MtmE/Psycho Killer

Psycho Killer Qu'est-ce que c'est? Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa better. Run run run run run run run away.

"I'm not weak," said a man.

"Don't do this! You've been corrupted!" exclaimed another man.

"Who said corruption was a bad thing? At least things don't obscure my view of life."

"And by doing this it'll make you a better person?"

"By doing this I'll prove a point."

"You don't need to do this!"

"Nobody calls me weak, and nobody calls me a villain!"

"You will be a villain if you do this!"

"Then so be it, but I'll be content with your blood on the floor."

The aggressor took a step forward, sword in hand. Blood was gushing over the floorboards from the mangled body with a longsword implanted in its chest. The man was still alive, coughing and spluttering, completely terrified and extremely pale in the face.

"I was wrong..." the voice trailed off from the man.

"Say it, again!" snapped another man in the room.

"I was wrong."

The man was beginning to fade away, so the other man in the room grabbed his air staff and shot a violent death blast at him, causing him to shriek in pain one last time.

"There, one for the long road home my friend," snarled the man.

After several days of travel throughout several lands, he had been trying to express his anger which had been building up for all those years. He'd been deprived of a real childhood and shut in his room throughout his teenage years. Nothing much, nothing special. He leant over the corpse and removed the sword which carried the distinct symbol of the Slayers' Union. On the handle were the initials M. T. engraved into it.

"The quest of Mark Theobald, things are coming along quite nicely."

Mark looked out over the rocks, high up in the Lighthouse. The sea was rough as it crashed against the rocks, much like his state of mind. He then cast a humidify spell, and tiny water droplets began to form in the air and wash the blood away slowly but surely.

"Goodbye Lathiki," Mark said.