"Tearing through my body, my own father, he planned this... But what does it matter now.. I can no longer see, hear, or feel... I'm dead now... It's oddly comforting, being dead, the pain is gone now.." Thought Frank as his soul drifted through nothing into more nothing. "I... I just wish I had been able to actually live before dying... But I'm not complaining.." He thought before suddenly, without warning, a scene appeared before him. Thousands of living corpses, kneeling before him, to his side was himself except different, the thing had four arms and four eyes with sclera poisoned black. The other him spoke "our king... It's time.." He said to Frank as he approached with a black crown in his hands "you will lead us out of hell, into freedom..." The other placed the crown on Frank's head "I will be your axe, your armor, and I will be your will... All you have to do is say the word, my king, death I shall bring uppon them all" Frank didn't know what to make of this, he didn't even notice his own voice speaking until it did "execute, execute them all" he said, but he would never say that? Yet he did.
While the king slept, his regent laid waste to his foes.
The ritual was working, or so they thought, as they had finally finished putting the young man back together after cutting him open and adjusting his body for the second pair of arms. They prepared to revive him, but before they even started on the second ritual... It breathed...
Chaos followed by carnage, the entire church was being turned into a slaughter house. Axe in hand, Mortif tore through the very flesh and bone of the very cultists who made him. All he felt was disdain for the pathetic lives he was ending, and pure manic joy as he laid waist to all of them. His horrific laughter echoes through the halls, followed by screaming and then the sound of bodies being turned into mush. He relished in it, he savored every second of it, for every day of pain and every moment of suffering was being paid back in full.
His joyous rampage carried on for 3 days, 12 hours, and 4 minutes. The floors becoming slick with blood, the walls painted with gore, and every last cultist trapped and killed within this church. Mortif inhaled deeply, the scent of iron filling his lungs. all was well, all was right, all was as it should be. Mortif yanked the axe out of the last cultists head, the unrecognizable face of his king's father.
Frank emerged from the depths of the church into a whole new world. The sun glistening against his pale complexion, the unfamiliar feeling of warmth seeping under his skin felt like the embrace of a mother after the birth of her child. The breeze weaved and wrapped around him, threading through his dark locks of hair in a dance that was unfamiliar to him. He was free, for the first time in his 18 years of life, he was free.