Eternal Darkness: Bestiary
Chapter One: "Chattur'gha Zombie"
Michael Zigon could sum up is life philosophy in four simple words:
Flay. Cut. Shred. Bleed.
"That is the essential Four Directions for Pain. Physical destructions, beautifully boring into your eyes like a painting. It can be glorious doom unheard of to most people, who would go about their life only knowing the sight of blood as something on their TV screens, or maybe a knife accident," he would say to his current victim every time. There wasn't a specific time he would begin the lecture; it could be far into the operation, or just while he was placing the drugged speciment onto the table. It didn't matter.
Saying it was what mattered.
"But to see so much first hand...it's like a religious experience. Communion tries to emulate it, but it's a sorry alternative once you experience the real thing. Of course, it's a mite harder to go through this type, but the wait is just part of the fun. Once you find some pathetic unsuspecting fool, look at him, and see him without skin, just sinewy muscle, it's worth it, even if you have to spend months wandering around in the city for just one person. When you first met me, did you expect this to happen? I mean, of course, being dead."
He had not yet gotten an answer. Either they were screaming too loud to notice, too doped up to care, or, in this current case, already dead. This one was far dead, with only a leg and a half to go before all was done. He was making sure this was perfect, it being his 50th anniversery at it, and his 30th since meeting Pike.
"It's pretty funny, being the master of control. Physical power is where it's at, don't you know? You prolly had some college degree or something, something that is icredibly worhtless now to your pathetic self. You know what I had? Fourth-grade education before my mom died, and my dad could do whatever he wanted to me. But I showed him. You prolly know what happened to him. It was my first try, and I'm almost kinda embarrassed just thinking about my technique. Some skins still on when I was finished, and the muscle cut far too deep to be any good."
That had been 25 years ago, and he was 43 years old now. Thank God for Pike, that had accidentally walked in on his operation. Instead of fighting or running, he had immediately professed his interest in him, the "Searcy Reaper" that had attracted the attention of the media. Of course there was initial suspecion, but after giving the hideout of the basement of the slaughterhouse where Pike worked, and helping bring in a dozen or so people, the relationship became that of two old chums.
"But I'm very good now. You should see the freezer storage. Before, I had to throw them out, bury them in some old person's backyard or something. But now, they're just hanging up like so much meat. And Pike is supposed to be the only person that goes down here, so there's no chance of this little sanctuary being discovered. And soon you'll be up there like the rest of your pals, expertly carved, just like Pike showed me."
Pike was brilliant at this stuff, to be sure. He showed him how to cut the skins from the bones, leave nothing but muscle. He had been annoyed when, during his only "off day" he had accedentally left a deep gash in the arm. He was about to yell at him (and get his throat slit in the process), but then stopped suddenly (with a sudden jerk in the throat, thanks to Zigon's trained eye) and smiled, shaking his head. Annoying, but after being with for so long, one little goofy habit wasn't going to make him quit.
"I don't know what I'd do without Pike. Teaching me, getting people like you for me, and giving this place up. Plus, he was a TV hooked up, so I can always get the news and hear about my latest exploits. Nothing like the newscaster looking scared while talking about some escort gone missing."
He was done. The entire body had been expertly shaved. He lifted up the right leg, scanned it carefully, and dropped it back down when the inspection was complete. He lifted up the knife, and did the final ritual, one that Pike had instructed him to do, bringing the knife down straight into the chest, a spot of blood coming out. Michael twisted the knife, drawing out more blood. For some reason, the knife always felt more powerful at this moment, as if something immensely powerful was flowing through it. Suddenly, the power stopped. At once, something felt...wrong. His heart began to hurt. A headache was forming. Hands began to itch. He chuckled nervously, but things were not funny. He felt sick...old.
"Well...things are starting to flood in. Head's starting to hurt. I wonder if Pike's got some Aspirin for this stuff....Geez, he seems to have everything else. Treating me like a little kid. Prolly gonna set me down to nap or some shit like that.
Michael stopped, surprised at what he said. He had never thought anything bad about Pike, not even if he had been forced to at gunpoint and now something like this. And more insults about him were flowing into his head, filling it with hatred and pain as the headache began to worsen.
"Heh, this starting to feel weird, like when I have that milk Pike gives me. Prolly got it poisoned or something for me. Wonder why he never gave me cookies. Little fucking upstart. Doesn't know who the hell I am..."
He turned to face the corpse.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"
Nope.
