Part 1

I look around at the hell that I am in, and look at the fool that has brought me here. His contemptuous and mocking laughter rings in my ears. I smile and watch as that laughter stutters to a halt. "What are you smiling at fat boy!" he screams.

I evaporate from where he believes he has imprisoned me and behind him. I grab his wolfish hide and rip it from his flesh. I sense his pain and it is exquisite. The flesh weeps blood, the little red beads of precious moisture rising like dew upon the exposed and boyish fat of his post pubescent body. He turns, amazed, shocked, and speechless. "How?" his eyes cry out for him, and I tear the tawdry pelt from the front of him like a drunken sailor with a three-dollar whore on two-dollar troop night.

Again there are tears of blood from the boy's soft flesh. A flatulent noise escapes him as his bowels turn to water and expel their contents. A fitful stream of urine issues from between his legs, we both look down at the steaming mess of blood, faeces and piss that are accumulating at his feet. I look at the half pelts in my hands and smile. It is a cold smile, lethal with unmistakable intent. I let them fall as I turn away.

"Go home little dog, go home to your tawdry little bitch of a mistress." The words ring in his mind. He turns and sees the Angel of Light staring to him. I nod to my fallen brother and return to my world.

All about me is quiet and peace. The first sorceress divests a possessed man of his usurper, a soul is reborn, and another is caged, while a third is freed. My friends and I discuss things over a late breakfast. I nod, and look over at the Bear of God, another of my brothers.

"Go ahead he says, that one will want to talk potential politics," he points to my predecessor, "and that one will be going back to work soon." He points to the satyr between us. "You don't need all your concentration for that." I nod and leave my corporeal self behind.

I return to the last place I saw that pitiful cur, and take up the scent. Sure enough, without guile or caution he heads straight to the lair of Colette, a self-proclaimed war mistress and sovereign of Sarkazein. I travelled like a thought and arrived well before the mongrel appeared. I stood behind the veil of perception and observed her exaltedness while she engaged in coitus with one of her gigolos. The smile on my face would freeze and age the immortal sun should I but direct it thither. I assay her fornication, bridling my contemptuous humour. She grows heated and looses herself in copulative frenzy. I forbear to observe further, listening only to her pathetic passion as I wait for her hound to arrive.

The cur crawls in, trailing viscous fluids and bodily wastes.

"Mistress," he whines pitifully, "Mistress, help me!" I turn and watch the harlot awaken from her copulative dream state to the reality of my revenge.

"What happened?" she screams. Rushing, hot, dishevelled, and half naked to her pet. "Oh Pubis!" she cries. "Who or what has done this to you?" Her lover, Epicles and her lord consort Cucuault stir themselves, the first from her couch, and the second from his bed.

"Oh mistress, I am afraid, that man, that demon, you sent me against has torn my skin from me. Flayed me with his hands. I am undone mistress I am undone. My fresh sown manhood is reaved from me!" She sheds tears at his predicament, and takes him in her arms. Cucuault examines the situation, seeing Epicles standing there, naked sweaty and erect, he surmises what is afoot and seeing his lady wife, her vulva flushed and moist, he approaches her as she consoles the cringing cur.

He touches her breast with one hand as he fingers her labia with another. I stand amazed at his indifference to the fact that she was recently disturbed from her adulterous couch by the recent arrival of my erstwhile foe. More amazingly, she responds.

Touching him in return, exciting his rising manhood with words and caressing gestures. Pubis looks on, his flayed flesh scabbing over and whines for her attention, his recently cursed loins finding strength again. She bends to kiss him and Epicles, not to be left out plays the sodomite for her.

Thus I watch amazed as this quartet engages in bloody orgy. Colette straddles Cucuault, her labia encompassing his phallus, while Epicles sodomises her as she performs fellatio upon Pubis.

