• An unearthly howl arose from the blackened pit as the Witch crawled in a mindless heap of bones and sinew towards the Preacher, whose face was twisted into a grim expression neither of heaven nor hell but of man. The villagers left long ago when the fire disintegrated into a heap of shattered and distained batons and the Witch’s body collapsed upon itself, revealing its burned heart and lungs. Lurching a bone arm forward, the veins twisted about the mangled arm, as it clawed futilely at the lofty, encircling stone wall around her. At last she latched onto the sharp, jetted rock, her fingers digging into the loose soil about the rock, the Witch crawled ruthlessly to the top of the mounds, rocks and soil sticking to her moist bones. The Witch, her eyes not but murky, black holes upon a skeletal face, looked up at the Preacher, whose face had elongated into a grotesque scowl of a silent wail. Smirking through her teething orifice, the Witch lurched forward once more, now on the downward plunge towards the brick laid ground.

    “Get thee hence Satan,” the Preacher stuttered all faith lost as the Witch’s muscle tissue leaching out from her heart to surround her entire body, “I-I said…I said…Get thee…hence” He stopped, as the witch clutched at his robes, slowly dragging her muddied body upwards, her eyes growing back and her skin crawling as a snail up her body. The Preacher gasped, guffawed, and fragmented his mind as it collapsed around him into tiny bits no more identifiable than a melted ring. Man was taking over, no longer did his Holy Will contain itself within him, no more did he fear hell, as the world crashed around him and truths became lies and lies the truth that he persecuted for years prior.

    “Tongue of Titan, Head of Pan; this Insolent Fool hath spoken his last. His body die, his spirit burn, this Monster of Creation, Zombie of His own Fallacies, Mother of his Body’s Destruction, no more shall live in this plane of existence.” The Witch spoke, her tongue loosening and ambling around the vowels of each word as her mouth regained its flesh. The Witch looked down, the Preacher’s clothes the only marking of his existence and what little belongings he held within this world, she smirked, gladdened by his fall, stepped over his rotting existence and proceeded to the village in which she grew up in.