'The Growing Nightmare'
Written by Diablo Omega
Summary: An excerpt from Nightmare's years of wandering slaughter.
Rating: R
Warnings: Extreme, graphic violence and destruction. That's about it.
Flames roared through the thatch-roofed houses of a small village in northern Austria, high in the foothills of the Alps. The village magistrate stumbled from his home in his nightclothes, panicked by the terrified screams and of course the shawl of fiery death enveloping his town. His nose was assailed by a familiar scent brought to him by the light breeze that was blowing fire from house to house. 'That almost smells like…Oh, God!' The smell was of burning meat, and horror registered immediately on the man's mind. His friends and family were being burned, some still alive as the inferno rampaged through the tiny settlement. He scurried along the dirt road in the middle of town, assaulted on both sides by scenes of horrific slaughter and destruction. Clumps of what once may have been human flesh were hanging from the edges of roofs, and several corpses had been skewered on tree limbs. Blood splattered entire walls like some twisted sort of paint; even the road on which he walked was covered in a gloss of scarlet blood that reflected the moon in all its terrible beauty. Ahead of him, a horse wheeling a cart had been broken in half, and long, slippery ropes of intestines lay strewn across the road as already the flies were already flocking to all the festering death within the town. Try as he might, the magistrate could not escape the foul odor of death that was slowly smothering his village, and he reeled in nausea before finally falling to his knees and vomiting out of terror and sickness. As he climbed precariously to his feet, he heard shouting close by, no more than 20 feet away. He shakily walked in the direction of the yelling, hesitant to do so, but drawn by that sick fascination with violence and death that is inherent in human nature. As he slowly came round the corner of a house to the left of the street, the magistrate froze in horror at the sight before his eyes. A knight in full armor stood, silhouetted against the flames surrounding him. His armor was so totally splattered with gore that it was impossible to distinguish its original color. His back was to the man, and his head was turned to the right, watching what he held in his right hand. The knight's entire right arm was massive, rippling with muscle beneath the taut, russet skin; the hand had only three monstrous fingers, but each was immense and the entire thing looked capable of crushing a horse's skull. The demonic appendage was raised high above the knight's head and in the colossal hand was held the writhing sheriff, struggling to free himself and lashing out at the captor's helmeted head with his longsword, crying, "Demon! Return ye to Hell!"
The blows clanged harmlessly off the helmet as a gleam of unholy light issued from the visor. The knight twitched the fingers of his right hand, snapping off the sheriff's own right arm, sword and all. The limb twitched convulsively on the gore-drenched grass below. A horrible, guttural voice came from the knight, addressing the mutilated sheriff. "You conceited wretched human! Offer you soul!" In one horrifying motion, the knight clenched his hand into a fist, crushing the sheriff's ribcage like a ripe vegetable. Blood discharged violently from the broken body in several places as ribs ripped through internal organs and even the skin of the chest. The killer released the corpse to land alongside its detached arm with a wet splat as it hit the ground. It was then that the magistrate noticed the sword in the demon's left hand. It was a Zweihander of unfeasible size and heft, but the knight toted it easily in his normal human hand. The magistrate shook as the knight lifted the sword and spoke to it, "Another soul to feed thee, Soul Edge. I can feel your eternal hunger; your thirst for souls….Yes, yes, I will nourish you to strength and vitality once more. All we need is more of these ripe, soft humans to drink from…" The speaking trailed off and a ghastly, psychotic laugh erupted from the knight. The magistrate whimpered from sheer trepidation as he noticed the colossal eye that lay in the middle of the sword, constantly roving over the destruction before it. All but the hilt and cutting edge of the sword looked to be organic, like mutilated flesh. It was then that the man noticed the eye riveted on him, widening and immediately narrowing, as if it were glaring at him. To his unspeakable horror, the magistrate saw the knight turn toward his direction and look directly at him. He could not move, as the armored fiend strode toward him, gripping his sword with both hands low in front of him. When the knight was no more than three yards away from the magistrate, he launched himself at the man, raising his sword. As the keen edge sliced him in two, the man's final thought echoed in his rapidly blanking mind. 'His armor is azure.'
Nightmare lifted his sword from the corpse at his feet and turned. He swung Soul Edge over his shoulder and walked toward the flames of the village. Passing through the fiery ruins, he walked alone into the night, to find more victims to appease his sword's eternal thirst for human souls. He was so lonely, but he could do nothing about it…
Written by Diablo Omega
Summary: An excerpt from Nightmare's years of wandering slaughter.
