-- world. His mission is holy, his thoughts focused. Yet . . . he leaves a trail of carnage behind him. Death and sorrow follow him like --

-- close friends. Is he truly an angel? Or is he as others call him? Is he a D E M O N ?

". . . . This land . . . It reeks of disgusting filth . . ."

@Toadbane He paused, turning his hidden face to the merchant. His bat was resting on his shoulder, blood dripping from the worn wood. --

@Toadbane -- ". . . . What do you have?"

@Toadbane The Batter held out his bat, the wood cracked and stained a deep red. "A new bat."

@Toadbane The faceless man(?) could only grunt. Invisible strings pulled, once again making him dance to the tune of the Controller. --

@Toadbane -- His voice, hoarse from disuse, once again cut through the air. "Your bats then."

[Twitter thought it would be funny to lock this account. Hrmph.]

The switch is ON.

Another night. Another dream. Another N I G H T M A R E.

-- Zone purified, the clean white overtaking the chaotic colors as the spectre squirmed and vanished.

-- Another Zone slowly becoming empty and clean. SWING. Another Zone wiped clean of filth. SWING. Another land of emptiness and death.

The crack of his bat smashing a spectre into dust. He sneezes, pausing in the midst of another swing. ". . . . . . ." Batter Batter SWING.

Quiet. Always quiet. Silence hangs like a shroud, white blinds the eyes like the sun. Yet there is still more to be done.