You start to feel the cold
now you believe the tales you being told.
He's here he's at your door,
The grim reaper's son we can't ignore
The age of ruin is upon us all,
pray is just a waste of your time.
The dead walk as the master calls,
leads the herd to the beat of the chimes
With that verse, without any remorse, without any reason, Dan Wolfe's skull completely crushed underneath Afra's boot, his cranial matter splitting across the foliage that is his permanent grave. Despite never seen an actual dead body and mutilating as such before, Afra showed little concern. She was worried that'd she ruin her boots from this fallacy's blood; the rain remedied any need to fret.
She kept on walking to the hospital, Kalmageddon accompanying, with a sneer across her face over the sheer convenience. In her left hand, she held a jagged rock she came across by the 3rd day. In the other, she held on to her partner in crime. Her arm didn't bother her as much as it in the early days, back when the usefulness of someone's skull was questioned. It struck her as Tiamat abandoning her, sending her along with all the worms that infest her school to a bloody abattoir. Now, that's not the case. Now, she's trekking to find. And kill all.
By the time she reached the entrance, absentmindedly kicking aside a cunt, she noticed that the door handle turn to open. She rushed over to the right side of the building, peeking ever the slightest to see the the ones that dare get in her way.
She saw that it was an twat rushing through the rain. Afra viciously notes that she doesn't stand a chance and doesn't need to waste any energy on her. Afra waited, thinking that there may be more in that building. She waited as so, with the rain tattering and melodies rolling. After two more Lordi songs, her guess proved fruitful, as another left, this time not so fast, seeming like he was talking. Afra could care less what he was saying; it only mattered that he was uttering blather to someone else.
She readied herself, knowing that now is the time to strike. When the idiot was far enough, she placed the cooler down, taking off the lid. There it was. Her weapon. A head of that student from the last game, the one that proved herself resourceful enough to murder as many as she did. Despite the eyes decaying right off, she looked fairly fresh, amazing since it's been such a while since her abrupt end. Afra can't help but admire the resourcefulness of these terrorists. Useless with little reason and effect, but resourceful anyway. She pulled out the head, with her vomit from her original opening dripping off from the sides. She looked in the vacant sockets, with malice and cunning.
Afra inserted her ring and middle finger into both of eye sockets. Like a bowling ball. The sensation felt bizarre to Afra. Not in a bad way either. Just foreign. With weapons in hand, she felt like a true zealous priest, ripping apart naysayers and insufficients. She was ready, in all measures of word. As she walked to the corner she couldn't help her sadistic little mind from wandering off and thinking of all the that'll happen. By the she was back at the entrance, she thought up a whole Wes Craven script worth of material. Yeah, she was so ready.
Some NIN might be appropriate for this attack. Happiness in Slavery. Yeah, that'd work. Good.
Mariavel Varella, time to play again.
Just then, when the warrior was ready to thrash and tear, the announcements came on with such irrupt time. To her, it was like interrupting someone in the middle of masturbation.
She took off her earphones and listened to whatever the fat bastard was slobbering his chops. By this time, he mentioned this one student that killed five people, a Wade Wilson. He was officially number one on Afra's list of threats. After Danya's smug slabbering of yestermore's killings, he listed the dangezones. With a single word, Afra put back her earphones upon her ears, not to hear anymore of the outside nonsense. She bolted from the door with no hesitation.
The mood was wasted on naught. But I'm patient and so is my ally. Living is important by all means. I can wait. Oh, how I can wait.
((Afra Jacinth continued elsewhere))