NightShine

"The Other World"

In sudden darkness the light fragmented and scraped away the vision of a new born dawn. The unseen corrosive gates bridging two worlds shifted there massive stance. Locking inward there fire stained breath in ancient strides. There soldier exterior combating the hallowed souls that defended there opaque purposes. Colors shifted and swayed eternal within the netting of there silent overture. A piece performed by flesh and soul within the confines of a human body. Behind the gates night had risen in all her glory. Eternal. Unending. A world of shifting blackness and a realm where the dead were tormented. Skewed and torn apart to be reassembled over and over. The dark ones laughed and shuffled about. Each with its own throne of ethereal judgement. Placing dictations on cooled tongues so that fire may harness the speech of there swollen throats. Confessing sins that were unspoken and transferring them into the cavities of this black hidden kingdom.
Reality transposed in a climatic arena of unseen entities. There sighs beckoning in a chorus of unison dark tones. Crying outward to the Ravens that plucked the flesh of those who hung amidst the trees. There blood lust unsatiable. Cowardly traversing one corpse to another. the dead of the forgotten. Who's compulsions grew dark and pale where weakness infested them from within. Each hollowed body was accompanied with a sign:
ALEX JAMES THORTON: 48, FAMILY MAN WITH WIFE AND KIDS, GIRLFRIEND ON THE SIDE. HAUGHTY, PROUD, JUDGEMENTAL, ARROGANT.
Each soul tagged with a level of specific importance. Black tags indicated the worse of the worse. The hopeless. There trevailing likeness to the darkness around them suffocating the light that crept in beneathe there pearlescent dark sheen. Over in the corner beyond a reddish mist there was yet another doorway for the dark ones. In here "The Brood" gathered together in oneness to discuss the situation. They were the head demons. The mastering authority of hells kingdom. Overseers of agendas and procedures. Mapped out to a finite nuance of sheer perfection. They observed and planned and plotted the grueling tasks of brutality inflicted on the lost and damned eternal. A position where they could cause fevers and sickness to the dreaming. Calamity and upset stuffed there plates full with the intrusion of there purpose upon the weak and empty. Demons in tailored suits and ties gathered together at each corner. There office an archaic fabrication of earths reality.A mimicking model of each dimension. Each measurement accounted for its twin resemblance in the world of flesh tinged mortals. A silver gleamed chalice at each chair glimmered with the blood of there captors. Charts and divends of flesh hung on poster boards and displayed an unending climb in hostility and vengeance. There profit was unbound. There wealth unimaginable. Tasking the solemn steps of suffering upon a world of chaos and upset. Regret sat at his place of honor. Sadness and sorrow had there own place at the table. Discust possessed a medal of honor. Dining on the flesh where pierced it hung proudly upon a root of arrogance. Dripping the trail of yielding calmness that painted him with a Crimson signature.. Over to the left the king sat silently at the end of the table. The master of "The Brood". His name was lonliness. A black scar of soot and dust caressed his immense frame. Blood and ashes became the shine of his face. His eyes scanned in a twinkling distortion of grey and black envy. Scraping the birch wood table carved with the names of souls that had departed. His fibrous nails irregular with an offset yellowish hue. On the main board amidst them in immense size was a chiseled diagram of the necklace. Its exterior and interior realms pulsing outward with blood like reigns. Each link.. each clasp.. calculated in precise measurements. Calibrated to the pierced perfection of its dark and untold purpose. It shined as like a diamond. Its alloys tempered and molded fiercely. Its blackened form uttering the whittled shaping of its perfect dimensions. Enclosed within its guarded cases the supremacy commanding the darkness to be silent. Encapturing it within its hollowed shell of waiting. The names of its former wearers hung beside it on skin like tapestries. The inking of blood droplets forming the status of fine print names left lingering. Each name presented its purpose. Its legality in the realms of the dark. Displaying the cost of penance to purge its shallow wanting. The current possessor of its majesty was unknown. Centuries had damned the conclusion of its final resting place. Each wearer bound by its bloodlust factions. Deciphering the brutish placing of its unbridled power. The meeting of dark ones inbued this current purpose. Who was the wearer? The master of the craft of its untold power? Why was his name banished from the charts? A dust tinged speck where it should have been written in his own blood. It shined empty upon a blackened light by a chill starved moon.
The fires danced with a heightened quickening.
A spiraling palace of hell and brightness filling the chambers open corridors.
A questioning echoed in a continuous constant. Deafening the ears of the bloodless half dead but still awakened.

Who was the wearer of the necklace???

Who possessed its power???

Who??????