Post by John Rabid on Apr 19, 2017 13:50:46 GMT -5
Part 1
Two men fell forty feet into a funeral pyre; the flames shot skywards from an exploding pyramid of tables, the monolith was stacked four tiers high inside a bloody wrestling ring below them. This was Moriarty and Holmes, their personal Reichenbach falls engulfing an escalating, bitter conflict with hushed, perturbed silence as their end was seemingly upon us. Silence, save for the Screaming Nikki Venus as the WCF Explosion event stood still, time unmoving as a shocked Venus felt her lungs busting under the intense pressure of the moment, her body crying uncontrollably for the man she once loved. One Burning hammer from a forty foot high scaffold seemingly binding the fates of Crow McMorris and Corey Black inexplicably together. Two former Pantheon brothers, two former friends; a friendship that had suddenly turned sour weeks previously for reasons only Corey Black was apparently privy to. Yet “The Jomsviking” never shared his dark hypothesis until the end. A voice on a Dictaphone left by “The Scarecrow” whispered delicate words of deceit that cut through the mystery for one man only. Corey and no other seemed to understand the significance of the confession, except perhaps now Nikki as Corey and Crow pinwheeled into the fire. But even now, as both bodies disappeared, it was implausible to believe the conclusion of their struggle had anything to do with “a split”, a hostile takeover by the personality that once saved Corey’s life all those years ago in Iowa. Surely this was an obviously stressed Corey becoming paranoid under the strain of his ordeal? His theorem was preposterous at it’s twisted core. Nothing like what he purposed could ever happen, not in a million years. Could it?
Corey Black and The Scarecrow, their war had become personal, a war of attrition over weeks of constant harassment. Yet it was still their war. Not ours. Not until the night that Corey Black dissapeared...and Creeping Death had his victory. Now, their war would knock upon our doors, searching for the same retribution that had banished Corey Black and Crow McMorris to a strange and dangerous afterlife.
A living entity of pure evil was coming, not only for WCF, but for the entire world. An entity with but a single purpose; to bring destruction everywhere, to spread decay and desolation across every border imaginable. Creeping Death is an evolved God from a flip side world, a counter clockwise universe where anomalies such as Creeping Death have a greater chance of existence, a monster that does not suffer the stench of life, that eradicates it’s foul odor, cleanses it’s persistent infection. Life is an aberration to a being like Creeping Death, a virus that threatens to corrupt the throne of an insane reflection. Fortunately, WCF was at the right place and right time. Creeping Death wanted a war, so he got one. He wants bloodshed, he shall have it. This generation will host the greatest showdown in the history of mankind. The stage is set. The time was now.
Welcome to....
D E ⊥ H W A R
I
The Bells of Des Moines
Written by John Rabid.
The smoke from the flames were extinguished. Corey Black and Scarecrow had left no trace, just questions and recriminations. Embers of life fluttered into the rafters as John Rabid heard the screams of Nikki Venus echo down through the corridors of the MGM Grand Garden Arena, they carried with them the tears of a lost woman and the first alarm bells of a new and terrifying conflict.
Instinctively, John ran from the comfort of his dressing room (trusty Cricket bat in hand) and hooked up with Andre Holmes and Jared mid route to the gorilla position. The curtain parted as the remnants of the match lay before them. The Haunted raised their arms center of the ring, a sign of malevolent solidarity as the lights plummeted. Often, people consider the “lights on and off trick” as just a vaudeville act. A cheap gag. That’s been a popular misconception for decades now. The reason why the lights flicker isn’t to scare fans with ancient parlor tricks. It’s to protect the minds of the audience from the horrors that lurk out there. Beyond what we know. To shield their eyes from acts of impossible science that would terrify crowds into never returning. The lights go down because it’s a business. Because in a world where fear can ruin your product, you have to coat that fear with a layer of showmanship, or find yourself a pauper.
And so, since Seth is one of the richest entrepreneurs in combat sports history; the lights go down. The Haunted teleport though the necrosphere; as purple and black crackling energy surrounds the ring, lashing sharp sparks of pure chaos in every direction, then the lights raise. No one sees the spectacle. They think they’re still shielded in their safe, small world.
Except save John Rabid. His eyes are open to the worlds that lie beyond this plan of existence. Although on this occasion, he probably wishes they weren’t.
John Rabid: Fascinating.
