Blascronoret - Page 103


Number Four can wait. You know she'll be back. The tenacious ones always come back. Especially once the altar is constructed from the bones of their dearest friends. You turn and march back into the basement. Steam fills the room and carries the syrupy scent of fear to your nostrils.

"Number One," you howl, sending pure terror into the fat human that cowers behind the broken water heater. Somehow, Number Two escaped when your back was turned. No problem, you only need the bones of Number Three to complete the altar.

In an outrageous display of haughty arrogance, Number One sets his feet in motion and attempts to run out the door behind you. You extend a powerful, undead arm and knock the filthy peasant down with ease. The pathetic creature squeals and shrieks at your feet.

"The altar cannot wait!" You scream in the fat boy's face. Despite your lack of lungs, hellish wind pours from your mouth and blows Number One's hair back. The boy, obviously ignorant of his impending servitude, tries again to scramble from your mighty presence.

You shake your head. If you had any spit in your skeletal jaw, you would send it into Number One's face. Instead, you draw Engelschnitter and twirl it from hand to hand. The fear grows in Number One's eyes. You show him his reflection in Engelschnitter's cold steel.

With a single, fluid motion, you bring the sword down on the back of Number One's legs. Tendons and muscles pop and tear, but you hold back from breaking the bones. You give the crippled creature a brutal kick in the groin that sends him flying out of the basement door.

Time to build an altar. You grab Number Three by the ankle and drag her toward the burning crevice. You hold her delicate flesh to Engleschnitter's edge and start to cut.


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