"Savior, benevolent, pious—truth-fearing."
A skull arose. A laugh merry and boisterous, fangs clanking.
"Yet, still as naive—destiny ought to repeat; fate still loops."
A horn sprouted. The skeletal form twisted, to a structure. . . unearthly.
Bone plates had cracked. A snap was heard.
Black out the gaping mouth, a coalition of teeth, a Tartarean grin, the mental sin—scourge, and tainted was the cranial mass. A tongue, scarlet and viscous, squirmed; saliva slicked and slithered down, jaws split and sheared.
If spite had a face, this creature peeled the skin from the epidermis to the hypodermis and affixed it.
"Destined. Prophesied by He, yet, rejected by he. You—controlled by all."
The entity rocked its head down, gaze upon a figure bathed purple.
"Hello," it said. "Alistair Percival."
The abyss shook, and the phantom raised its head.