Somewhere beyond the fires, and the screams, and the expanse of our reality; Corey's eyes opened, his vision was blurry as the atmosphere above him was heavy with a thick layer of fog, a mist that nearly blinded him with its compacted density. Corey could barely see anything, besides his own body and the next six steps in front of him. Eventually Corey sat up, wiping his pitch black sweaty hair away from the front of his face and rubbing his once bleeding right arm. No bruises nor deep wounds were on his skin now. In the match, he had suffered a cruel beating, but now...nothing. So what the fuck happened? His eyes roamed around, noticing that he was still in his wrestling attire. This wasn’t a dream. The match had happened. He did fall. But now?
A shiver ran cold down Corey’s back. The fog dispersed; revealing a horizon of wichita prairieland, cornfields, far and wide, devoured by locusts that swarm in huge herds of buzzing malice. A rusted signpost reads: 30 miles to Des Moines, Iowa; this was interstate 80. Or at least a version of it. Clouds above haunted by sporadic thunderclaps that would reveal monstrous tentacled creatures swimming between the cloud cover. A menagerie of hideous creatures, gathered here by a spacefaring monarch.
Corey walked alone, trying to focus on what made sense, he lowered his eyes from the sky. Even if he wanted to seek shelter, there was none to be found. And so he simply dug deep, and found the resolve just to keep walking. Des Moines would have the answer. Of that he was sure.
After a few silent hours, his ears refusing to hear the wail of the creatures above, Corey finally arrived at the city limits. The East village however was not as Corey had once remembered it, or as anyone had remembered it, this was instead a twisted mirror image. A damaged alter ego of a state capital, overgrown and forgotten; a ghost town of fractured buildings and shattered homes that winded and twisted their way across a wasteland of death and decay, surrounded by that thick layer of fog.
And that road, cracked and broken, leads all the way to one suburban home; 2954 East Aurora Avenue, a modest slice of working class, Middle American heartland. No longer beating. Stillborn now….DEAD. Just ghosts, that haunt their one, lone survivor.
In the blink of an eye, Corey found himself in the shattered kitchen of his family home. The city had folded space around him, ensnaring it’s guest inside a cage of misbegotten memories. The room was a mess, broken chairs and shattered windows. Once pristine white embroidered curtains now stained with ink spots of red and black blood.
Voices whispered upon the wind as a back door into the garden rhythmically clattered open and close...open and close.. Echoing a symphony of memories that carried with them the weight of memory, and the sharp, stinging sensation of anger. Corey was once a child of this broken home; the son of an abusive father who drank to forget responsibility and respect. Even now, in this other existence, Corey could still recollect the bruises and the welts that would scar his body. They where a road map, that lead each day to a punishing schedule of evade and survive. Thinking back, Corey had spent his entire adult life on the road, never thinking about settling down. Never once considering starting a family. His early childhood was spent avoiding the fist and dodging the strap. His father was a drunk, a weak at the knees coward that picked on him and his siblings, a brother and a sister, constantly. Berating them for their right to exist. A drunk driven half mad by the knowledge that he was tethered to a fate that was…
Not of his making.
The voices echoed within Corey’s father too once. But they were too strong for him, they broke his sanity. They drove him to this moment. To MURDER. To complete the cycle and open the doorway. To let CREEPING DEATH OUT. To merge with the chosen host. To be free. All Creeping Death needed to do was make sure Corey silenced the one voice that could warn him. The one soul that knew what this path of violence would lead to. The complete destruction of our Earth, invaded by a trapped monster from a mirror image of our planet. An Alternative Universe. Now fueled by death...not life.
Corey spotted his father’s Dictaphone on the kitchen table. The same one The Scarecrow had left for him inside the Slam wrestling ring weeks previously. Corey pressed play on the machine, the warm sensation of freshly bleed plasma felt oddly comforting against his fingertips. He knew who the blood belonged to as he spotted the baseball bat propped up against the cooker. It’s hickory was inscribed with a flamboyant signature: “Go get em’ slugger - Steve Waite”. As Corey’s hand wrapped itself around the bat, he could hear his family calling...
“Hey, is that you Corey? It’s me...your Brother.”
“Corey? COREY? I’ve missed you. It’s your sister.”
“Hello, Boy. Welcome home. It’s your FATHER.”
Corey Black: Father...
