Ó 1999, 2000

Horrific cries rang through the crisp, clear night. They sounded far, seeming to last forever, yet were cut short far too soon. A hundred so cries, from nowhere and everywhere, echoing and streaming through the air.

The darkness was almost total, the only light the silvery smooth moonlight, stars winking here and there, oblivious to the horrors that plagued the world. Fires burned brightly in the distance, but they were not a natural fire; the cold, eerie blue-green flames cast no light on anything around it.

Cries of women, children, all suffering, rang through the cold night streets.

A figure stood, midnight robe sweeping around him in an unholy wind, laced boots reflecting the hellish flames that burned seemingly everywhere in the distance, no matter where one stood. The figure’s sharp features seemed unnaturally handsome; this was a creature that one could easily mistake for a honest man. But no one could have made such a fatal mistake at this moment, for the eyes glowed a fierce sapphire, glaring and seeming to smile malevolently upon everything.

A small child ran, crying, unknowingly running towards the robed figure. One arm hung limp at her side, blood dripping from several cuts from which bone protruded.

In a flash, the figure grabbed her broken arm, wrenching her high into the air with it. As the child screamed deathly cries of pain, a small smile flicked in the corner of the figure’s mouth. He held the child out a moment more, savoring the cries, the grabbed her flailing good arm, crushing the wrist of the small lass into something that didn’t even resemble a wrist.

More beastly screams. The flicker of a smile was now full, the eyes glowing more fiercely than before. Taking his other hand, the figure grabbed her upper arm—and slowly began to bend her arm backwards. The child was beyond the point where she should have passed out from the pain; some dark magic held her conscious. Slowly, the figure bent her arm, grinning now, baring sharp teeth, eyes focusing even tighter in a mixed expression of rage and enjoyment.

With several sickening cracks, the child’s arm bent a quarter circle backwards, tears streaming to nothing.

Still the figure did not relinquish his grip; another of the hellish turquoise flames burst from his hands, slowly consuming the young girl, screaming cries never heard before, one that rang to the gates of Hell, making even a fallen angel shudder at its sound. What evil could do such as thing to cause a cry such as this one?

And then, all was silent. Ashes fell from the hands of a robed figure of evil that was not there. Unholy flames died instantly, as did the cries of all who suffered. Those who were tormented were gone, killed. The evidence may have disappeared, but the effects, and the memories, would always be with those few, poor souls who survived. For some, death would have been a better fate.

All was silent.