"I have seen enough," I comment to myself as her moans and their collective groans fill my ears. I step from behind the veil of perception and draw nigh to the foursome. My first attack directed at Epicles. I pull him, faecal covered cock spraying semen in the air and with a deft movement; I separate him from his gender. His scream shocks the others who turn to watch as the bespectacled youth turns sickly green and pale while his life blood floods from about his hands that cup where his loins have been rived. He stumbles and falls to his knees. A kick to his stomach forces the air from his lungs and I stuff his mouth with his gory spurting organs. He gags and chokes, turning blue. I turn; ignoring him for a moment I concentrate upon the other three.

Pubis cowers in the corner, whimpering with cowardice and fear. Cucuault has withered within her exaltedness and is vomiting. She runs from him screaming in terror. I stand over him, contempt for him in my eyes, and grind his throat under my heel. His eyes bulge as foam and blood fleck his lips. A strangled gurgle flees his mouth as he dies beneath my foot.

Colette and Pubis cringe in the corner, fighting to hide behind each other. I ignore them, and look back upon Epicles, who is slowly suffocating on his severed loins while his life flows away between his thighs. He is struggling to pluck the ravaged flesh from his mouth, but the lack of air in his lungs, which are slowly filling with blood, saliva and semen, makes the task impossible while he fights to remain conscious despite the blood loss.

I return my attention upon Pubis and Colette. She has managed to give him some courage after all; he stands, cringing behind a pistol, which he brandishes ineptly. With a step I am with in reach of the muzzle of the weapon. The forefinger of my left hand plugs the hole while my right hand reaches over as he squeezes the trigger. The web of my hand slides down between hammer and its home. The mechanism clicks, Pubis flinches, the hammer strikes my hand and the weapon does not fire. Surprise registers upon the face of the cur as I wrest the firearm from him.

Metal and pearl inlay smash into the thin flesh covering of his skull, breaking through the temple plate and crushing grey matter. Again and again I pistol whip him before he falls to the floor that is covered in blood and piss and semen and shit. He lies there, barely breathing, his cerebrum oozing out of his ruptured skull, which collapses as I step upon it. Blood and brains spray the bitch as I stalk toward her. She cringes, crying piteously, but her pleas fall on deaf ears. She has sown much hate and pain, now is the time for her to reap her awful harvest.

My fingers sink into her hair and I haul her screaming to her feet. Her eyes locked in fear upon mine. Her breathing ragged with sobs, she shakes and shivers, her naked body bathed in sex, death and offal.

"What are you going to do to me?" she cries.

"I am going to fuck you like you have never been fucked before," I coo at her. She looks surprised, as if a reprieve has arrived. She slides her hands up to my shoulders, her resting her weight there. First one leg then another climbs my hips to hoist her sopping vulva nearer my loins.

"You didn't have to kill them for that." She smiles.

"Yes I did," I respond as I slide the barrel of the pistol into her. She gasps at the cold hardness of it. A grin of pleasure swims across her face.

"You're so hard and coldŠ" she remarks.

"Let me warm things up," I comment, and plunging the piece deep inside as I squeeze the trigger. Her right hip explodes with a wet and fleshy grunt as the bullet passes through her and into the wall pressed up against her. The scream she lets out shatters all the glass in the room. Again I thrust the pistol, and again there is a roar of thunder between her thighs and her left hip mimics her right. Crimson paint washes down the walls. Plaster cracks at her second scream. A third plunge and again thunder rumbles as her tailbone emigrates to the corner behind her. She cannot scream apparently, and only sucks air into her lungs with a gasp.

I draw the weapon from its bloody holster, unleashing a torrent of gore from her between her labia. I drag sanguine gun up her midriff until I press the muzzle to her left nipple. Lightning flashes this time as well, filling the air with a sulphurous aroma. She has bitten her tongue and is choking on the piece that has fallen down her windpipe as blood slowly meanders down both the interior and exterior of her gullet. The right areole follows its companion into the after life. She is gagging now as I slide the revolver into her mouth. She begins to mimic fellatio as she struggles for air.

"That's it bitch. Suck that cock!" And with those words the back of her head becomes one with the wall behind her. I step back and observe my handiwork. And as catharsis is achieved I return to my corporeal existence, a blithe smile caressing my face.