Flesh and bone wrenched itself together from the linoleum floor, the ticks of a wall clock running in reverse as skin and tissue snapped, cracked and contorted back into a set of three humanoid shapes, Father, Brother, and Sister. They began to look vaguely human. It was as if a puppet show was underway, invisible strings commanding time to reverse as the remains of Corey’s family undone their collective tragedy and became upright and alive again...to a degree. They still remained bleeding marionettes in front of a frozen Corey, who was unsure as what to do. Run? Fight? When Corey first confronted his father as a child in this kitchen, he was faced with a man who had just killed his family. The choice was simple back then. Direct. Avenge their deaths. Save himself. Bash his father’s brains in with the bat and feel nothing. But now, as the ghosts of his past stood there. Semi living cadavers. Victims of another’s insidious plans, he could only listen helplessly as the tape continued to play. Words were uttered that revealed the final, horrific truth. One final nail in the coffin.
Father’s lips moved silently along with the tape, ink black blood oozing from his putrid mouth, running down his stained wife beater. The Dictaphonewas the zombie’s mouthpiece. It spoke for them. A mouth and tongue for souls without nether to articulate.
“Hello son. We’ve been waiting for you here for so long. To see you again is such a joy. I’ve missed you, Slugger. I’ve missed your smile. I’ve missed those summer days in the park across the street, playing catch. I wish I could have told you what was happening, but he wouldn’t let me. He said he’d make me do...I wish I could have told you. I tried to bury him. With drink and pills but the voice. It wouldn’t leave me. And that sound. That fucking sound I...I shouldn't swear. Not in front of the kids.”
The Cadaver of Corey’s father patted the head of it’s dead children, they smiled as their broken necks intently looked up into the eyeless holes where a father’s love would have shone, ink black blood oozing from small, shattered jawlines and eyeless sockets that cry death.
Corey Black: Stop it…
“Son, you’re home now. You cannot leave this place. None of us can. He is the master. He is God here. I tried to fight him. I fought him with everything I had, but it was all for nothing. I still obeyed his word. The booze wore off. I was weak. He was strong...he’s ALWAYS strong.”
Corey knew the answer before he asked the question. But he had to hear it.
Corey Black: Who Father...who’s God here?
“CREEPING DEATH. The voice that MURDERED YOUR FAMILY. Oh forgive me, son...please God...FORGIVE MEEEEEE!!!”
Father’s skin began to undulate and contort as his body was ripped apart from the inside. A vomit of blood splattered Corey’s face as his father’s reanimated form disintegrated in front of him.
Something stepped out from the dark comfort of the shadows and took the cadaver’s place. A boy, dressed in blood splattered baseball gear. Years ticking away in a matter of seconds until the boy becomes a man. Five foot nine. Two hundred and seventeen pounds. His attire changing to match his guest. This world is a mirror image. Death is life. Life is death. Corey Black, Creeping Death.
One, a MIRROR IMAGE of the other.
Creeping Death stood in front of Corey Black and smiled, it’s not that common to see your alternative universe twin. The one you’ve inhabited for years. Living inside the mind of a counterpart to escape a world that you’ve bleed dry. A world you’ve feasted upon until nothing but rotting corpses remain. Still, you’d think Corey would have at least said hello before swinging the bat first.
Corey Black: FUCK YOU!
Corey swung for the fences. But Creeping Death is GOD here. Impossible speed is just another euphemism for CD, who is behind Corey before The Jomsviking can react. Snatching the bat away and slinging it to one side. Corey is spun around and lifted high by a Choke slam that shattered the kitchen table on impact. Corey scrambles for the Dictaphone and conceals it within his boots before CD lifts him up again and throws him against a wall.
The wall crumbles on impact as Corey finds himself inside a nineteen nineties living room. CD’s and Nintendo cartridges clutter the floor. Creeping Death crushes Zelder under foot as he enters through the new doorway.
Creeping Death: I wonder, did you enjoy it? Killing your father I mean. I did. When I killed mine it unleashed a force inside of me, a power that just kept growing until I ruled this planet. I was unstoppable. I feasted on murder, I gorged upon it, until I was alone. So I reanimated the corpses of my enemies through sheer will. But, you know how it is, it’s just not the same once you kill off someone.
Creeping Death kicks Corey across the face as his counterpart is getting up onto his knees.
