Journals of a Psychopath



Brutal and cruel Clarkson my psychopath is the best.

The Purifiers and the Archangel

Tumbling onto the dirt and falling into sleep, the snow pelted down, I was so cold, and I roused. I set fire to the wood and the flames leaped upward in a wavy line.
      “Scar her face,” the Declarer said.
The antics of the flames absorbed me.
      “Enact our will,” the Trees and the Darkest-One ordered.
Leanne’s feet were comely, her toenails painted, and vanity is a defect I always eliminate. Splashing, while I tossed the acid into her face, and some found its way to her feet. The sound from the sizzling flesh delighted my ears. I was overjoyed to see the nail-lacquer no longer decorated her toenails. Scooping her up in my arms, the bloodcurdling screams sourced from her mouth. Heat penetrated the robe I clasped Leanne, as if an infant, and I crooned.
“Why did you do it?”
“Atonement is vital for such a woman like you and you are mine to do as I will.”
Leanne thrashed in my arms and I let her fall, she thudded onto the dirt. Handing Leanne the looking glass, she studied her hideous face, and it stared back, she recoiled. Leanne could see nothing concerning her former-self. Her words incoherent, jabbering from her throat, she was praying. I launched into the incantations and the words black from the innermost part of my psyche. Leanne screamed in anticipation, she sensed more evil was to ensue. I chained her to the Master Tree, the chains binding Leanne, stretched her body, the buzz rose. Sexual relish was with me and my manhood was heavy under the garb.
“There is only torment and death for the chosen ones, your retribution is my pleasure.”
The words were severe and I skirled. Examining her and I squealed ecstatically. Slicing into her skin, the sword gleamed, I beheld the light negate from Leanne’s orbs, as she died. Her body was ornamented with blood. I wrote the Journal, I watched the mirror image reflected from the flares, as they danced across her corpse. The aftermath of a sacrifice ethereal and the Purifiers were overjoyed. They considered themselves worthy to share my world and I was indebted to exist with the Iconic Masters. The sky was clear and the stars evident, the moon was reflected on the river, the smooth rush of the water was pleasant. I ingested bourbon, the blood enveloped the garb I sniffed the redolence from the post-sacrifice. Slashing her body and browsing Leanne's dead form was cut to shreds and her skin gaped open.
“You can take Leanne to the isolation chamber,” the Trees said.

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