Nightmare
Author's note: I have borrowed the Malus Codicium from a sci-fi author called Dan Abnett and apologise profusely for doing so. Please don't sue me! I've only got 37p in my bank account and I need it to buy some lunch! Enjoy! (P.S I don't know how to spell Macbeth's wife's name so I'm having a guess. Thank you and enjoy.)
He strode through an immense garden, the sun rested in a totally clear and brilliantly blue sky. He could all but taste the sweet air, made even better by the scents of a thousand different species of flowers. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He looked around himself, in awe of the immense beauty of this place.
Is this Heaven?
"My beloved!"
He turned around to find himself face to face with his love.
Grouarch?
His first wife stood before him, in her wedding gown. She was as beautiful as the day he had first fallen in love with her. She held out her hand to him.
"Come back to me my love, my soul yearns for your touch again." He tried to reply, but he couldn't find the words. He had missed her so much. He stretched his hand out to hers...
And then, she came...
He writhed in pain as a pair of azure colored hands with talons on the fingertips dug into his shoulders and started dragging him away from his beloved wife. She screamed in terror and grabbed on to his hand, pulling desperately to save him. He looked over his shoulder and saw the main of red hair, the glowing red eyes, and the cruel mouth with the equally cruel smile.
Demona.
She was in a dark void, and she was dragging him in with her. He could feel his grip on his love loosening as Demona pulled harder, she was laughing at his wife's futile efforts to save him.
He looked around at Grouarch, for a brief second, their eyes met, and then he was wrenched away from her, screaming in rage and frustration as the darkness enveloped him.
He was standing in the middle of a well-furnished room; it seemed vaguely familiar, although he couldn't exactly place when he'd last been here. There was an enormous, elaborately decorated fireplace at one end of the room, with two chairs facing it, one of which was occupied.
In the chair sat a small girl, barely four years old. She sported short, strawberry-blonde locks and a peasant's dress.
Oh God no! Please God no!
The young girl turned her head to face him; she looked ecstatic to see him. She jumped from her chair in excitement.
"Uncle Lennox!" she yelled in happiness as she raced to embrace him.
I don't want to see this! I don't want to see this!
The little girl raced to him as fast as she could, desperate to give her adopted uncle the biggest hug she could manage, but then it started.
She grew older, with each step she aged at least five years. He tried to turn his head before it was too late, but his neck wouldn't co-operate, he could feel something with inhuman strength hold his head in place. The little girl was half way to him now, she was in her late thirties, by the time she was but a few feet away, she was over seventy. The old woman staggered towards him.
"It's me, Rebecca! Don't you recognize me?" said the old woman cheerfully, before she shuddered while her eyes rolled inwards. Her corpse fell forward into him and he caught it. Tears gushed from his eyes as he screamed in anguish and then horror, as Rebecca's corpse rotted away to dust in his arms. He heard that damn laughter again. It was behind him now. He felt the grip on his neck vanish and he spun around to face her again.
Demona was smiling at him.
"Shall we look at Paul next?" she asked, her smile deepened," Or how about Patricia? We could always pay a visit to that family you befriended during the Inquisition? You remember them don't you?"
Not them! Oh God not them!
He was in the middle of a crowd. Watching a raised platform as it burned. Upon the platform were four figures tied to wooden stakes. A middle-aged man, his wife.
.and two young boys.
Mercifully, the two children had been strangled before hand.
But the parents.
He felt the hands hold his head in place as they writhed in agony. He desperately tried to shut out their screams and their pleas for assistance. He struggled like a man possessed. He had to help them! But his captor was too strong, no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't break free.
He looked into the woman's agonized face as she finally ceased her writhing and slumped forward. The man took far longer.
"Old Migel was always a tough bastard," he heard Demona chuckle behind him. She released him. He spun around, tears in his eyes.
I'll destroy her! I swear to God I'll destroy her.
Before him stood a young woman. She had a thick mane of fire red hair and a golden crown on her head. She was in a wedding dress. She opened her arms to him, a yearning look on her face, he felt inexplicably drawn to her, he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, she returned the kiss.
Suddenly he felt a strange aura around this woman, this woman whom he trusted and loved deeply. His eyes shot open in pain as he felt inhuman fangs clamp down on his tongue, he could taste blood in his mouth, he let go of her and staggered back, clutching his mouth as blood seeped through his fingers, he looked at his love, frightened and confused at this almost sadist act. His eyes widened in horror as he saw whom his love really was.
