Their screams were loud and shrill, chaos and disorder rounding every corner and hiding in every alley. The hard pounding of feet could be heard for miles and the dying sobs of poor mortals taking their last breath could be listened for, if one was truly quiet.
The agony of one tortured soul was not enough.
More….
More….
More!
The destruction, the fires, the scent of charred remains.
It was all the Dark Warrior wrought upon the poor Village, filling up his much needed spare time with killing and splitting open heads. Darkness did not sate him enough this time. He needed carnage, pure and unrivaled fury were his.
The flames bit at all they touched and death spread like a fever through every home. Sounds….Children crying for decapitated parents, animals fighting for dead organs of mutilated inhabitants. It was like a play of evil. Duskmon the director.
Reveling in everything he beheld one final scene:
A family, shuddering in horror at the foot of a hill, ontop of which a Tree was burning. The group, was a Mother, Father, a few kids, and a Dog not yet tainted by its counterparts vicious ways.
He began by coming upon them, the screams of the parents shielding the young ones music to his ears. He stepped toward them, blades ready for cutting flesh, to see bodies fall to the ground.
The sound of skin being cut open was a sight to see, as Duskmon watched intently, staring as their sides were ripped open and their blood, life fluid ran down the curves of the demon weapons and onto the ground.
The grass was stained red.
The sight then, of children screaming, many tears leaking from their small face as they wailed, hugging their pet, the dog bristling at Duskmon, trying to protect his owners. It made Duskmon groan at the thought of seeing all three heads rolling, their anguished looks as their life would be over in a matter of seconds.
It was done, but he had missed one. The dog had evaded and had lunged at the Dark Spirit. Duskmon had none of that. Retracting one blade, he caught the animal in the maw of the dark gauntlet encasing his right hand and wrist. Hearing the whimpering was disgusting and the opening slowly was made thinner, as he squeezed.
The Dog's head practically blew in Duskmon's grip, brain and furry bits flying everywhere. Satisfied, he hurled the dead corpse down, blood and innards dripping from is armor.
The sky was black.
The perfect shade for the calm the night brought with it. The soullessness of it all. No people, no shouting, just roaring flames and Duskmon in the middle of it all.