The Devil They Forgot

_____________________________

Work was inspired and based off of Hell's Coming With Me by Poor Man's Poison.

Lyrics from the original song are inside quotation marks.

_____________________________

Defeated, cast out, mistaken for a common type villain of old. "They all laughed as he turned around slowly,

they said 'you aren't welcome around here anymore. You just might as well go'."

Which was a demand, not a suggestion. "He wiped the blood from his face as he slowly came to his knees and said 'I'll be back when you least expect it, and Hell's coming with me'." Then he stood to his tired feet and limped away from that town, swearing to himself to uphold his promise to one day return and raise that pitiful, godforsaken town to the ground.

Years later, on the precipice of Autumn, a stranger, cloaked in dark greens and greys and clad in armor that mimicked a cloudy night sky, rode toward the place he loathed, his head concealed under a drooping hood.

"There was a drifter passing through that little valley" He rode down into it, scowling at every inch of land that marked how close he was to where he used to call home. Then he saw it, the hill that shadowed the town, "where all the poor souls go when they die." 'There won't be room for a new generation in that hill when I'm finished.' Dream thought as he rode on.

The town bustled with people going here and there, coming to restock the main stores, man gambling in the saloon, and the martial cleaning his rifle with a fine precision. A man leaned against the thick post of the saloon, smoking, and enjoying the evening air when he heard the faintest whisper coming from the hill that their town stood at the bottom of. "And when he listened real close, he could can hear it like a ghost, saying 'You're never gonna make it out alive.'" The was perplexed and wondered why he seemed to be the only one who heard the voice that was now seeping into his thoughts.

As he thought about where he had heard that voice before, a mix of voices from the realm of the physical, sounded. Women pointing and men laid their hands on the guns on their hips.

A figure ominously sat on his horse who was standing completely still like its master, only occasionally flicked its tail while waiting. The mysterious cloaked man stayed like this for quite a while, like a bad omen waiting to engrave itself to one's destiny. But, after he decided it was time, he slowly drew something from behind his back and curled his fingers around the shaft of a steady long-bow, loosely knocking the drawn arrow into place.

Dream held the arrow in place on it's notch with the hand that gripped the bow and flicked open a lighter with his free hand, summoning a flame from the small metal box. He held the dancing tongue of fire to the think piece of fabric he had coiled around his arrow and the wrapping burst into flames. He put away the lighter and, regaining his hold on the arrow with his now free hand, raised the bow, and drew the arrow back till the fletched feathers brushed his cheek. Then he released, and it sliced through the dry late summer air, like a bullet from the gun that rested in the holster that hung low from his belt.

The arrow struck its mark, smashing through a window and sticking into the ground, the flames spreading quickly having begun on a rug that lay on the floor. People started to shout and try to put out the rapidly fanning fire. Dream shot a couple more flaming arrows, all of them finding their place, playing their part in his symphony of revenge. He kicked his horse once and began riding slowly into the town.

Once on the edge of the town he halted his horse and with one word he whispered to it, the beast stood still and would not move unless his master authorized it to be so. "First there was fire, then there was smoke," He walked through the madness with a calm but contemptuous manifestation. He heard, saw, and soaked in the screams and confusion that now plagued this town like a virus with the promise of death. Dream was the sickness that had been purged from the 'body' but then came back in a different form and stronger with new purpose.

Some of the towns folk stared at the stranger with a terrorized expression. "They didn't know him by his face, or by the gun around his waist but he'd come back to burn that town to the ground." Dream had come back to destroy the people who had wronged him, threw him out with nothing and then went on with their lives. They had no idea who he was due the mask he now wore with the now, demonic seeming smiling face it bore.

By the time the sun was dipping down below the horizon three quarters of the town had either fled or perished and Dream stood at the head of his long desired chaos and inflicted pain. The remaining survivors knew they had no chance against the drifters' rage "Then they all fell to their knees and begged that drifter begged him 'please', as he raised his fist before he spoke," with his long battle axe in hand, staring at the blazing flames. "I am the righteous hand of God," At the end of that first statement he slammed his ax into the ground making a loud thumping sound. Doing this all in seconds before continuing. "And I am the devil that you forgot." He said while turning to them and ripping off his mask staring at the petrified residents. Then he smiled, "And I told you one day you will see, that I'll be back I guarantee and that hell's coming with me." He spat, his smile

fading, and without another word, and left without another word leaving the remaining members of Manberg to die in whatever way they saw fit for their worthless, pitiful hides.