Demona stood before him, wearing the same wedding dress; she was smiling mockingly at him. "Was I as good as Grouarch?" she said before she began laughing hysterically at him.
Rage filled every cell in his being. He was visibly shaking. With a howl he hurled himself at his tormentor, the reason he had to endure all the suffering of others over the generations, intent on wringing her treacherous little neck, but before he was even close, she vanished, while her laughter hung in the air.
He was standing in the middle of immense church, a cathedral. The altar lay roughly thirty feet away from him, he felt a strange rushing sensation at his feet, he looked down, and gasped.
Blood, the entire cathedral floor was ankle deep in blood.
He looked up again at the altar, on the steps before it; lay a gargoyle, a very small one with webbed wings and olive green skin.
Lexington?
The little gargoyle had been gutted like a fish. All the blood that covered the cathedral floor was flowing from his body, nearby lay the decapitated body of another gargoyle; it was enormous and had lavender skin.
Goliath?
Someone, or something, had twisted his head off. A few feet away from Goliath's body stood a pair of legs, there was nothing above the knees, and only the sword lying nearby gave away the identity of whoever had owned the legs.
Hudson!
Bronx, the Manhattan clan's "watch dog" had died near it's master, from the looks of it, his neck was broken. He noticed two more gargoyles, bound in chains and unconscious beside the altar, it was Goliath's daughter, Angela, and her mate Broadway. He looked around the pews for Goliath's second-in- command, he couldn't see him anywhere.
"Looking for Brooklyn?"
He spun around and saw Demona, a look of triumph on her face, over her shoulder hung Goliath's second-in-command, by the looks of it, she had broken his wings and then beaten him to within an inch of his life. She nodded towards him and slumped the half-dead gargoyle on the altar. She removed his loincloth and tossed it aside. He noticed that there were metal restraints on the altar; Demona clamped the restraints around Brooklyn's ankles, wrists and tail. She then took out a large wooden bowl from behind the altar; it was filled to the brim with blood.
Lexington's blood. He realized in horror.
Lexington's the blood sacrifice.and Brooklyn's the.
Impossible, Demona couldn't know how to perform this, it wasn't possible, she didn't have the know how, she didn't have the book. As if sensing his thoughts, Demona looked him straight in the eyes and smiled, her taloned hand reached into a pouch on her belt and removed a small black leather bound book, it was slightly thicker than her wrist, it's title was in small golden letters, he didn't have to read them to know what it was.
The Malus Codicium!
"I told you, you can't keep it from me forever, I'd get it back eventually," she said triumphantly, she pointed to Brooklyn, "And now he shall pay for your foolishness!" She laughed cruelly, dipped two fingers into the bowl, and began to mark out runes with Lexington's lifeblood upon the red gargoyle.
"NO!" he howled as he broke into a sprint for the altar, he had to stop this, he wouldn't, couldn't fail this time, the blood around his feet thickened, forcing him to struggle just to pull a foot out to take a another step, he looked up at the altar, Demona had finished marking out the necessary runes upon Brooklyn's stomach, chest and forehead. Suddenly, the red gargoyle let out a small moan, his eyes slowly opened and he began to look around him. He tried to move, realising he had been strapped to the altar, he began to struggle weakly, using what little remained of his strength to try and free himself, but he was too weak from the beating he had taken. Brooklyn looked over and saw him.
"Ma.Macbeth.. please..help me."
Macbeth, forced another step, he began checking himself for weapons, a gun, a knife, anything he could use to save the young gargoyle from one of the most horrible fates imaginable. Even he wouldn't wish this on Demona, and here she was doing it on one of her own clan! Demona had taken a two-foot long iron rod from her belt, it was covered in the same runes she had painted upon the young gargoyle in blood, she began taking hand-fulls of blood from the bowl and bathing the rod in it, until it was completely covered. She raised it above her head in both hands and began to chant.
He hadn't much time. Demona had to summon it before she could contain it in Brooklyn's body, before his very soul was destroyed utterly. He found holster at his hip, it held a luger. He whipped it out and forced another few steps, he was a few feet from the altar now. He cocked the pistol and held it in both hands, aiming for a headshot on Demona, when he was sure he had her dead on, he whispered a prayer for accuracy, and pulled the trigger. He felt the familiar recoil of the gun as the bullet flew from the barrel and.
