Komatose

Dark was the night, thick with fog and evil. A hunched man walked, sluggish and measured were his steps. His rustling cloak was the only sound in this place of eternal slumber. He was a shade in the night, not disturbing those that reside here in Black Blood Cemetery. A Black book at his side, he stopped in front of two particular plots. No flowers, no stone, just a red-tipped stick in the ground to signify their existence.

The hunched man lowered his hood to expose his tortured, weathered face. One eye was sharp and quick, years of watching the masses and their patterns of destruction. The other eye, decorated with a large reddened scar, was colored as bitter cream, dead to the world at peace. His mouth began to quiver as he opened the black book.

Deep, gutteral syllables and words escaped his cracked lips and the ground began to bleed.

One plot issued forth a powerful geyser of bone and flesh. From it rose a great being of pain and furious anger. Glistening eyes of amber-orange glowed from a pumpkin mask of ebon.

The next plot spewed great torrents of glowing insects, buzzing with the cries of imprisoned souls. Released was a being of frigid hate and savage deceit. Black and uncaring eyes with a twisted mouth of wicked laughter embossed on a white face lurked under a dark hood.

Komatose and Rukus. Now Kryptik.

From under the cloak of the hunched man came two pieces integral of these personalities. To Komatose, a weathered and rusted machete. To Rukus, a blunt aluminum bat with the words Thumper etched on the business end. Both weapons were as blood-stained as their owners.

They looked upon the ragged form of their resurrector and the book he clutched.

Nahturahndemahnto, the Book of the Dead. This is tellings of a long and bloody storyline. Passed on, hidden and entombed for a millenia, this book has endured all. Bound in human flesh and scribed in human blood, this was the book that to many was their demise. Now it has passed its legacy to the two being that mankind will learn to fear, or die trying. Kryptik.

So sayeth the Dark Scribe.