26 September 1974

  There are some creatures born human, but grow up to be skinwalkers, nightstalkers, poltergeists and the sort. Perhaps there is some misplaced humanity, or at least some semblance of it, buried deep within the confines of their decaying hearts. It is for these creatures, I believe, one shouldn't pray for the joy and comfort of all, as doing so would be a great disservice to the rest. While hoping for the downfall of another being is generally frowned upon, exceptions have to be made for such vile beasts living amongst us in abhorrent brazenness. I find it to be the right thing to do.

  Death would be the most merciful fate to befall these miserable creatures, it would save many a good soul from suffering a great deal. Their very presence desecrates the earth which bears us, their sickeningly honeyed words poisons their unfortunate victims. They are the pestilence plaguing polite society and must be disposed of. Much will the human race gain by purging these pests.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  It is at this point that I must concede that my hatred of such vermin partly stems from a personal vendetta, but I cannot be faulted for that in good faith. So rare it is when I find such repulsive breeds, when I do so, I find no pity in my heart for them.

  May the Gods save those of us worthy of it.

  Uriel. A

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  Gnarled trees loomed in the distance, long-dead relics from a bygone era. The land was barren with no signs of life. Dried-up shrubbery stuck out like forgotten graves yearning tidbits of attention. Arrin looked up at the sickly-purple sky with an air of devotion, "So, this is the old king's realm," he muttered to himself. He gazed at the deadwood forest, it was worse than the stories said. It brought forth despair and disgust to all who laid their eyes upon it, words cannot describe its terrible state. Arrin walked towards the forest with a determined expression.