.hit the wall behind her.
Impossible!
He couldn't miss, not at this distance. The rod began to glow white as Demona completed the summoning, she smiled triumphantly at Macbeth.
"Looks like I win," she said, her eyes glowing a hellish red.
"NO!" roared Macbeth, as emptied the entire clip on her, every shot should have been a kill shot, but they all missed, hitting off columns, smashing stained glass and slamming into the wall behind her. In total desperation, Macbeth hurled the now useless pistol at her, which missed as well. She laughed at his pathetic efforts.
"You've lost Macbeth," said Demona, she looked down at Brooklyn, he was shaking in terror, tears were rolling down his eyes as he tried desperately to break his bonds, he cast a last, desperate look at Macbeth.
"Macbeth! Please!"
"In servitutem abduco, I bind thee fast and forever into this host!"
The light drifted down from Demona's rod as if it were smoke, when it came into contact with Brooklyn's chest, the young gargoyle went rigid, he threw his head back and screamed in agony and fear as his body suddenly went into violent spasms. His body was enveloped in white light and his screams were suddenly cut off. The metal bonds holding his body to the altar had melted. He sat up slowly and looked at Demona.
"What is it you want mistrisssss?" it hissed. Demona smiled and looked at Macbeth.
"End all human life," she answered, still looking at Macbeth, "As painfully as possible."
"It will take time mistrissss."
Demona smiled.
"We have all the time on the world. Don't we Macbeth?"
The daemon host that had once been Brooklyn turned it's head and looked Macbeth in the eyes. Macbeth shivered and felt tears start to form in his eyes, he had failed him, as he had failed so many others over the centuries, he saw no trace of his former foe turned ally in those eyes, all he saw was two bottomless pits of hate. Brooklyn's soul had been totally annihilated. He'd ceased to exist.
The daemon host smiled cruelly at him as it raised a hand, a ball of white energy began to form in it's palm. It laughed as it hurled the energy ball at him.
The white ball of light and heat hurtled towards him, the light was blinding and the heat was unbearable. It crashed into him. He wailed in agony as he felt his skin melt, he could smell his own flesh burning. He heard a voice far off call his name, again and again and again. He felt someone grab him from behind and violently spin his burning body around; he felt an open hand strike him across the face.
"Awaken!"
Macbeth's eyes shot open and he looked around himself. He felt a hand gently take hold of his shoulder.
"Are you all right Master?" He turned his head and saw Jezebel Tibbs, his dear friend and servant. The old woman was out of breath, her shotgun dangled from her right hand, he looked past her at the door to his room, she'd shot the lock out to get to him, but why?
"I heard gunshots," she replied when he asked, "Apparently you've been practising in your sleep." She pointed to the foot of his bed; the oak panelled walls had bullet holes in them, while the luger he kept under his pillow was lying several feet away.
"What happened?" asked Macbeth, clearly a little confused.
"From what I saw I'd saw you were having a prophetic dream."
"You saw it?"
"Saw it! Who do you think it was who slapped you out of it?" replied Jezebel.
"What do you think it means?"
"It's meaning is pretty obvious you know."
"And that is?"
"You must destroy the Codicium."
"I've tried that already! I can't get near the damn thing! It reads my thoughts! It knows the second I go near it what I plan to do to it and it forces me away!"
Jezebel sighed.
"I can't get near it either."
"Then what am I supposed to do? How long do you think we have before this happens?"
Jezebel considered this for a moment.
"Goliath's clan didn't look much older than they do now," she said eventually, "that means it could occur in a few weeks, months, or even a year or so." "Weeks! How the devil could Demona locate the Codicium in a few weeks time?"
Jezebel shrugged.
"Perhaps it's not quite as unique as we had hoped."
Macbeth stared at the wall as he let that chilling thought sink in.
"Another Codicium? God help us!"
"What should we do master?"
"I can't let her get hold of that book again, be it mine or a." he shivered, ".or a copy of it."
"Then what are you going to do?"
Macbeth closed his hand into fists in determination, his face hardened.
"I'm going to finish this once and for all."
"What do you mean once and for all?" asked Jezebel, worry in her voice.
"I am going to kill Demona."
To be continued.
Well what do ya think so far? If anyone out there has an opinion of this or any future part of the saga then by all means e-mail me.
The next part should be finished in a few days time.
See ya then!