"I AM THE SEARCY REAPER!"
Then, uncharacteristically, he threw the knife to the side. Suddenly, he had realized something. At first, he had been the ruler of his kingdom of screaming and death, a full-blown reaper. But know, he was nothing but the honorary cutter. Somewhere in all of this, the power structure had shifted. And he had let this all go, happy to let it happen.
"Flay...cut...shred..."
He began to stumble through the room, repeating his mantra over and over. But the most terrifying realization of all still suddenly came to him, the obvious becoming clear: He wasn't even using his knife for the ceremony. Soon after they had first met, Pike had given him a new knife. Normally he would have been repulsed at the idea of losing "Old Faithful," but this was different. It was a black obsidian knife, with a white ivory handle, expertly carved. In the center of the handle, on both sides, was an odd red symbol, something like a y with a t above it. The blade seemed to ooze with power. In his hands, he had felt ten years younger. He had forgotten everything, the...whatever it was, oozing into his mind. Corroding it. Making him...
"A babbling baby."
He looked at the knife. There was no longer any symbol. He picked it up. No power, no detriment to mental ability. Just a knife, and one with a helluva lot less emotional value than the rusted kitchen knife that had once been his only friend. He felt like a traitor, allowing the powers of Pike to come between such a friendship, breaking it with one touch of the pearl. Suddenly, he wanted two things.
He wanted his old knife.
And he wanted to fucking kill Pike with his old knife.
Without even picking up the knife, he burst down the hall connecting the operating room to where Pike would be, watching the TV, patiently waiting for Michael so they could eat TV dinners. Pike always waited for Michael.
As he walked down the musty corridor, shivering from the cold of the nearby freezer, he began to remember one other thing that had never struck him as odd until now. He had never left the few room of the basement until now, and he had never been more than a few feet from the accursed knife.
But not anymore, for he was free. Things would be back to normal, he would be the master of his and all the world's bodies.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pike was calm as Michael burst threw the door and began ranting for him to give up his "goddam knife," almost bemused in a way as he turned off the TV, and regarded Michael. Finally, after about twenty death threats, Pike stood up, his massive, muscular body shrugging upwards, the young face emotionless and yet amused, brown eyes that shone nothing and of a million things.
"I see-"
"And another thing! If you fucking think you can just waltz into my life and rule everything, then you've got another thing coming, you huge freak of nature!"
"I see the Bind spell in that thing collapsed finally."
"Things are gonna be a LOOOOOOOOT different, let me tell you. First, maybe we can see about your attitude problem and lock you in the freezer for a bit, chill you off" He chuckled for a second, and while thinking about his next attack, 'Bind spell' suddenly snuck into his head. "And what in the hell do you mean by 'Bind spell' anyways?"
"My dear Michael...perhaps you should lie down. The circumstances might be a bit too much for you right now, especially considering what you've already gone through. I'd rather you not overexert yourself, or do something that would force me to punish you."
"Punish ME?! Who in the hell do you think you are, my mother?"
"Far from it. Think of me as your mentor. To be honest, I've grown rather fond of you. There are very few humans that would do as twisted things as you, no matter how much we manipulate them. You only needed proper guidance, and a bit of power. The knife provided all that, and considering the relatively minor work put into it, thirty specimens as output is quite a nice profit. Very nice."
"Specimens?"
"The bodies. You may not understand this, but there are forces outside your control, yes, even the control you had before I began to lead you. New world, creatures your feeble mind could never comprehend...but it is not a self-stabilizing world. It also has problems that must be solved creatively."
"I don't understand."
"Of course not. No one ever does. The world of the Ancients," said Pike as he lightly snapped his fingers, "probably should not be seen by mortal eyes. Not that it has ever stopped us."
"Ancients? Are you out of your mind? And where's my knife?"
"I am quite normal, although you won't be very soon. And here's your knife," said Pike nonchalantly, picking up the rusty blade, and throwing it to Michael. "I had it taken out of storage a few months ago, since I knew the spell wouldn't last for much longer."
Michael turned the knife over slowly, making sure it was his, before nodding and advancing slowly on Pike. "Very obedient, for once. A welcome change of pace. Too bad I have to make sure it stays that way."
Pike stood still. "I don't suppose I could ask you for one last request."
"No. I don't fall for tricks like that."
"Just listen. You can hear it by now, I'm sure, since it's only ten meters away."
