a stream of fresh bloody poured from the hole in the girls head. the man stood over her with an unsatisfied taste in his mouth. he breathed fire into the mist before him, creating steam. his foot on her chest, just below her neck, he howled into the street where no one heard him. no one but the people with enough hearing to make out violent cries of this nights crazed and enraged harbinger. "yes, she is dead!" he howls. whimpers can be heard from the shattered windows and broken buildings. Then the night slept until the moon collapsed into the dirt.
flesh and meat were tossed to the side by these valiant horns. new and heavy, they hung from his forehead black and extravagant. tools of war. fire fell from his mouth like a fountain and danced its beautiful waltz this way and that. only anger drives this form. forsaken by his own emotions. condemned by what he hates and by what he wished upon.none of the 7 deadly sins reside in this beast who's form worsens over every unscripted word spoken by him and her and them. nothing can keep him from himself and he doesn't know what he wants or doesn't. only what he hates.
everyone has internal damnation waiting to rear and wreak its vindictive and sadistic means