Author's note: I have borrowed the Malus Codicium from a sci-fi author called Dan Abnett and apologise profusely for doing so. Please don't sue me! I've only got 37p in my bank account and I need it to buy some lunch! Enjoy! (P.S I don't know how to spell Macbeth's wife's name so I'm having a guess. Thank you and enjoy.)
He strode through an immense garden, the sun rested in a totally clear and brilliantly blue sky. He could all but taste the sweet air, made even better by the scents of a thousand different species of flowers. He took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. He looked around himself, in awe of the immense beauty of this place.
Is this Heaven?
"My beloved!"
He turned around to find himself face to face with his love.
Grouarch?
His first wife stood before him, in her wedding gown. She was as beautiful as the day he had first fallen in love with her. She held out her hand to him.
"Come back to me my love, my soul yearns for your touch again." He tried to reply, but he couldn't find the words. He had missed her so much. He stretched his hand out to hers...
And then, she came...
He writhed in pain as a pair of azure colored hands with talons on the fingertips dug into his shoulders and started dragging him away from his beloved wife. She screamed in terror and grabbed on to his hand, pulling desperately to save him. He looked over his shoulder and saw the main of red hair, the glowing red eyes, and the cruel mouth with the equally cruel smile.
Demona.
She was in a dark void, and she was dragging him in with her. He could feel his grip on his love loosening as Demona pulled harder, she was laughing at his wife's futile efforts to save him.
He looked around at Grouarch, for a brief second, their eyes met, and then he was wrenched away from her, screaming in rage and frustration as the darkness enveloped him.
He was standing in the middle of a well-furnished room; it seemed vaguely familiar, although he couldn't exactly place when he'd last been here. There was an enormous, elaborately decorated fireplace at one end of the room, with two chairs facing it, one of which was occupied.
In the chair sat a small girl, barely four years old. She sported short, strawberry-blonde locks and a peasant's dress.
Oh God no! Please God no!
The young girl turned her head to face him; she looked ecstatic to see him. She jumped from her chair in excitement.
"Uncle Lennox!" she yelled in happiness as she raced to embrace him.
I don't want to see this! I don't want to see this!
The little girl raced to him as fast as she could, desperate to give her adopted uncle the biggest hug she could manage, but then it started.
She grew older, with each step she aged at least five years. He tried to turn his head before it was too late, but his neck wouldn't co-operate, he could feel something with inhuman strength hold his head in place. The little girl was half way to him now, she was in her late thirties, by the time she was but a few feet away, she was over seventy. The old woman staggered towards him.
"It's me, Rebecca! Don't you recognize me?" said the old woman cheerfully, before she shuddered while her eyes rolled inwards. Her corpse fell forward into him and he caught it. Tears gushed from his eyes as he screamed in anguish and then horror, as Rebecca's corpse rotted away to dust in his arms. He heard that damn laughter again. It was behind him now. He felt the grip on his neck vanish and he spun around to face her again.
Demona was smiling at him.
"Shall we look at Paul next?" she asked, her smile deepened," Or how about Patricia? We could always pay a visit to that family you befriended during the Inquisition? You remember them don't you?"
Not them! Oh God not them!
He was in the middle of a crowd. Watching a raised platform as it burned. Upon the platform were four figures tied to wooden stakes. A middle-aged man, his wife.
.and two young boys.
Mercifully, the two children had been strangled before hand.
But the parents.
He felt the hands hold his head in place as they writhed in agony. He desperately tried to shut out their screams and their pleas for assistance. He struggled like a man possessed. He had to help them! But his captor was too strong, no matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't break free.
He looked into the woman's agonized face as she finally ceased her writhing and slumped forward. The man took far longer.
"Old Migel was always a tough bastard," he heard Demona chuckle behind him. She released him. He spun around, tears in his eyes.
I'll destroy her! I swear to God I'll destroy her.
Before him stood a young woman. She had a thick mane of fire red hair and a golden crown on her head. She was in a wedding dress. She opened her arms to him, a yearning look on her face, he felt inexplicably drawn to her, he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, she returned the kiss.
Suddenly he felt a strange aura around this woman, this woman whom he trusted and loved deeply. His eyes shot open in pain as he felt inhuman fangs clamp down on his tongue, he could taste blood in his mouth, he let go of her and staggered back, clutching his mouth as blood seeped through his fingers, he looked at his love, frightened and confused at this almost sadist act. His eyes widened in horror as he saw whom his love really was.
