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by Colin Chapman
All is chill shadow. I float in the void, wreathed in shadow.
It has begun...
Distant screams echo as tortured white faces emerge from the shadow
around me, mouthing silent torment. My soul is wrenched open...
a mother screams as a twisted knife tears her children's flesh...
a dark fist slams a pair of small skulls onto a shifting sea of
bone...a man cries as his beloved is flayed alive...a crack of
bone as another skull is added to the hideous monument...
...all is silent darkness again and the only scream left is my
own...
I awaken, soaked in cold sweat. It trickles down my forehead,
stinging my eyes with welcome reality. The bed is a mess, the
sheets clinging to me like a desperate lover as I lean trembling
over the edge of the bed and weep.
Omen has called to me...
I have travelled relentlessly across harsh and desolate lands;
lands long since lost to reason or history. I dread each night,
yet welcome it like a fool, open arms to the nightmares of Omen,
craving the hollow blackness of rest, final rest. I crave death.
Creator help me...
A cold wind blows across my soul as I stand in the shadow of Omen
before the judging eyes of the dead. Thousands of fathomless
orbs peer deep into my heart, and a fist of wrenching sorry drives
me to my knees. Drives me to tears.
I drift into the void, the air rent with cries of rage, anguish
and pain. The pallid faces regard me with twisted masks of hate,
a seething, palpable wall of fury. It surrounds me and penetrates
my every pore, exploding in my mind like a hammer of fire, tearing
an anguished cry of painful exultation from my lips.
I stand trembling with wrath and joy. Cold, unrelenting hatred
burns in my heart as I follow the implacable pull of the damned,
leading me inexorably towards the condemned. I will kill. I will
murder. Remorseless. Creator help those who stand in my way.
I step purposefully over the broken corpse of the sentinel, as
my quarry flees in blind panic. The guard is less than nothing.
There can be no distraction. There can be no mercy. All barriers
to the inevitable must be destroyed.
The souls in my head gnash their teeth and wail, driving me onwards.
There can be no rest.
A door bars my way. Another barrier. I gesture. The spirits rip
the doorway asunder.
Cold iron weighs heavy in my fist. The pitiful creature huddles
in the corner, quivering, gibbering in terror, soiling itself,
pleading for mercy. It tells me it is only a simple merchant,
innocent of any wrong-doing. The souls sneer and hiss their derision.
I gaze into the creature's eyes and see the black stain of ancient
evil behind them. The creature begins to laugh. The souls rage.
The laugh grows louder as I wrack the beast with energy, hurling
it against the stone wall, breaking its mortal shell with impunity.
It laughs bubbling blood as I bring my blade down impaling its
black heart. The souls shriek with unholy delight and depart,
leaving me weak, vulnerable. Empty.
Creator help me, what have I become?
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