Creeping Death: They always come back different. So I searched this universe for others like me. But I soon discovered I was alone. The last living life form in this universe. The one, TRUE COREY BLACK. God of an evolving species about to reach out into space. To become immortal. I was the first and the last. You know why I’m Creeping Death, Corey? Because that’s what I bring. A tide of Death. And I have drowned so many in my wake.
Creeping Death throws Corey through the front window of the home. It shatters into a thousand shards of slicing glass and splintering wood as Corey lands in a crumpled heap on the freshly mowed lawn.
Creeping Death: So I searched other universes for counterparts like you. Versions of me where time ran differently. My body cannot leave this universe, but my mind...that can travel across any expanse. It was so easy to take over your father. To drive him mad. To force him to kill your sister and Brother. And then to take over your thoughts and will, and to have you murder the one man who could convince you to fight me. We were a good team, you and I, but now? Now It’s time for you to go.
Corey Black: F-fuck you.
Creeping Death: You already said that. We need to work on your vocabulary. I wonder how many insults you’ll be screaming when I impregnate Taylor Swift. A son should always know the joy of being a father. Don’t you think?
Creeping Death exits through the shattered window. Stands over his bleeding mirror image.
Creeping Death: Controlling your friend, Crow? Just a formality for a God like me. He was already dead. And necromancy is one of my most pronounced of skills. The others? They all had their wants. The Haunted desired nothing more than to do good. You know how it is, the path of best intentions and all that shit. Just like Pantheon in the beginning...that name, “Pantheon”, “A gathering of Gods”, who planted the seeds of that idea do you wonder? It was me, Corey, not Fly. It’s ALWAYS BEEN ME! That’s why you became “The Pantheon”. I could twist you to become anything in my day, because I was pulling your strings all the while, until that fucking bitch Nikki Venus showed up and began to awaken. To show her true abilities. She has...potential that one. She could be my opposite in ways you are not. I think after I’ve used your body in your world to start World War 3 I’ll bring her here, to my Earth. Have some fun. You’ll be forced to watch of course. A prisoner in my perfectly defined paradise. Just me. Nikki Venus. The son we’ll procreate in front of you as your tongueless mouth screams a mute cry...and….
CD looked up at an approaching Truck. It’s tires screaming as steam rose off the burning rubber. Behind the wheel was a six foot eight man, dressed in jeans and a tee, a leather jacket barely able to cover the man’s shoulders. The man behind the wheel shouts something barely audible at Corey. Creeping Death is only happy to decipher the message.
Creeping Death: Oh, it’s Crow McMorris. I think he wants you to move. This I believe is what he would call a rescue. He’s attempting to slam the vehicle into me and dive for cover at the last second. Crow’s undead, so, no fear of repercussions. He regenerates...which is annoying because I think he’s becoming immune to my influence.
Creeping Death waves the truck on as CD lifts Corey up off the lawn by the throat and holds him aloft by the scruff of the neck like a shield. Crow has a pistol, ready to open fire but can’t take the chance of hitting Corey. He screams and swerves the truck, ploughing into the house. Both the truck and 2954 East Aurora Avenue explode in an orange fireball of flames and heat.
What’s left of the twisted metal housing that contained the truck’s cabin and it’s driver smolders. But without Crow McMorris inside. A moment passes before we hear movement. Crow gathers his thoughts and stands, clothes burnt and ripped. He sees Corey Black a few feet away from him. Crow is cautious. Is it him? Is it Creeping Death? Scars across Crow’s face are already beginning to heal as he takes hold of a burning shard of metal, shaking off the pain of the crash and the heat from the steel. He approaches Corey with only one thought on his mind...can he do this? Is this his one shot at killing Creeping Death?
He raises the shard above his head, his movement a heartbeat away from delivering the killing blow when.
A BELL TOWER CHIMES.
Corey Black: Crow...is that….that you?
Crow McMorris: Told you to stay away from those fucking catacombs, you opened the doorway for him to take over.
Corey Black: I--I wanted to find Valhalla.
Crow looked up at the giant bio-mechanical bell tower that had just sprung up within the center of the city. The creatures swarmed the spire as a doorway opened and they flooded through, into our world. Into the Dethfort.
Crow McMorris: Yeah, well. What do you think of it?
