She had been posessed by a demon of extraordinary power and evil, so much of it, that no weapon nor holy word could silence it, or even drive it from the host's body. It was a great and horrible demon that posessed the innocent through their forehead or their chest, leaving a scar or deep wound where it had entered.
Not only was it horrible to hear about, its mind was twisted and bloodthirsty. It would not cease to posess anything until it had reached the death count it desired.
And this time, the death count was seventy four.
Only one person would be left.
The massacre was starting, but they had learned of their demise too late.
She gripped the knife in her hand, pacing angrily with a hatred not her own as her long brown hair whisped behind her brisk walking. A bird foolishly fluttered near her prescence and was in a split second laying on the ground in a pool of blood, its blue head severed.
- - -
The last survivor stared in horror at his surroundings. The village had been set ablaze, fire licking the air hungrily. Blood was everywhere. Corpses lay sprawled and still forever, the cries of children cornered and slaughtered still echoed in the dead air.
The stars never came out that night. Perhaps they were hiding, afraid of the little, once innocent girl. Only darkness was the blanket that was the sky, even the moon was hidden deep within the crevices of space.
She raised the knife to her neck, whispering in a demonic, savage voice;
"Seventy four..."
The cold, bloodstained blade was thrust into her neck. The man looked away, but he swears to this day that he heard her old, giggling voice emanate from the sky, as the stars and the moon came out of hiding, as a blackness disapated from her body, as her blood mingled with the blood of her kin.
End...
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