This time when Gordon went into the darkness, through the door, and came out into the Hell scape the demons were already waiting for him. But instead of defenselessly submitting. Gordon had decided not to be their snack. He could tell that they were feeding on his fear. Every time the insects took a little bite from his flesh, it wasn't really his soul that was being devoured, it was his fear. The little insects shivered and went into ecstasy whenever they took a bite that was particularly terror inducing.
The beasts were the same. Ripping him limb from limb was their lite repast. But Gordon had had a thought. And the thought now consumed him. More than anything he wanted to turn the tables. How dare these putrescent sometimes, amorphose often, base always beasts play with him. They couldn't kill him, but they could make him into a mindless slobbering puddle of fear.
