Minds of Killers
(Cower in fear of Kolobos…)
552.
Three, simple, digits.
Almost meaningless.
Until they're replaced.
Replaced by the name of evil.
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Kolobos.
It may mean nothing to some people, but to my toys, it's the name of their master.
Their master, and their wretched agonizer.
I have many ways to play with my puppets.
I revel in disembowelment.
I excel in bringing pain and suffering to the innocent.
I yearn to set people free.
They do not yet know the power than can be accomplished through pain.
The sheer, un-imaginable, raw, intense, searing pain that must bring power.
I am helping them.
The hyperbolical scum.
They order me to hell.
It is laughable.
That is my holiday home.
I have said this to them in the dead of night.
I have screamed it in their faces before they try to attack.
I have whispered it in their ears before I slit their throats, crushed their skulls or ripped out their beating heart.
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Hell is like parodies compared to what's in my mind…
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I only want to help them.
I must set them all free.
The only way known possible…
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They must cower before me…