I take the knife from the wheeled table and make a small incision on the woman's tiny breasts.

She cries a little as the metal swirms beneath her pink nipple.

This woman remembers me someone. I don't care who.

I take the knife away and look at her genitals.

I feel an inconceivable urge to fuck her, but my own member has been decepated. Merely remembering the day makes me furious.

I stab the woman's perversion and leave the knife there.

She gives out a shriek of pain as blood slowly starts to flow out of her.

I leave the wooden operation table and turn to the stone walls around me. Torches lit the windowless place as a damped air makes one feel confused and angry.

What should i do?

Thinking about myself, thinking about that day.

All i feel is a fit of rage, and the impulse of stabing that woman to death.

Still, death wouldn't be enough to satisfy me.

I take off my pants and look at the deformed remains.

A bloody, half-healed piece of meat, with a feather end sticked in there.

I take a stool and aproach the woman. Soon i'm above her, standing on top of the operating table.

I take the feather of and allow urine to gush out on her wounds.

She's grossed and terrified.

I love this.

As i look at this hateful woman, i remember the old countess, and a big smile spreads on my face.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Soon the flow of water stops and i put the feather back in place.

It hurts a little, but so what ?

I sit on top of her, my feet side-by-side with her face.

She's probably in pain as the whole weight of my body pressures her stomach down.

The knife in her crotch is certainly hurting even more now.

All i want to see is some pain.

Is that really so bad?

Is that really so despicable?

Someone knocks hardly at my door. 

"Mylord Telse! Our father desires to speak to yeh!"

I raise from the woman's torso and kick her in the face.

Some teeth fly away as i carefuly get out of the the operation table.

"Say i'm going soon, Edward!"

My little brother get's as farther away as he can, right after i said so.

Then, with my right hand enveloped in a blanket, i take a hot rod from the firepit.

"Now darling. Tell.... me.... where.... it.... IS!"

I shove the rod at the woman's genitals, enjoying her screams.

I haven't taken out the muzzle yet, of course.

This girl knows nothing.

I just need someone to feel some pain.

"TELL ME!"

Where is it?

WHAT IS IT?!

It would be so wonderful if she knew anything about that, wouldn't it?

It would be so desirable to hear answers.

Still she's just a dirty useless human like all others. 

Enlightment?

Superior wisdom?

Ability to lead us in a spiritual way?

Superior connection to god??

Bullshit.

She's just some nagging little bitch who thinks too high of herself.

I take out the rod and shove it in her heart, looking at her genitals all of the time.

Endless anger wells up inside of me, and then as the priestess screams, all i can feel is pain as well.

The need to hold my mutilated member is greater than i can get, and soon i can't but leave the rod at the woman's body while i run to the end of the room.

The old axe in my hand, i start to chop the bitch to pieces, each of them angrier, faster, heavier.

Why can't i get any peace?!

Why can't i get any satisfaction, any pleasure, any relief?

I chop her until nothing can be recognized anymore.

And so i feel something.

Tiredness, above all.

But also something.

It is done.

Something is done.

I know not what it is, but there is no priestess anymore, no urge.

The urge is gone, and so is my restrain.

With the tip of my fingers i get a small piece of her burnt vagina.

The smell is pleasurable as the meat is tender and medium-done.

I nibble at it, and soon feel the urge to urinate again.

Unsatisfaction takes my throat as i feel repulsed by the sign of the chambers around me.

Repulsive meat, repulsive world, repulsive existence of anything. Nothing is worth existing, so much is clear to anyone who looks at reality with anything but a dream-filled eye.

All should just end, and, still, the foolish demons desire for it to keep existing.

So shall I, look for darkest arts.