This is the story of a lunatic. Or, as a matter of fact, he was merely a lunatic in the eyes of most people. To himself, he was the most beautiful creature God had ever created, and he knew this, because he had spoken to God many, many times. He also knew that if he did whatever the voices told him to do, he would never stop being perfect.

Jim was an ordinary family man. His day consisted of waking up at 7:30, kissing his wife and children goodbye, driving to work, working, and then driving home again. But today, it also consisted of getting murdered. “Now,” the lunatic thought, “now I can finally finish my tribute, my perfect offering.” He very slowly, very carefully, put the eye carving into the socket, just like the voices had told him to do. Now, he could once again hear the soft, mournful voice of God. “Thou are the savior of this wretched place, thou shall cleanse the rotten world you witness everyday of its sins. The voices shall guide you.” The lunatic now knew that the voices would show him to his path that would keep him perfect and eternal.

As the lunatic dreamt that night, the voices told him instructions of what to do, and where to go. The instructions were more vivid and clear this time, and much, much worse. He had to find the people that created him, that raised him, and cleanse this world of them. How could the voices make him do such a thing? But the lunatic still wanted to be perfect, did he not? How could the people that brought such perfection to this world have corrupted themselves in such a way, how could they have betrayed him?

The Andersons were a relatively normal family. The trace of their now twenty-five-year-old runaway son had finally run cold and this lunatic would be quite the refresher for both them, and the police. They had just had their morning coffee poisoned and were now lying dead on the floor. The lunatic slowly walked into the room, up to them, and gave them a loving kiss goodbye, because no matter how much they had been infested, corrupted or ruined by this world, he still loved them. For a second, the lunatic just stood there, the company of his loving parents was so calming. It was like he was once again in the presence of the loving God, but the lunatic knew that it was now time to move on, that he had finished his first mission. He could now once again feel the booming voices screeching straight through his fragile skull. They told him that nothing could keep perfect without a little maintenance; they told him that he must cleanse himself by removing what is filthy from his perfect design. “Yes,” the lunatic thought to himself, “if I am to be the true knight in the word of God then I must be as pure as him.”

As the tendons ripped and the flesh shred from his bones, the relieving feeling washed over the lunatic, he knew that he was now cut off from all the filth that was once feasting on the purity in his soul. The voices did want the best for the lunatic and now it was clear.

As detective Murray walked onto the scene he was horrified by what he saw. Like a pillar of rot the statue towered over him. "There must be at least six people carved in there," he muttered, barely disguising his belching. The sheriff, Howard, stumbled back and screamed, "It's moving!" What they saw next, no one of them could believe. A dark, deformed figure started emerging from the putrid pile of rancid flesh. The eyes rotten, the fingers bent in awkward, grotesque directions and a piercing, never blinking, twisted smile.

As he slowly opened his mouth to breathe, they could see his rotten, blackened teeth slowly falling out to expose small blackhead maggots feasting on his nerves. As the mouth opened more and more they could see the jaw unhinge as the lunatic tried to speak. "W-Why musshht... Y-You... You foul people... D... Destroy... The beauteous worlds... Y-You in... habit?" the lunatic stuttered as his jaw hung on merely on lone tendons. The maggots had begun flowing from his now fully exposed tongue and the stench that was now emanating from it was unbeleivable, but the voice continued, like it was not coming from his mouth, but from the totem that he had come out of. 

The angelic voice booming from the pillar of decomposing twisted bodies now spoke. The officers, not understanding what could be real anymore, just listened to the things it said. The lunatic stumbled towards them, slowly raising the dagger. He could now finally see the face of God, so perfect, so blinding. The horns scratched through the surface of the light as the red, blistered skin slowly seeped out a white fluid. The grotesque figure stared back down at him with black puss draining from its webbed eyes. 

As detective Murray's eyes shifted up, he knew he was looking at the face of God. A creature of such magnificience, he could feel it taking him to its beautiful realm. "Antichristus regnum accipe me i vident infernalia. Hic decor possidet oportet suscipere me," he softly spoke as he drifted away with the spirits.

Hell had been brought upon earth.

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