Coup de Grâce II: The Rogue by Crimson Quintessence



WARNING ADULT CONTENT. This piece contains phrases and thoughts which might not be considered appropriate reading for children, and will likely offend those who are easily offended. It in no way is directed at any one person. It is a piece of fiction. I, as the writer can not control how you perceive any of my pieces for they are written as therapy for me. Now, let’s begin…

Unleashed once more from Mephistopheles playground.

Called out in to the blackest of nights.

You were warned years before, that should we requite amongst the living once or thrice more because you try to come to this place and stake a claim here, we would unleash fury upon you and your kind.

We are not mercy, we are death.

We live behind dark shadows and sly smiles in the utter blackness, fifty fathoms down.

Our gravy is your blood, your end-trails, especially the intestines, they are divine for our artwork.

The medieval beasts we be, because we can not bleed for death, death kindly bleeds for us.

When we see your demise, we see premeditated suffering drenched in your own sanguine wine.

Once again out to roam the wastelands, searching for the rancid they call human skin suite waste.

The ones who unleash daily horrors on the beautiful souls we dare not touch. We are  vigilantes of the scorned.

We will find and seduce you back to our lair or slay you right where you stand.

We are famished after a few long years of deep slumber after all.

We will feast tonight, on the interlopers once again.

Au, vexatious fetor, one treads near.

Odium exilii, it floats our way.

Once again, we advance through the shadows of the night and stalk our quarry.

It scampers and scurries like a mouse over dead leaves.

Fatum nostrum est, to run into each other.

For we are always the victors, and those that prey on others, also covet to be part of the sanctum of those which stand for what’s right.

Hmmm, it thinks it’s slick, and clever, thinks it knows how to stalk.

Another who believes it can outmaneuver all of us who traverse here in the dark shadows.

Again, we move stealth in the darkness and refashion our semblance to suite our environs fittingly.

This mortal thing would be misguided to believe otherwise.

A mere mortal, we think not, more like a psychotic wearing a skin suite, they call it mouse, it gives off the stench of a freshly dropped cadaver, but somethings off. There is another bouquet adrift to our nasal passages. This one reeks of a big old cat drenched in its own urine and feces. One that moves on its hands and knees and pretends to be a human. Its pelt is ragged and torn, laced with chemicals that ruin lives. We’ve smelt this one before.

Before our last slumber it appeared, with the same stench but it cloaked itself in forestry and we left and gave chase to another. Knowing that one day we would have our time with it.

Telepathically we read its mind, huh, lion is it?

Still thinks we are the timid one does it?

We shall remind you that we are iniquity and turpitude.

We are unsightly and reprehensible when in an angered state. Otherwise we appear quite normal and relaxed.

We can be turned into fiends who stalk you and your lies in the night and lacerate your vital organs from their sheathed coverings when pushed to far.

And, we shall devour you with our razor-sharp jaws of death.

We, who dwell within, know our duties, so do the rest of the rogue ones.

We search for the decay of humanity. Those who tell lies upon lies for a living. Those who mimic the sufferings of others for their own gain. Those who behind the cloak they wear, take money, dignity and trust from the human pleasantries that dwell within the humans who remain. No job, living off the unsuspecting, the trusting, the lonely. Spun words with a serpent’s slick tongue will only get you so far.

These two both slipped into our domain. For that they must pay for their atrocities cast upon the others we deem safe humans. The ones we are sworn to protect.

Once again, our eyes blacken. Our insides scorched with vexation and inner disdain of these two explode into fury. How dare they!!

We vault at both of them, knocking them to the wet earth below their footpads. The small one rolls and stops dead, no fight in it at all, it is only capable of doing what it is instructed to do. It’s ink to paper crafted from the other one. For on it’s own it lays down muddled words that make no sense what-so-ever. It can only covet what others do on their own.

The other one tries to retreat. This only blackens our inner fire so horridly that it turns pure red like volcanic lava. We pin it down by the shoulders. Lash forth with oral razors gouging the little beady nubs from their sockets and swallow them whole. It screams for its mother, typical coward. The mouse-morsel is gulped up without even chewing. It slides down one of my companions gullets with ease.

Rolling our necks in elation we reassemble. The lion thing is writhing around on the ground howling like a man-cub fresh out of its cradled womb for the first time. Nappy sopping wet.

Digging our unguis into its flesh and wrenching its head from the muscle and veins used to attach it to its skin-suite. Then guzzling its blood straight from the limp carcass like it were a goblet. It tastes like burnt motor oil from years worth of slick-tongued lies.

The final finishing act, tearing the jaw sections of this self-proclaimed lion’s cranium and jam what’s left atop a spike to place in our finishing gardens.

These two are finished, these rancid, putrid cunts, who dare thought they could walk these protected grounds and lay claim to them.

We are once again called home to Mephistopheles Playground to lay dormant until we are called upon once more and are unleashed into the night.

Fear not mortals, we shall requite amongst the living once or thrice more.



from the true crimson collective vaults 2020

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Thank you for Visiting with love JillyG

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