"Before Dawn"

Chapter 27: The Master's Wrath

"Where...is...the girl?" The Master asked the imp-man through Beaumont "Mac" Reynold's snarling lips. He's pacing from side-to-side, glowering at the pathetic sight before him.

The imp-man and Wesley are kneeling at The Master's feet in the glow of the hundreds of candles, their eyes glued to the factory's filthy floor. What's left of The Brood is behind them in the same position of reverence—and fear.

"Bishop Morningside and his companion," the imp-man offered. "Like my first encounter with them, they...they came to her rescue. We almost had her when—"

"I did not ask for a re-telling of your failure," The Master said. "I asked, where...did...the girl...go?"

"I don't know, Master. We—"

The Master's foot juts forward, driving a boot into the imp-man's nose. The imp-man hears his septum crack, and white-hot lighting shoots to his brain. He falls to the floor, clutching his nose with his two knobby hands. Blood masks his palms. Another boot catches him in the chest, and another, and another, and another. Then come the fists with the same force. The imp-man covers up, but every blow he takes hurts—and is a reminder that he is still alive. The beating goes on for what seems like hours. Finally, the pummeling stops. The Master returns to his position in front of his audience.

The imp-man returns to his kneeling position, all of the dignity beaten from him.

The Master re-addresses the imp-man with contempt. "Wesley Price was the bait. You were supposed to have assisted him in bringing Dawn Morningside here. You failed, little worm. I have given you respite from the most severe of punishments only...and reasonably...because had it not been for you, we would have not found Dawn Morningside in the first place," he said. He gives himself a once over and continues to address the imp-man. "Nor would I be standing here before you in this fine host. Make no mistake. My tolerance will not happen again."

Gasping for air, the imp-man said, "Yes, my Master."

The Master redirects his attention to Wesley and The Brood. "You all have failed miserably!" he shouts so loudly that the candles nearly extinguish. "You were chosen to do my bidding! You were chosen for a purpose! You were chosen to glorify me! So far, you are utterly pathetic!"

"Could you have done any better?" a ghoul's voice sounds from the darkness.

Wesley flinches.

The imp-man stares back at the horde of ghouls, searching for the pair of golden-irises no doubt glowing brightly in defiance. There they are, and there he is. A ghoul is eyeing The Master with blatant disrespect, challenging him, while the others keep their eyes cast downward.

The Master is speechless, curious, furious—and delighted—when he discovers the source of the interruption. "Ah, yes. I know you," he said, strolling toward the ghoul as the others separate, making a path for him. "I know all of you and your ways." He stops within mere inches of the loud-mouthed ghoul, who is looking up at him with no fear or intimidation. "You are truly a defiant one. As I said, you all were chosen for a purpose. You were chosen to defy me...as I knew you would."

The Master and the defiant ghoul lock eyes—crimson might versus golden foolishness. Within seconds, the ghoul's eyes waver, losing their intensity. The Master smiles when he sees that the ghoul truly understands what's about to happened to him. The ghoul opens his mouth to render an apology and offer respect. It's too late—and his attempts at reconciliation would not have helped him anyway.

The Master yanks the ghoul up by the neck with one hand, impervious to the return kicks and flailing arms aimed to inflict harm upon him. "Observe and learn!" the Master shouts to imp-man, Wesley, and The Brood. The Master squeezes and squeezes the ghoul's neck, crushing blood vessels, his fingers digging into his flesh. The ghoul can't breathe, and his life is nearly over. "Not yet," The Master said. He releases the ghoul, and gravity pulls his catch to the ground and onto his front. The Master rolls him over and rams the fingers of both hands into his midsection. He pushes his hands further into the ghoul's thrashing body. The Master goes to work crushing his chest cavity, breaking ribs, tearing out organs, disemboweling the ghoul there is no life remaining in him.

The Master steps away from the dead, mutilated ghoul, his forearms and hands slimy and with bloody with chunks of flesh and organ-matter. The factory is deathly quiet as The Master makes his way back to his position of command and authority, satisfied at the look of terror in the eyes of his audience

The imp-man has seen his master enraged and his exhibition of pure unadulterated violence. Like the times before, his body quakes in uncontrolled fear when his master stands before him and Wesley Price once more.

"Rise, leader of my brood," The Master commanded Wesley to the imp-man's relief.

Wesley Price did as he was told, said, "Yes, Master."

"It's a matter of time before they find us," The Master said, looking down on the leader of The Brood with one-less ghoul. "And when they do, will she surely come for you to save you?"

"Without a doubt," Wesley answered. "I saw it in her eyes. The Brood and yours-truly will be waiting for them."

"As will I," the imp-man said.

The Master ignores the imp-man, keeps his interest on Wesley. "She has a definite connection with you, does she not?" he said, stroking the point of his chin.

"With the old me, yes," ghoul-Wesley Price said with a twinkle in one of his golden irises. "She's going to love the new me once she sees how you've really changed me, my Master."

The Master—impressed—smiles ever-so-slightly, and nods in acceptance of Wesley Price's appreciation of what he'd done to him.

"And the new me is going to love watching you rip the skin from her body in front of her father...and then finishing him off, too," Wesley said.

The Master is flattered. His host flashes a smile so bright and brilliant that the candle-light dims, unable to resist the illuminance of Beaumont "Mac" Reynold's sparkling teeth.