Jerome, I'll flay you alive. I'll rip your limbs off one by one and beat your head into a bloody pulp. I'll tear your eyes out and pour raw sewage through their sockets. I'll skin you and sew your flesh into a scarf. I'll set you on fire and piss on you to put you out. By the time I'm done with you you'll long for the icy chill of death's finger. The blood war's got nothing on the torture I'm going to put you through. You crawl like a maggot - born in shit, living in shit - from side to side, without really having any idea what you're looking for. You're not even serving yourself. You're just a confused, brainless, worthless little dried up lump of pus who's out of his ■■■■■■■ depth.
Or perhaps I can't be bothered. Why waste my time on someone like you when true evil goes so much further? Licht und dunkelheitmittel nichts - leben und todes regeln oberster.
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere
the ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
are full of passionate intensity.
This is the end of the meaningless Skallaskrath, a simpleton's belief in the comfort of ignorance. The hope it once gave to those who lack their own purpose has been taken away. Care to rejoin the flock, Jerome? There's a queue outside the knackery, I'll be with you in a minute.
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