A young virgin girl knelt naked, sword in hand, bathed in the blood of five other hopefuls. ‘Good’ whispered the voice of the Master. The whisper echoed around the stone walls of the chamber. He stepped out of the shadows. He cast a terrifying figure. Horns six inches long protruding from his forehead, large wings sprouted from his back. His thick, grey leathery skin was stronger than even the strongest armours, his claws sharper than the sharpest blade. He dropped the black robe covering his modesty and landed on the ground. The girl showed no fear, even as she stared into his crimson eyes that stared at her with an un-natural hunger. She watched as the horns receded, as did the wings, and his skin gained a more natural colour, but the eyes didn’t change, they remained as red as ever. When he hit her, it felt like she had been kicked by a horse, and when he threw her across the room, he did so effortlessly, and when he raped her, he did so without restraint, without remorse. He broke her ribs, her knees, her arms. He tore at her flesh, tearing chunks out of her legs with his bare teeth. When he was done, he grew his claws once more, and slashed his own risk, black blood splashing out onto her battered and swollen face.
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