For a moment, Michael's mind did its best to ignore the new information, not wanting to listen, knowing what it would be, the stuff of nightmares, a sound he had heard again and again but had not comprehended, but not suddenly made terrifying sense: A slow, plodding, shuffle, each step accompanied by a sickening squish, like mud or soggy leaves hitting the ground.
Or pure bloody muscle hitting the ground.
He couldn't turn around. Wouldn't. Even when Pike began to laugh, a new rasping noise apparent in his voice, even when he could feel the rotten breath on his neck, skinless fingers outstretched to choke and kill.
He did run to the other side of the room, still not looking back as he frantically pawed the wall for a door, window, anything. Pike's laughter had stopped, and he now was talking methodically, like he was giving a lecture.
"Times are very odd, Michael. All magick has gone to summoning Lord Chattur'gha, but Pious demands more troops, believing that a "beach-head" must be formed before the true coming. The damned fool doesn't understand the limitless power of my lord, but I must serve him."
Michael gave up, slowly turning, holding his knife, trying not to cry.
"So, what could I do? I get a finite amount of magick, hardly enough to summon a single zombie from the other dimensions. Magick Pool would be no good, since, as I said, no magick was to be diverted besides what I initially had. And I know for a fact that pissing off Pious leads to going back to the planes, and the rulers there are even worse. Fortunately, there was enough magick to make a small Bind spell, allying someone already fairly pathetic to our cause whether they agreed with it or not."
He faced it. There were no eyes. No fear, hate, humor, only hatred.
Suddenly, without knowing why, he brought his knife down on the neck. It went halfway in, before it stuck on a resilient piece of muscle.
"You fit the bill. Despite your professions of power, to destroy without truly understanding the destructions, to serve Chattur'gha without knowing of him, is the ultimate ignorance. And without knowledge, there is no power, only chaos."
The zombie raised its arm up, as Michael desperately tried to dig in with the knife. At the height of the arm, Michael managed to push the knife through, completely separating the head from the body.
"As I said, I've grown to like you, Michael. That is why you must die. Only then, when your soul has experienced the eternal darkness, can you become what you must be."
For moment, the zombie did nothing. Then, it raised its arm again, so quickly that Michael could not move away from the vicious slap which sent him sprawling to the ground, bruising his ribs and ankle, making it a great stuggle to even move. He watched, pain clouding his mind, as the zombie continued to swing aimlessly, as Pike continued to babble about Chattur'gha and eternal darkness and Pious.
He did not even feel surprised when, after about fifteen seconds, the neck began to contort, and a new head began to swell open, like a pestilent balloon. The head turned and regarded him. It almost seemed to nod back and forth as the zombie knelt down, teeth moving closing and closer to his neck.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Pike watched quietly as the zombie began to feast. No, there would not be thirty-one zombies. The attack was far too vicious to have any hopes for salvaging the body. But then, he expected that much. No matter how mindless they were usually, they seemed to remember certain things. He remembered back two hundred years ago, when a zombie hesitated for a split second before killing his former infant son.
But then, even he did not understand everything. He did not want to. To serve Chattur'gha was enough, the pain and suffering an adequate payment for complete servility.
Michael had tried to control.
"And this is what you got. Mortals," he said hatefully, spitting.
Still...
The zombie had finished, and now stood obediently before its master. Pike ignored it, and bent down to the ravaged body of Michael, trying to find his left hand. After pulling back a bit of cloth he found it, still clutching the knife while separated from the body. Pike pulled the fingers away, pulling out the knife.
"A keepsake. Pity I had not found you before this body I'm in right now. We would have been quite a team, and you might have understood true control then. Not to mention your soul's screams would have been quite delicious. But then, I've been around your kind too long, talking to nothing."
Pike pointed to the door, and both him and the zombie walked out. Pike suddenly stopped at the entrance to the door, and looked at the mangled body of Michael one last time.
"Fly, Cut, Shred, Bleed. Quite a mantra. So long."
The door shut, leaving Michael and the room in darkness.
-FIN-
Author's Notes: Well, yeah. One, for those that haven't completely beaten the game (and shame on you if you haven't), the Bind spell basically sends a bunch of MAGIC DOTS to swirl around and enemy and make him attack other enemies. It really sucks, and I thought it deserved to be part of a story. And yes, Bonethieves probably don't have philosophical discussions, but if they can talk, who knows what they think about?
