Tagged: Martin P. Fuller

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

Emergence

The grave is cold, devoid of light. Something urges it to lift decaying limbs, breaking the rotting coffins lid. A cascade of soil crashes through. It digs, claws, and pushes upwards.

Time is irrelevant as it tunnels higher. A fierce desire to bite and devour settles in what passes for its mind. 

A fist breaks the surface. A final lunge. Rebirth from the womb of the tomb. It is compelled to wander the world, driven by a voracious need to sate a taste for flesh, the drip of blood on dry withered lips, and the crunch of bone. 

It walks.

The March

The dead thing was joined by a fellow journeying cadaver. They walked abroad, stumbling occasionally, decaying legs almost crumbling beneath them. Something had changed their rotting tissue, making it harder, stronger. Muscle and tendon transformed, becoming similar to rusted iron. Regeneration, especially after the first victim’s been torn apart by sharpened teeth. Flesh invigorated and restored. Their addiction to consume human meat increases. The companionship of other reanimated corpses returns a memory of community. They are given purpose. Hunt, kill, render, and feed. Bring the living into the herd of the dead.

All travel on into a blood red future.

Necromancer

He falls to his knees, exhausted after the incantation, hands and chest smeared with the sacrificial victims blood. The cemetery trembles with a shimmer of movement as the dead arose through the cold earth. Their decomposed brains were congealed into instruments of his will, and his will was strong.

The world would fall with his army of the dead, each containing the seeds of death and re-birth in their bite and scratch. The hellish host would thus increase and march on, blood and flesh their payment for being soldiers of the grave.

The Necromancer stands, ready to own the world.

Our church worships at the altar of the Unholy Trinity. Its gospels are delivered as a trio of dark drabbles, linked so that Three become One. All hail the power of the Three.

I

The wounding

It was once part of our molten world, ejected and exiled when our solar system was young. Apart, but still linked to the chosen ones.

The planetoids revenge

The small gods challenge failed, consumed but not before ripping part of it conquerors body away, where it orbited, waiting, brooding, demanding a blood price.

The mystic light emerges

As the Moons rock cooled, a power grew. A weird force which oozed out of its heart, drifting towards the wounded Earth on reflected light.

Union of the light

The special light could not be filtered by dark storm cloud, or rock or roof. It found the special children, the wild, and changed them.

II

The curse of the moon gift

The Moon, torn from the body of the Earth, retained a link of mystic evil. Sunlight reflecting from its surface,  gave out more than just photons. The light sought out the Moon children with a gift of change. Tooth, claw, fur, jaws of razor teeth, and a maddened insatiable savagery.

The worship

The Moon loves the wolf and the wolf adores its Mistress.  The savage that is man fears the wolf, knows of the bite and the tearing sickle claw. That terror draws the Moon’s attention and dark influence. Certain mortals bear the dark honour of being disciples of the lunar queen.

III

The law of the werewolf

You cannot hide from the light or its malign influence. It seeks you out, invades your trembling mind, controls sinew and muscle. Bone bends to its command, reshaping, reforming. And the desire for the smell and taste of blood, the crush of teeth through flesh dominates your thoughts. Be wild, progeny of dark nature, seek out the living and survive. Never forget to give thanks to the  Goddess who watches over you in the darkness. Howl out your vicious hymn, scratch your mark in the landscape. You that were once human, wear the skin of a worshiper of the  moonlight.