Demona stood before him, wearing the same wedding dress; she was smiling mockingly at him. "Was I as good as Grouarch?" she said before she began laughing hysterically at him.
Rage filled every cell in his being. He was visibly shaking. With a howl he hurled himself at his tormentor, the reason he had to endure all the suffering of others over the generations, intent on wringing her treacherous little neck, but before he was even close, she vanished, while her laughter hung in the air.
He was standing in the middle of immense church, a cathedral. The altar lay roughly thirty feet away from him, he felt a strange rushing sensation at his feet, he looked down, and gasped.
Blood, the entire cathedral floor was ankle deep in blood.
He looked up again at the altar, on the steps before it; lay a gargoyle, a very small one with webbed wings and olive green skin.
Lexington?
The little gargoyle had been gutted like a fish. All the blood that covered the cathedral floor was flowing from his body, nearby lay the decapitated body of another gargoyle; it was enormous and had lavender skin.
Goliath?
Someone, or something, had twisted his head off. A few feet away from Goliath's body stood a pair of legs, there was nothing above the knees, and only the sword lying nearby gave away the identity of whoever had owned the legs.
Hudson!
Bronx, the Manhattan clan's "watch dog" had died near it's master, from the looks of it, his neck was broken. He noticed two more gargoyles, bound in chains and unconscious beside the altar, it was Goliath's daughter, Angela, and her mate Broadway. He looked around the pews for Goliath's second-in- command, he couldn't see him anywhere.
"Looking for Brooklyn?"
He spun around and saw Demona, a look of triumph on her face, over her shoulder hung Goliath's second-in-command, by the looks of it, she had broken his wings and then beaten him to within an inch of his life. She nodded towards him and slumped the half-dead gargoyle on the altar. She removed his loincloth and tossed it aside. He noticed that there were metal restraints on the altar; Demona clamped the restraints around Brooklyn's ankles, wrists and tail. She then took out a large wooden bowl from behind the altar; it was filled to the brim with blood.
Lexington's blood. He realized in horror.
Lexington's the blood sacrifice.and Brooklyn's the.
Impossible, Demona couldn't know how to perform this, it wasn't possible, she didn't have the know how, she didn't have the book. As if sensing his thoughts, Demona looked him straight in the eyes and smiled, her taloned hand reached into a pouch on her belt and removed a small black leather bound book, it was slightly thicker than her wrist, it's title was in small golden letters, he didn't have to read them to know what it was.
The Malus Codicium!
"I told you, you can't keep it from me forever, I'd get it back eventually," she said triumphantly, she pointed to Brooklyn, "And now he shall pay for your foolishness!" She laughed cruelly, dipped two fingers into the bowl, and began to mark out runes with Lexington's lifeblood upon the red gargoyle.
"NO!" he howled as he broke into a sprint for the altar, he had to stop this, he wouldn't, couldn't fail this time, the blood around his feet thickened, forcing him to struggle just to pull a foot out to take a another step, he looked up at the altar, Demona had finished marking out the necessary runes upon Brooklyn's stomach, chest and forehead. Suddenly, the red gargoyle let out a small moan, his eyes slowly opened and he began to look around him. He tried to move, realising he had been strapped to the altar, he began to struggle weakly, using what little remained of his strength to try and free himself, but he was too weak from the beating he had taken. Brooklyn looked over and saw him.
"Ma.Macbeth.. please..help me."
Macbeth, forced another step, he began checking himself for weapons, a gun, a knife, anything he could use to save the young gargoyle from one of the most horrible fates imaginable. Even he wouldn't wish this on Demona, and here she was doing it on one of her own clan! Demona had taken a two-foot long iron rod from her belt, it was covered in the same runes she had painted upon the young gargoyle in blood, she began taking hand-fulls of blood from the bowl and bathing the rod in it, until it was completely covered. She raised it above her head in both hands and began to chant.
He hadn't much time. Demona had to summon it before she could contain it in Brooklyn's body, before his very soul was destroyed utterly. He found holster at his hip, it held a luger. He whipped it out and forced another few steps, he was a few feet from the altar now. He cocked the pistol and held it in both hands, aiming for a headshot on Demona, when he was sure he had her dead on, he whispered a prayer for accuracy, and pulled the trigger. He felt the familiar recoil of the gun as the bullet flew from the barrel and.
