by William Morgan
Power! Such power!
A flick of her wrist and half of us turned to red mist. A flurry of fingers, and bones snapped, stomachs exploded. Many were screaming, trailing steaming purple ropes.
It lied. Lied through all the torture. It sent us into a trap.
We retreated back to out world to lick our wounds.
It…She…Queen…whatever…was holding my son in her arms. Smiling as she decimated us, my son cooing happily as we were ripped asunder. Darkness draped my soul.
Whatever it takes, I will get him back, and I will kill that bitch.
The Queen was holding my son. My son!
I saw something, though. I have to steel myself for what I have planned.
I have to be consumed with darkness. I’ll have to embrace the devil, damn myself.