He was a man of terror and reveled in his ability to cause fear. It was thus a terrible thing for the Evil Editor to feel what he had long been serving to the townspeople. Agonizing, distress stung his eyes like a dreadful, unholy sweat. This moody man, this hard-hearted, dark soul, forever entrenched in such ghastly, uncommon acts… now wore a mask displaying false stoicism. Beneath the stonewall guise, unbeknownst to the demon before him, existed a face of rigid apprehension. Tools of torture were slowly removed from the leather satchel and proved to be stained with the blood of evil men gone by. The demon purposely held the dagger in a way as so the near-full moon could dance on the rusty blade, firing off glints of deep, sinister, menacing maroon. It was strange indeed and the twisted raillery did not miss the Editor’s wretched heart.
The demon turned abruptly to his right, cracking his own protruding spine, preparing for yet another vexing mutilation. The rogue creature had no eyes to deceive and his popping backbone sounded as if two handfuls of stones were being dropped to the earth.
The hellion turned to the man and announced, “Tonight shall be one most conclusive for you as I am sure you have identified.”
The petrified man, this hollow, harrowed soul indeed knew his time was nigh and glanced upwards as if to beg God for mercy.
“He will not help you… that you can trust,” the demon offered without qualms as he raised the eminent blade.
This Evil Editor dropped to his knees, and wailed, “oh damned life, oh angel of exculpation, salvage this flesh!”
“I besiege you,” the demon held up five bony fingers, “tarry not, for this unwelcomed
happenstance is merely a consequence of your execrable shrewdness.”