Anyway, up next: Xel'lotath Zombies! And no, they are not in Egypt. :P
Chapter One: "Chattur'gha Zombie"
Michael Zigon could sum up is life philosophy in four simple words:
Flay. Cut. Shred. Bleed.
"That is the essential Four Directions for Pain. Physical destructions, beautifully boring into your eyes like a painting. It can be glorious doom unheard of to most people, who would go about their life only knowing the sight of blood as something on their TV screens, or maybe a knife accident," he would say to his current victim every time. There wasn't a specific time he would begin the lecture; it could be far into the operation, or just while he was placing the drugged speciment onto the table. It didn't matter.
Saying it was what mattered.
"But to see so much first hand...it's like a religious experience. Communion tries to emulate it, but it's a sorry alternative once you experience the real thing. Of course, it's a mite harder to go through this type, but the wait is just part of the fun. Once you find some pathetic unsuspecting fool, look at him, and see him without skin, just sinewy muscle, it's worth it, even if you have to spend months wandering around in the city for just one person. When you first met me, did you expect this to happen? I mean, of course, being dead."
He had not yet gotten an answer. Either they were screaming too loud to notice, too doped up to care, or, in this current case, already dead. This one was far dead, with only a leg and a half to go before all was done. He was making sure this was perfect, it being his 50th anniversery at it, and his 30th since meeting Pike.
"It's pretty funny, being the master of control. Physical power is where it's at, don't you know? You prolly had some college degree or something, something that is icredibly worhtless now to your pathetic self. You know what I had? Fourth-grade education before my mom died, and my dad could do whatever he wanted to me. But I showed him. You prolly know what happened to him. It was my first try, and I'm almost kinda embarrassed just thinking about my technique. Some skins still on when I was finished, and the muscle cut far too deep to be any good."
That had been 25 years ago, and he was 43 years old now. Thank God for Pike, that had accidentally walked in on his operation. Instead of fighting or running, he had immediately professed his interest in him, the "Searcy Reaper" that had attracted the attention of the media. Of course there was initial suspecion, but after giving the hideout of the basement of the slaughterhouse where Pike worked, and helping bring in a dozen or so people, the relationship became that of two old chums.
"But I'm very good now. You should see the freezer storage. Before, I had to throw them out, bury them in some old person's backyard or something. But now, they're just hanging up like so much meat. And Pike is supposed to be the only person that goes down here, so there's no chance of this little sanctuary being discovered. And soon you'll be up there like the rest of your pals, expertly carved, just like Pike showed me."
Pike was brilliant at this stuff, to be sure. He showed him how to cut the skins from the bones, leave nothing but muscle. He had been annoyed when, during his only "off day" he had accedentally left a deep gash in the arm. He was about to yell at him (and get his throat slit in the process), but then stopped suddenly (with a sudden jerk in the throat, thanks to Zigon's trained eye) and smiled, shaking his head. Annoying, but after being with for so long, one little goofy habit wasn't going to make him quit.
"I don't know what I'd do without Pike. Teaching me, getting people like you for me, and giving this place up. Plus, he was a TV hooked up, so I can always get the news and hear about my latest exploits. Nothing like the newscaster looking scared while talking about some escort gone missing."
He was done. The entire body had been expertly shaved. He lifted up the right leg, scanned it carefully, and dropped it back down when the inspection was complete. He lifted up the knife, and did the final ritual, one that Pike had instructed him to do, bringing the knife down straight into the chest, a spot of blood coming out. Michael twisted the knife, drawing out more blood. For some reason, the knife always felt more powerful at this moment, as if something immensely powerful was flowing through it. Suddenly, the power stopped. At once, something felt...wrong. His heart began to hurt. A headache was forming. Hands began to itch. He chuckled nervously, but things were not funny. He felt sick...old.
"Well...things are starting to flood in. Head's starting to hurt. I wonder if Pike's got some Aspirin for this stuff....Geez, he seems to have everything else. Treating me like a little kid. Prolly gonna set me down to nap or some shit like that.
Michael stopped, surprised at what he said. He had never thought anything bad about Pike, not even if he had been forced to at gunpoint and now something like this. And more insults about him were flowing into his head, filling it with hatred and pain as the headache began to worsen.
"Heh, this starting to feel weird, like when I have that milk Pike gives me. Prolly got it poisoned or something for me. Wonder why he never gave me cookies. Little fucking upstart. Doesn't know who the hell I am..."
He turned to face the corpse.
"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!"
Nope.
"I AM THE SEARCY REAPER!"
