might do is nothing. Still, you chose to speak to me any way. Whether that be because you desired to or felt compelled is beyond the point. I think you should take her up on the offer."
Grimm glanced up and sneered, "You're joking."
"I am not exactly famous for my sense of humor." She replied. "You've already made your presence known to the mortal eye by becoming a part of this ridiculous wrestling farce. You might very well need the added protection."
"Protection." Grimm scoffed. "Please. There was a time where I would leave entire villages hysterical with mourning over the loss of their children."
"You said it yourself. Times have changed." She pointed out the use of his own choice of terminology. "Parents may be more lazy when it comes to tending to their own, but those that seek us out, to be rid of us, are not so casual. It's a far more dangerous time for the Night to be active in."
"I find it exhilarating, truth be told." Grimm smiled, his teeth as white as his face. "This 'wrestling' farce was an intriguing concept of yours."
"And a successful one thus far." She added. "You did quite well in your initial appearance. That young man you opposed was confident at first but you worked your charms well enough over the course of time against him."
"I've never had any complaints yet." Grimm smiled first, and then shrugged. "And even if I had, their words would be of little interest."
"I like that." She chuckled. "Some revulsion in the heart. If I had one of my own, it might very well warm it. Still, the last time you were against one. This time, as I understand it, you face twice as many."
Grimm shrugged nonchalantly. He said, "It is no matter. One opponent or two, they'll both fall. It's not often that a meal comes with dessert. I intend to savor every morsel they provide me."
"Well, you go now." She said and the rocking of Her chair started up again, as did Her knitting. "Find something to amuse yourself while I finish my knitting."
Grimm bowed his head as a gesture of respect toward this unseen figure and he turned for the door. Just as he grasped the handle to open it, he came up short and turned partially to address Her once again.
"I admit curiosity, however." He said. "If you are so concerned about these hunters and our kind, then why have me in such a spectacle?"
"I have my reasons." She answered without looking up.
Grimm watched her for only a moment or two longer before he shook his head.
"Witches and your secrets."
And the door closed behind him as he left into the night.
"I have faced so many over the course of an eternity, and do you know what I find to be the most satisfying form of entertainment from those that would remove me from existence? The ones that start off by claiming that they are not afraid. They will say they look at me and they hold not one iota of fear in their hearts. Well, perhaps it is true. Perhaps it is not me that they are afraid of, but I sincerely doubt it. Still, no man is free from the sweet tingling sensation of fear. It's simply impossible. Any man that claims to not know fear of any form is one thing and one thing only;"
"A liar."
"Mortals were bred to feel this. It is what has kept them relatively safe and from harm throughout their feeble existence. They are confronted with a situation that is unknown or unfamiliar, and the feeling ignites in their heart until they either face it down, or flee. It's called 'fight or flight' my friends, and personally, I always preferred the 'flight' routine. It's just that much more thrilling for me when I have to give chase and end what should never have been."
"I've watched long enough to know something about the two that I have been placed against, and they are of little concern.
"Oh Derek Thorne, if only I could get close enough to you, I'm sure I would be in a euphoric trance from the scent of the lingering fear on your body. Perhaps what you say is true. Perhaps over time you've managed to not overcome your fear, but buried it so far down that you've convinced yourself that it is simply no longer there. I like that. It gives me a goal in this match that we will soon find ourselves in. I do so enjoy the hunt and to hold you down and pick apart every last bit of that wall you've built up inside yourself, shielding you from your natural, primal instincts -- oh if I were mortal I'm sure I would climax as I bring you to the very brink of sheer and unadulterated terror."
"Your words are just that, Derek. Words. No man is completely without fear, and those that claim to be so are the tastiest morsels to savor. Forget the third man in the ring. Imagine when it is just you and I, and you begin to understand just what it is that you're up against. That awful sensation in the pit of your belly will be felt and threaten to erupt from every fiber of your being. You will wonder, in the middle of all those people, just how it is that you are expected to fight against such evil. How do you cope? Do you soil yourself in fear as so many others have over the centuries? Do you become paralyzed and find yourself unable to speak, let alone fight back? oh I hope not. I don't want you to disappoint me, Thorne. I want you to dig down deep and face your fears! I want you to attempt to fight me with everything you feel, everything you see! It'll make my victory over you oh so much more satisfying in the end."
"And you Rage. If only you were aware of the feeding ground that you have already gifted me with, yet you remain blissfully unaware. You I intend to use you as the sacrificial lamb as the pagans of old would sacrifice their own elders and children. Times may have changed, Rage, but I have not. I still hold to the Old Ways and it has been so very long since I have held a human soul, quivering in the palm of my hand. You seem to be a strong, capable young man. You will be the dessert to Thorne's main course."
"You show a brave front to all watching, but one as old as I easily picked up on your own personal contradictions. Tell me again how you, like Derek Thorne, are unafraid, but at the same time, lament on the string of losses that you have been held accountable for. Tell me again how oh so brave you are, only to also whine like a snotty brat about how you need to win so as you are no longer the loser that you fear yourself to be."
"That is indeed fear that you are feeling Rage. Fear of loss. Fear of the truth. Fear of disappointing those that you hold closest to your heart. I like that. I like it so very much, and to show you my appreciation, I will make you something of a promise. A kindness, if you will. And if you knew anything about my kind you would be grateful for being shown such a rarity. I promise you, Rage, to make this quick. I promise to do you the honor of savoring the lingering fear over your still body as I drink in the aftermath of your's and Derek Thorne's defeat."
"If a child can provide me with such a feast, what you two will be serving me on a silver platter will be a banquet indeed!"</color></size>
