A truly unruly sight befell me, I saw, a man with a chef's cleave, mining equipment, and a malicious smile. He was bloodied from the life's he drew, his hand held a red glint, not of blood but a shiny glimpse of a nightmare. His back was ripped opened as if his ribs were pulled from his back. It was as if he was an angel of death, with his ribs being his wings. It were to seem as if he flew too close to the sun, because his skin was charred a hardened black.
