Cold burning poison blithely makes its way into the belly of the beast. It spreads slowly yet quickly, permeating into every single molecule that makes up the beast.
The beast sits and waits; quietly, patiently. Liquid courage is the best thing about cold poison. Soon, the beast shall be able to wield the sword of strength and release its soul into the land of the free.
With each swinging motion, the sword continues to draw more life out of the beast; filling the room with the fragrance of iron and impending freedom.
In a few hours, they will find the beast. They will mourn and weep and cry out to the high heavens. They will curse the beast for it’s selfish actions. But the beast is gone. The beast is not a part of that cursed world full of anger and evil.
Many times the beast said that it would be leaving. No one listened. No one cared. It is now gone. Save those tears and mourns and wails for the next one. Not this beast. Not me.