The man once known as Polish Bob was dying. His skin was pale, clammy and smelt of rot. His tar-stained, filthy clothes hung off a shockingly emaciated frame. For weeks he had not slept or eaten, drinking only from grimy puddles and sleeping under damp wharves. His breathing was ragged and coughing fits often brought up wads of blood. He noticed none of it though. He had been called to a task, and that task consumed him. He was to prepare the way and day and night all he thought about was bringing His Master home. Now everything was ready. Everything was in place. A Church had been found. The flock called to prayer. All that remained was for His Master to gather them in and lay them low.
And His master was close now. The Herald was guiding Him home, guiding Him to His new flock, leading Him out of the ocean and on to His Headland.
Behind him, in a dirty burlap sack, a small, frightened girl cried and whimpered, terrified beyond reason.
The song led Him, the wailing chaos of the Herald had guided Him through the oceans of many worlds towards His new disciples and into His new kingdom. The world had changed since last they had worshipped Him. It seemed these clever monkeys had grown and learnt many things, but still they were naught but monkeys to Him. He had roared past their steel vessels swimming beneath the waves and circled their boats as the scooped up entire shoals of fish. Oh yes, they had changed these monkeys but they would still bow before Him. They would bow and they would proffer their heads for his glory and He, Ya Yiwama, Taker of Lives, Collector of Skulls, Stealer of Heads, He would reach down to His faithful and He would pluck from them their offerings and their offerings would be as bountiful and endless as the oceans and He would bathe in a millennium of adulation and terror and bloodshed!
Deep in the foggy darkness of the night, away from all eyes and ears, away from all things living and dead, the waters broke and belched the abomination known as Ya Yiwama onto the land. He stood, water dripping from his vile form, whilst at his feet the man once known as Polish Bob bowed low and with joyous tears in his eyes opened the sack to welcome his new Lord and Master with a gift. As the kidnapped girl inside looked up into the glowing eyes and dripping maw of Steal Head, she barely had time to scream before she fainted dead away and teeth the size of steak knives descended upon her helpless neck…
To be continued…