The bells continue to ring. The war cry of a mad God
II
The Cries of Dethfort
The Cries of Dethfort
Written by Andre Holmes
It had been a week since the disappearance of both Corey Black and Crow McMorris. Beneath the sun’s glow in Denmark a young boy was in his bedroom watching the news of his favorite pro wrestler, Corey Black, being labelled M.I.A. The Caucasian six year old boy fluffed his short blonde hair, blue eyes glued to the screen as he sat down on his bed curled up in a ball. The sun beaming through the window panels and holding that Corey Black action figure tight in his right hand. Tears flowing down his face and dripping onto his grey T-Shirt. He dusted off his black shorts and got off the bed to put on his black sandals as he turned off the television. He couldn't take anymore news of Corey Black missing so he decided to go outside, get some fresh air. It would be for the best.
Mother: Sam! Do you want some dinner?
Sam: No mom! I'm going out for a walk!
Mother: Don't stay out too long.
Sam: Okay! I'll be back in twenty!
Mother: Love you!
Sam: Love you too!
He closed the front door. Sam and his mother lived in a small room, two bedrooms and a bathroom. They didn't have much in the village but they made of what they had. Sam skipped down the road, avoiding any social contact with the teenagers who always bullied him when they had the chance. He deviated from his original path and ran down into the woods. Having that Corey Black action figure in hand, he was skipping through the woods singing his theme song.
Sam: As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death', I take a look at my life and realize there's nothin' left.
As he came up on the beach, Sam took off his black sandals and dragged his feet against the warm crystal sands. His blue eyes was a match made with the great blue seas, the waves crashing against the shores. Sam kept skipping down the wet sand, kicking the salt water everywhere, juggling the Corey Black action figure in his hands. It wasn't long until he discovered what it looked like a body washed up on the shore. It didn't move nor did it look clean. Covered in sand, blood and ripped up clothing, the young child held tightly onto the Corey Black action figure before slowly walking over to the body. He kneel down at it's side and gently poked it with the toy until the body grabbed him by the arm. Sam screamed trying to rip free but the wounded man's grip was too strong. Their eyes met and the wounded individual said his last words.
Wounded Man: THEY'RE COMING! RUN! RUN KID! GET EVERYONE AWAY! THEY'RE COMING!
Those were truly his last words. The wounded man's head fell back to the sand, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his grip on Sam's arm was gone. However, Sam leaned forward on both his knees then shook his body to wake him up. It was no use, he was dead. He heard the waves getting more violent as they got closer and closer. Sam got off his knees and back to his feet; He also looked ahead and saw a line of dead bodies from what happened to be a ship crew due to the matching uniforms. Sam held the action figure close to his chest with both hands, shaking like a chicken trapped in the corner. Each step was slow and cautious, avoiding the bodies at all cost. He took a deep breath, put on his big boy pants and reached to the end of the line until he stopped when he heard the waves set still.
Sam: Mom...
The winds were blowing more furiously. Sam's blonde hair was flying all over the place and he looked up to the sky to see dark clouds blocking out the sun. On the horizon, there was a fog building. Very strong fog of violet color and Sam watched with his own very blue eyes. He saw shadows emerging from the fog, human shadows getting bigger and bigger until Sam screamed in fear. These shadows were decayed bodies of men and women running on water, sprinting faster than the average human being carrying swords, cleavers and axes. They came running across the still water without even making any splashes, screaming like a pack of maniacs. Lightning struck the skies over and over again, Sam made a run for it in the woods. The decayed un-dead were chasing after Sam, running through the woods, bobbing and weaving through the bushes and avoiding the whoosh of axes aimed at the boy’s head. When he returned back to the village, it was devastation everywhere.
Sam: MOM!
Clang! One of the teenagers who bullied Sam ate a rusty sword splitting his head in half by an undead soldier. The creature removed his weapon from the boy's head, ripping nearly shredded brains and sliced flesh on the blade. Sam watched a few of the undead creatures feast down on the dead teenage's body. Limbs torn apart but what he saw was much worse. These monsters roaming from building to building, destroying lives; Whether man, woman, or child, no one was shown mercy. They ravaged the buildings, the businesses, burned them all to the fucking ground and turned the population into a giant long table feast. Sam had one mission and that's to get his mother out and safe. He ran through the chaotic environment, explosions everywhere and smoke rising along with the flames under the dark clouds. He saw his house still intact.Sam ran inside pushing the heavy front door open as his mother came out of her room with a gun in her hand.
