He dealt the final blow, his victim lay on the floor, his lifeless body cold and dead. The clock struck twelve and he was ready to go. The knife in his hand, covered in sweet sweet blood. He took one last glance, his eyes as sharp as a razor, cold as ice, and deadly as can be. He was pleased with his work. He had fed his bloodlust and was proud. His pride was stronger than a lion's after killing it's prey. He was a wolf, craving for blood and murder. His victim, a holy priest, lay on the floor, his robes soaked with blood. The murderer laughed and threw his body in a tub of holy water. He laughed and left, but not before marking the unholy mark on his forehead, the mark of the beast. The priest was suffering although he was dead. His body burning and freezing. The holy water rejected him, freezing his body. The mark of the beast burned his blood, giving him eternal suffering. The priest's soul wasn't at peace neither. He was at the gates of death. Waiting for entry. He was in the middle of fire and water, thunder and ice. Both sides fighting, wanting his soul. The priest screams in denial, finally yelling out to Heaven, wanting to get it. The devil retorted and dragged him to hell. The old priest now lies at the pits of hell, yelling and screaming in protest. The devil just laughs and ignores him. The priest burns away, turning to ashes, now being called the soot of sin.