CHAPTER 2
Oblivion, Hell, to Pinhead, it was always hard to differentiate. Suffering and emptiness seemed to go hand in hand, but without opportunities to torment or to damn, to serve cold and savory agony, to make it rain blood, the concept of oblivion seemed all the more burdensome for the now non-corporeal Pinhead to tolerate. And in the two hundred years that had passed since his defeat aboard the MINOS, it had become clear to him that something had to give, that his time to unleash darkness on man was destined to bare its arms wide open now. Before he knew it, he felt it. The surge. If he had skin, he'd feel the anticipation creep on him like spiders crawling over a bleeding dying wolf in the snow. If he had a face, it would give way to a blackened Mona Lisa grin that noted certainty in sadistic tendencies for him to indulge in. If there was a way for him to warn whatever he knew was summoning him, he wouldn't do it. There was Hell to pay. There's always a price, and if it wasn't going to be Merchant to pay it, any worm of a being capable of bellowing loudly a plea for mercy will do. "Oh, how exquisite," he thought. "What new chapter is waiting to be written. I can barely contain myself." And like that, oblivion failed to contain him.
Two minutes, two centuries, it all ticks by so quickly.