Mother: SAM?!
Sam: MOMMY!
He ran into her arms and she held him tightly. Her voice loud and coarse.
Mother: Are you hurt?! Did they touch you?
Sam shook his head.
Sam: No! Mommy, I'm scared! The monsters are everywhere and they killed a lot of people! Don't let them get me please!
Mother: Listen. You stay with me! Okay?! Do not leave my side! Come!
Sam: Okay.
Mother: Be strong! OKAY GO!
She held him by his left hand and cocked the pistol in her right. An undead man came through the door. Teeth falling out, half of his chest shredded and she fired two good bullets into his head. His brains were blown out and his body fell back to the floor. They both ran out through the open door and straight in the opposite direction of the undead coming into town. A few soldiers caught them running away hence the beginning of their cat and mouse chase. The mother and her son ran straight through the woods while the undead soldiers were chasing them down like rabid beasts. Flailing their arms, yelling blood gurgling screams and not slowing down. One purpose was created for the undead and that was too destroy all signs of life no matter what. Sam tripped over a small branch and got his foot stuck in the twigs, the mother came to a quick halt and opened fire on the approaching undead soldiers, granting Sam enough time to wiggle himself out of the predicament. One by one the soldiers fell down but reinforcements were on the way, Sam got his foot free but too much of the creatures were showing up.
Mother: Sam....Run.
Sam: What...?
Mother: Run to the castle! Now! GO!
Sam: Mom...no....
Mother: Sam.
Sam: No...I don't want to....
He got off the ground and hugged onto her right leg. She descended down to her right knee and hugged onto him tightly. Tears were streaming down their faces and Sam was bawling as she held his cheek with her free hand. She smiled and kissed him on the forehead.
Mother: You have to be strong okay. You have to make to the castle and stay there. Be safe.
Sam: ...
Mother: I love you.
Sam: I love you Mommy.
Mother: Go....
They hugged for the final time before Sam departed. She stood up then watched him run for his life holding that Corey Black action figure in his hand. She rubbed her eyes and slowly turned around before walking into the horde of undead soldiers coming her way. Sam heard the gunshots fire from a few meters away until they were finished. He didn't look back; He kept running until he saw the tip of the Dethfort castle in his view. After five minutes, he managed to get out of the woods and make it to the entrance. The molt separated the castle from the villages and Sam fell to his knees on the muddy ground. Calming his breath, he finally made it until he saw the horde coming out of the woods behind him.
Sam: No.
Sam buried his face in his hands preparing for the worst. However, nothing happened. The undead stood in a line like they were paralyzed mannequins. No sound created, they were frozen. Sam stood on his feet watching them in their stasis mode. He turned around to see the man he adored all his life, Corey Black, step out from the gates wearing full body armor comprised of violet and black color envisioning that captured that dark portion of himself perfectly. Sam's eyes widened, his jaw dropped. The one he truly loved and inspired him had come to save him. Corey Black stood before the kid and smirked.
Sam: You're Corey Black.
Creeping Death: Interesting question.
Creeping Death extended his right arm, opened the palm and the kid's body slowly levitated off the muddy ground. Sam felt a strong force clutching around his throat, cutting off his air supply. Sam was choking as Creeping Death stared without compassion at the child, the boy struggling to breathe while the undead moved slowly closer. Sam’s eyes turning clear purple as the child dropped the Corey Black action figure.
Creeping Death: Do you see child? The beauty of destruction? It’s infinite perfection? It reveals the true nature of humanity, the true nature of this world. You place your faith blindly into the hands of men who are false gods, heretics that will lead you down a path of misery. Vultures who will feed on your happiness, your joy, and twist it into despair. Corey Black my child, is dead and he will never be coming back. However, rejoice. For you shall put your faith in me now. A true lord. What do you say?
Sam: Corey Black will…will...I will praise you.
Creeping Death: Of course you will. Now go, join the others from the village. The church shall remain open all night for festivities. Worship me and wonder. Sing my name as this world burns.
Creeping Death stood at the cliff’s edge; below him was the village, small pockets of screaming resistance succumbing to the inevitable as Sam matched happily down the hill, back towards his mother. Later, they both knelt at the altar of Death. And sang their lord’s name, with eyes tearful with bliss.
Creeping Death ruled Dethfort now.
To Be Continued.