Rating: R
Warnings: Extreme, graphic violence and destruction. That's about it.
Flames roared through the thatch-roofed houses of a small village in northern Austria, high in the foothills of the Alps. The village magistrate stumbled from his home in his nightclothes, panicked by the terrified screams and of course the shawl of fiery death enveloping his town. His nose was assailed by a familiar scent brought to him by the light breeze that was blowing fire from house to house. 'That almost smells like…Oh, God!' The smell was of burning meat, and horror registered immediately on the man's mind. His friends and family were being burned, some still alive as the inferno rampaged through the tiny settlement. He scurried along the dirt road in the middle of town, assaulted on both sides by scenes of horrific slaughter and destruction. Clumps of what once may have been human flesh were hanging from the edges of roofs, and several corpses had been skewered on tree limbs. Blood splattered entire walls like some twisted sort of paint; even the road on which he walked was covered in a gloss of scarlet blood that reflected the moon in all its terrible beauty. Ahead of him, a horse wheeling a cart had been broken in half, and long, slippery ropes of intestines lay strewn across the road as already the flies were already flocking to all the festering death within the town. Try as he might, the magistrate could not escape the foul odor of death that was slowly smothering his village, and he reeled in nausea before finally falling to his knees and vomiting out of terror and sickness. As he climbed precariously to his feet, he heard shouting close by, no more than 20 feet away. He shakily walked in the direction of the yelling, hesitant to do so, but drawn by that sick fascination with violence and death that is inherent in human nature. As he slowly came round the corner of a house to the left of the street, the magistrate froze in horror at the sight before his eyes. A knight in full armor stood, silhouetted against the flames surrounding him. His armor was so totally splattered with gore that it was impossible to distinguish its original color. His back was to the man, and his head was turned to the right, watching what he held in his right hand. The knight's entire right arm was massive, rippling with muscle beneath the taut, russet skin; the hand had only three monstrous fingers, but each was immense and the entire thing looked capable of crushing a horse's skull. The demonic appendage was raised high above the knight's head and in the colossal hand was held the writhing sheriff, struggling to free himself and lashing out at the captor's helmeted head with his longsword, crying, "Demon! Return ye to Hell!"
The blows clanged harmlessly off the helmet as a gleam of unholy light issued from the visor. The knight twitched the fingers of his right hand, snapping off the sheriff's own right arm, sword and all. The limb twitched convulsively on the gore-drenched grass below. A horrible, guttural voice came from the knight, addressing the mutilated sheriff. "You conceited wretched human! Offer you soul!" In one horrifying motion, the knight clenched his hand into a fist, crushing the sheriff's ribcage like a ripe vegetable. Blood discharged violently from the broken body in several places as ribs ripped through internal organs and even the skin of the chest. The killer released the corpse to land alongside its detached arm with a wet splat as it hit the ground. It was then that the magistrate noticed the sword in the demon's left hand. It was a Zweihander of unfeasible size and heft, but the knight toted it easily in his normal human hand. The magistrate shook as the knight lifted the sword and spoke to it, "Another soul to feed thee, Soul Edge. I can feel your eternal hunger; your thirst for souls….Yes, yes, I will nourish you to strength and vitality once more. All we need is more of these ripe, soft humans to drink from…" The speaking trailed off and a ghastly, psychotic laugh erupted from the knight. The magistrate whimpered from sheer trepidation as he noticed the colossal eye that lay in the middle of the sword, constantly roving over the destruction before it. All but the hilt and cutting edge of the sword looked to be organic, like mutilated flesh. It was then that the man noticed the eye riveted on him, widening and immediately narrowing, as if it were glaring at him. To his unspeakable horror, the magistrate saw the knight turn toward his direction and look directly at him. He could not move, as the armored fiend strode toward him, gripping his sword with both hands low in front of him. When the knight was no more than three yards away from the magistrate, he launched himself at the man, raising his sword. As the keen edge sliced him in two, the man's final thought echoed in his rapidly blanking mind. 'His armor is azure.'
Nightmare lifted his sword from the corpse at his feet and turned. He swung Soul Edge over his shoulder and walked toward the flames of the village. Passing through the fiery ruins, he walked alone into the night, to find more victims to appease his sword's eternal thirst for human souls. He was so lonely, but he could do nothing about it…