Then, uncharacteristically, he threw the knife to the side. Suddenly, he had realized something. At first, he had been the ruler of his kingdom of screaming and death, a full-blown reaper. But know, he was nothing but the honorary cutter. Somewhere in all of this, the power structure had shifted. And he had let this all go, happy to let it happen.
"Flay...cut...shred..."
He began to stumble through the room, repeating his mantra over and over. But the most terrifying realization of all still suddenly came to him, the obvious becoming clear: He wasn't even using his knife for the ceremony. Soon after they had first met, Pike had given him a new knife. Normally he would have been repulsed at the idea of losing "Old Faithful," but this was different. It was a black obsidian knife, with a white ivory handle, expertly carved. In the center of the handle, on both sides, was an odd red symbol, something like a y with a t above it. The blade seemed to ooze with power. In his hands, he had felt ten years younger. He had forgotten everything, the...whatever it was, oozing into his mind. Corroding it. Making him...
"A babbling baby."
He looked at the knife. There was no longer any symbol. He picked it up. No power, no detriment to mental ability. Just a knife, and one with a helluva lot less emotional value than the rusted kitchen knife that had once been his only friend. He felt like a traitor, allowing the powers of Pike to come between such a friendship, breaking it with one touch of the pearl. Suddenly, he wanted two things.
He wanted his old knife.
And he wanted to fucking kill Pike with his old knife.
Without even picking up the knife, he burst down the hall connecting the operating room to where Pike would be, watching the TV, patiently waiting for Michael so they could eat TV dinners. Pike always waited for Michael.
As he walked down the musty corridor, shivering from the cold of the nearby freezer, he began to remember one other thing that had never struck him as odd until now. He had never left the few room of the basement until now, and he had never been more than a few feet from the accursed knife.
But not anymore, for he was free. Things would be back to normal, he would be the master of his and all the world's bodies.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pike was calm as Michael burst threw the door and began ranting for him to give up his "goddam knife," almost bemused in a way as he turned off the TV, and regarded Michael. Finally, after about twenty death threats, Pike stood up, his massive, muscular body shrugging upwards, the young face emotionless and yet amused, brown eyes that shone nothing and of a million things.
"I see-"
"And another thing! If you fucking think you can just waltz into my life and rule everything, then you've got another thing coming, you huge freak of nature!"
"I see the Bind spell in that thing collapsed finally."
"Things are gonna be a LOOOOOOOOT different, let me tell you. First, maybe we can see about your attitude problem and lock you in the freezer for a bit, chill you off" He chuckled for a second, and while thinking about his next attack, 'Bind spell' suddenly snuck into his head. "And what in the hell do you mean by 'Bind spell' anyways?"
"My dear Michael...perhaps you should lie down. The circumstances might be a bit too much for you right now, especially considering what you've already gone through. I'd rather you not overexert yourself, or do something that would force me to punish you."
"Punish ME?! Who in the hell do you think you are, my mother?"
"Far from it. Think of me as your mentor. To be honest, I've grown rather fond of you. There are very few humans that would do as twisted things as you, no matter how much we manipulate them. You only needed proper guidance, and a bit of power. The knife provided all that, and considering the relatively minor work put into it, thirty specimens as output is quite a nice profit. Very nice."
"Specimens?"
"The bodies. You may not understand this, but there are forces outside your control, yes, even the control you had before I began to lead you. New world, creatures your feeble mind could never comprehend...but it is not a self-stabilizing world. It also has problems that must be solved creatively."
"I don't understand."
"Of course not. No one ever does. The world of the Ancients," said Pike as he lightly snapped his fingers, "probably should not be seen by mortal eyes. Not that it has ever stopped us."
"Ancients? Are you out of your mind? And where's my knife?"
"I am quite normal, although you won't be very soon. And here's your knife," said Pike nonchalantly, picking up the rusty blade, and throwing it to Michael. "I had it taken out of storage a few months ago, since I knew the spell wouldn't last for much longer."
Michael turned the knife over slowly, making sure it was his, before nodding and advancing slowly on Pike. "Very obedient, for once. A welcome change of pace. Too bad I have to make sure it stays that way."
Pike stood still. "I don't suppose I could ask you for one last request."
"No. I don't fall for tricks like that."
"Just listen. You can hear it by now, I'm sure, since it's only ten meters away."