.hit the wall behind her.
Impossible!
He couldn't miss, not at this distance. The rod began to glow white as Demona completed the summoning, she smiled triumphantly at Macbeth.
"Looks like I win," she said, her eyes glowing a hellish red.
"NO!" roared Macbeth, as emptied the entire clip on her, every shot should have been a kill shot, but they all missed, hitting off columns, smashing stained glass and slamming into the wall behind her. In total desperation, Macbeth hurled the now useless pistol at her, which missed as well. She laughed at his pathetic efforts.
"You've lost Macbeth," said Demona, she looked down at Brooklyn, he was shaking in terror, tears were rolling down his eyes as he tried desperately to break his bonds, he cast a last, desperate look at Macbeth.
"Macbeth! Please!"
"In servitutem abduco, I bind thee fast and forever into this host!"
The light drifted down from Demona's rod as if it were smoke, when it came into contact with Brooklyn's chest, the young gargoyle went rigid, he threw his head back and screamed in agony and fear as his body suddenly went into violent spasms. His body was enveloped in white light and his screams were suddenly cut off. The metal bonds holding his body to the altar had melted. He sat up slowly and looked at Demona.
"What is it you want mistrisssss?" it hissed. Demona smiled and looked at Macbeth.
"End all human life," she answered, still looking at Macbeth, "As painfully as possible."
"It will take time mistrissss."
Demona smiled.
"We have all the time on the world. Don't we Macbeth?"
The daemon host that had once been Brooklyn turned it's head and looked Macbeth in the eyes. Macbeth shivered and felt tears start to form in his eyes, he had failed him, as he had failed so many others over the centuries, he saw no trace of his former foe turned ally in those eyes, all he saw was two bottomless pits of hate. Brooklyn's soul had been totally annihilated. He'd ceased to exist.
The daemon host smiled cruelly at him as it raised a hand, a ball of white energy began to form in it's palm. It laughed as it hurled the energy ball at him.
The white ball of light and heat hurtled towards him, the light was blinding and the heat was unbearable. It crashed into him. He wailed in agony as he felt his skin melt, he could smell his own flesh burning. He heard a voice far off call his name, again and again and again. He felt someone grab him from behind and violently spin his burning body around; he felt an open hand strike him across the face.
"Awaken!"
Macbeth's eyes shot open and he looked around himself. He felt a hand gently take hold of his shoulder.
"Are you all right Master?" He turned his head and saw Jezebel Tibbs, his dear friend and servant. The old woman was out of breath, her shotgun dangled from her right hand, he looked past her at the door to his room, she'd shot the lock out to get to him, but why?
"I heard gunshots," she replied when he asked, "Apparently you've been practising in your sleep." She pointed to the foot of his bed; the oak panelled walls had bullet holes in them, while the luger he kept under his pillow was lying several feet away.
"What happened?" asked Macbeth, clearly a little confused.
"From what I saw I'd saw you were having a prophetic dream."
"You saw it?"
"Saw it! Who do you think it was who slapped you out of it?" replied Jezebel.
"What do you think it means?"
"It's meaning is pretty obvious you know."
"And that is?"
"You must destroy the Codicium."
"I've tried that already! I can't get near the damn thing! It reads my thoughts! It knows the second I go near it what I plan to do to it and it forces me away!"
Jezebel sighed.
"I can't get near it either."
"Then what am I supposed to do? How long do you think we have before this happens?"
Jezebel considered this for a moment.
"Goliath's clan didn't look much older than they do now," she said eventually, "that means it could occur in a few weeks, months, or even a year or so." "Weeks! How the devil could Demona locate the Codicium in a few weeks time?"
Jezebel shrugged.
"Perhaps it's not quite as unique as we had hoped."
Macbeth stared at the wall as he let that chilling thought sink in.
"Another Codicium? God help us!"
"What should we do master?"
"I can't let her get hold of that book again, be it mine or a." he shivered, ".or a copy of it."
"Then what are you going to do?"
Macbeth closed his hand into fists in determination, his face hardened.
"I'm going to finish this once and for all."
"What do you mean once and for all?" asked Jezebel, worry in her voice.
"I am going to kill Demona."
To be continued.
Well what do ya think so far? If anyone out there has an opinion of this or any future part of the saga then by all means e-mail me.
The next part should be finished in a few days time.
See ya then!