"...Unveil the hidden coffin
Lift the lid of terror
Feel the deadly cold
Freeze you from inside
Perceiving your intentions
To slay the phantom form
Raise the stake in malice
You cannot plunge it down..."
Pain was of constant pleasure to Abraxas. Either his own or that of his victims. It made no difference. No guilt, no remorse. He had been relieved of these human frailties long ago. How long... That was of little importance now, as he made his way through this new space. Awakened, even in this dark corner of his retreat. The smell of blood and fear were too intoxicating for him to remain idle.
Another cycle of grief and destruction was at hand. The ultimate goal... revenge.
...there is a fear factory operating in this division...
Small movements. Tiny increments, unmeasureable. That is how the universe moves. Vast distances taunt the inevitable. Then at last, when there is no denial, the crushing weight of purpose and little things cannot be escaped.
Abraxas waited patiently. Noting the fast, hurried movements of these pitiful creatures. A patrol of small fighters flitted by, barely stopping long enough to apply the comensurate scan of cargo holds. Noone would take notice of him. What was there to notice? Just another innocuous pilot, seemingly lost in the vastness of space. Apparently paralyzed by precious indecision.
They would not notice him until it was too late. Threats are never taken seriously until the wound has begun. This wound would be great, vicious, and inescapeable. Patience would allow for the plot. Time and small movements would bring the weight of a crashing universe to its inevitable end....