For a moment, Michael's mind did its best to ignore the new information, not wanting to listen, knowing what it would be, the stuff of nightmares, a sound he had heard again and again but had not comprehended, but not suddenly made terrifying sense: A slow, plodding, shuffle, each step accompanied by a sickening squish, like mud or soggy leaves hitting the ground.
Or pure bloody muscle hitting the ground.
He couldn't turn around. Wouldn't. Even when Pike began to laugh, a new rasping noise apparent in his voice, even when he could feel the rotten breath on his neck, skinless fingers outstretched to choke and kill.
He did run to the other side of the room, still not looking back as he frantically pawed the wall for a door, window, anything. Pike's laughter had stopped, and he now was talking methodically, like he was giving a lecture.
"Times are very odd, Michael. All magick has gone to summoning Lord Chattur'gha, but Pious demands more troops, believing that a "beach-head" must be formed before the true coming. The damned fool doesn't understand the limitless power of my lord, but I must serve him."
Michael gave up, slowly turning, holding his knife, trying not to cry.
"So, what could I do? I get a finite amount of magick, hardly enough to summon a single zombie from the other dimensions. Magick Pool would be no good, since, as I said, no magick was to be diverted besides what I initially had. And I know for a fact that pissing off Pious leads to going back to the planes, and the rulers there are even worse. Fortunately, there was enough magick to make a small Bind spell, allying someone already fairly pathetic to our cause whether they agreed with it or not."
He faced it. There were no eyes. No fear, hate, humor, only hatred.
Suddenly, without knowing why, he brought his knife down on the neck. It went halfway in, before it stuck on a resilient piece of muscle.
"You fit the bill. Despite your professions of power, to destroy without truly understanding the destructions, to serve Chattur'gha without knowing of him, is the ultimate ignorance. And without knowledge, there is no power, only chaos."
The zombie raised its arm up, as Michael desperately tried to dig in with the knife. At the height of the arm, Michael managed to push the knife through, completely separating the head from the body.
"As I said, I've grown to like you, Michael. That is why you must die. Only then, when your soul has experienced the eternal darkness, can you become what you must be."
For moment, the zombie did nothing. Then, it raised its arm again, so quickly that Michael could not move away from the vicious slap which sent him sprawling to the ground, bruising his ribs and ankle, making it a great stuggle to even move. He watched, pain clouding his mind, as the zombie continued to swing aimlessly, as Pike continued to babble about Chattur'gha and eternal darkness and Pious.
He did not even feel surprised when, after about fifteen seconds, the neck began to contort, and a new head began to swell open, like a pestilent balloon. The head turned and regarded him. It almost seemed to nod back and forth as the zombie knelt down, teeth moving closing and closer to his neck.
------------------------------------------------------------------
Pike watched quietly as the zombie began to feast. No, there would not be thirty-one zombies. The attack was far too vicious to have any hopes for salvaging the body. But then, he expected that much. No matter how mindless they were usually, they seemed to remember certain things. He remembered back two hundred years ago, when a zombie hesitated for a split second before killing his former infant son.
But then, even he did not understand everything. He did not want to. To serve Chattur'gha was enough, the pain and suffering an adequate payment for complete servility.
Michael had tried to control.
"And this is what you got. Mortals," he said hatefully, spitting.
Still...
The zombie had finished, and now stood obediently before its master. Pike ignored it, and bent down to the ravaged body of Michael, trying to find his left hand. After pulling back a bit of cloth he found it, still clutching the knife while separated from the body. Pike pulled the fingers away, pulling out the knife.
"A keepsake. Pity I had not found you before this body I'm in right now. We would have been quite a team, and you might have understood true control then. Not to mention your soul's screams would have been quite delicious. But then, I've been around your kind too long, talking to nothing."
Pike pointed to the door, and both him and the zombie walked out. Pike suddenly stopped at the entrance to the door, and looked at the mangled body of Michael one last time.
"Fly, Cut, Shred, Bleed. Quite a mantra. So long."
The door shut, leaving Michael and the room in darkness.
-FIN-
Author's Notes: Well, yeah. One, for those that haven't completely beaten the game (and shame on you if you haven't), the Bind spell basically sends a bunch of MAGIC DOTS to swirl around and enemy and make him attack other enemies. It really sucks, and I thought it deserved to be part of a story. And yes, Bonethieves probably don't have philosophical discussions, but if they can talk, who knows what they think about?
Anyway, up next: Xel'lotath Zombies! And no, they are not in Egypt. :P