Mutilator from the Grave (10 page)

He crafted the mask with his own two hands, forged the face of death based on the greatest image of man's mortality itself, the reaper. Under the steel mask, he had created a fake rotting skull to give the appearance that Victor's face was rotting to the bare skull.

The suit, black as death, was used to hide the padded layers to shield him from the bullets, knives or whatever resistance the condemned marked for execution would do to preserve their worthless lives.

The pads were filled with dust to present the illusion of dried, dead flesh from the rotting corpse of the reanimated Victor.

His deception was perfect, they believed it was Victor back from the dead, a zombie on the war path, and that struck such terror a man of mere flesh and blood could never do. The fantastical defied their minds, making them susceptible to his torturous methods, it was a living nightmare that no mortal could foresee nor want to face.

His performance was a success, it aided him well in accomplishing his salvation. The man once named Egor felt his entire being lifted from its eternal unrest. Now there was only one single matter at hand, the last task that would reunite him with Indria. He missed her so much with every ounce of his heart, though broken it still beat in her name. He took the machete to his neck, slit it wide open, let his blood pour out, turning the white snow a thick red.

As he lay bleeding in the freezing winds, he smiled warmly at the sky above, Egor's infernal suffering had reached its end. In short time, he would be with his true love again. Their reunion was long overdue.