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|A serial killer relaxing in a garden one day encounters a fellow member of the deranged, however things become rather dire as our kille decides to follow the other.||
Deserted, the luscious gardens were peaked in full bloom flowers sporting nectar held aloft for the merriment of insects to ensure another crop this spring, nestled upon an oaken bench lay a monstrous effigy of hatred and corruption, a creature scathed in steel from head to toe wrought from many hues yet the most numerous that of eclipsed black. His nostrils twitched slightly as he inhaled the curious odour emanating from a crimson rose thorns jutting out from its stem every few inches or so spiralling upward into the elongated summit, an evening of relaxation and recuperation from the previous nightís escapades he required, a change from the mist infested residential area of the city scattered with lurid structures serving as hovels and abodes for the peasants of the mighty land.
†It intrigued him how a city could contain such pompous dignitaryís with their countless servants and generous wallets yet could conceal a seething underbelly of corruption and poverty, perhaps that was what attracted him to the hunt, the chase, for all victims were equal in their chilled embrace, wealth amounted nothing in the hours that mattered most.
Ever darkening skies followed by a tremendous rumble of thunder heralded the normally humid weather taking a change for the worse, moments pasted as blackened clouds began to gather overhead, the calm before the storm he mused as with a final effort of restraint the billowing heavenís split their sides and let fly such a hail of rain never before seen in the quiet climate of the sun baked city. The gates to the blanket of increasingly drenched garden quivered open as a few townspeople ventured inward seeking shelter from the sudden downpour beneath the foliage of the surrounding treeís, a fascinating man now situated beneath one of the larger branches of sanctuary sparked his interest, not because he was obese, overly gaunt or lithe, but merely because unlike his comrades he appeared perfectly ordinary.
An upstanding citizen of society perusing the streets of peasant folk however did seem rather odd, and so the plot thickens as he spotted a leathered briefcase resembling a doctors bag snugly grasped within the manís hand, surely no self respecting surgeon would cater for the needs of people too poor to compensate him for such assistance.
The company lingered there for what must have been the better part of twelve minutes before the skies deemed the damage wrought by their wrath sufficient and relinquished their assault upon the shattered earth below, throughout these twelve minutes Sibilantís gaze had attentively been fixated upon the individual wielding the hamper of goodies, inquisitiveness was such an annoying trait of humanity he decided and again his psyche ached in longing, in anticipation, desperately wondering what the manís business here was. Realising that the rain had dually departed the people began to return to their daily chores, housewives caught unawares on their way home from shopping hastily scurried back into the mounds of mud they lived in before their husbands no doubt home from their toils to earn the family some income became angered and overly ravenous.
At last the coenobite of anatomy trudged off through the dirt flecked street heading toward an alley some yards away, rousing himself Sibilant also decided to journey down the winding back street in pursuit of this proprietor of vaccine, stitched lips writhed into a solitary sneer as his gigantic limbs easily strode across the distance betwixt the two quickly gaining on his quarry yet remaining a few paces behind attempting to maintain a casual swagger in his step. The ensuing stretch of cobbled stone shrouded in the bleak shadows of a spluttering lamp the hunter and his prey continued along the journeyed jig one gaining then loosing, fleeting spectres in the hours of vastly approaching dusk, suddenly and without warning the deranged doctor halted at a mammoth door forged from splintered iron. A lock clicked home its thirst sated by the thrusting of a key into its girth admitting the owner into the buildings interior, however to his surprise the man did not close the door behind him but allowed it to remain open as if.. inviting him into his residence.
Upon ushering his substantial body into the room beyond he was greeted with grotesque displays of a varying variety, draped over the threshold of the room pinned to the ceiling a sheet of what looked like human flesh cascaded downward flapping languidly in an invisible wind, translucent jars lined the wooden shelves filled with a repulsive looking amniotic liquid evidently sustaining the countless human organs, trophyís of the estranged doctor. Manic sapphires surveyed the scenes of inhumane experimentation and brutality, perhaps some of these retched humanís were not so worthless as he had first assumed, the sound of steel being unsheathed alerted Sibilantís attention in the nick of time for whilst he had been admiring the doctorís souvenirs the doctor had been sneaking up behind him.
Twirled motion spun his form quickly to one side and forward slightly, away from the assailing psychopath behind him, snarling with anger he noiselessly summoned forth his own weapons of evisceration, pronged hooks unfurled from within the confines of gapping knuckles hurling ironed metal outward in elongated spikes. Year upon year he had spent in anticipation of his final ascent to the realm of Ayenee, year upon year of honing his physical prowess to an almost perfection not even a seraphic could hope to achieve, muscles tensed and contracted as thundering feet flung his being forward speeding toward the disgusting doctor.
†To his disappointment the battle was over almost as suddenly as it had started, the doctors corpse shuddered in the ecstatic thrall of deathís kiss momentarily before toppling downward thudding into the unforgiving floor beneath, crimson specks flecked the roomís interior now, mementoís of the flayerís masterpiece, pinned to the ceiling by four long table legs goring through bone and masonry alike, a battered mess swiftly swallowed up by the roaring of a kindred flame, sparks danced happily among the embers of the manís hearth as Sibilant flung its contents onto the oaken floorboards carpeting the ground. His house aflame, his existence stolen and his precious trinkets ruined the doctor was no more, as for the flayer of flesh? Charred footsteps led into the darkness, and the torment beyond.††††††††††††
|Flayer of Flesh||An artist and his art|
|Prologue of an artist and his art|