Chapter I, Pt II Remastered

She glanc'd at the now torn doorway. The ancient doors were thrown open, wither'd hinges grasping and bent for dear life. The very doorway look'd on the verge of collapse and exhaustion, though mircaulously, it stands. Not one man, but two, with dirt cling'd armour galour were there, one of older age and a broad stature with a battleworn face, and unshaven whiskers spell'd gruffness on his features. The other, a much younger man, almost a boy, had not even grown his facial hairs, his face was smooth and had features preceding manhood. He had the look of a farmer, or planter, though his body seem'd somewhat muscular, his face and whole demeanor gave way to his inexperience.

"It's her!" The first man shout'd, pointing a drawn broadsword. He was obviously in lead of the two. The other was bumbling about, trying to load the crossbow in his jitter'd hands.

"A crossbow?", the words materializing in her head.

Were they thinking of killing her? She began to back away slowly, fearfully placing step by step on the cold floor. Her back suddenly touch'd the back of something hard and cold. The pew. She slowly sank down, trembling as she watch'd the advancing men. A strong sense of danger ting'd her insides and made its way through her body, coursing through her veins in a sort of paralysis. This feeling sent her head swimming as it crept on, her throat closing in a tight curl'd ball. Try as she might, her lips would not move to form. Only small, short gasps escap'd her petite lips.

The two men slowly drew near, the leader with his sword rais'd and stepping with a high caution, and the other advancing clumsily behind, crossbow aim'd at her general direction; he was still shaking. They were proceding as if she were some dangerous animal that would, at any given moment, pounce and make mangl'd toys of their bodies and paw at their dangling, limp bodies with a large mawing ferocity.

The man with the crossbow stopp'd. He was well in firing range.

"No! Stop! Don't!", she desperately plead'd soundlessly in thought.

The crossbowman's eyes suddenly widen'd in shock, or some identical emotion. It was quite clear that suddenly a horror was spreading throughout his body, rendering him helpless. He slowly began to lower the wooden weapon. The leader shout'd an order back at him, without leaving his focus on her.

"It's a trick, stay focused, damn you!" The man bark'd.

"R-right! Yes-s sir!"

The crossbowman rais'd his weapon again, snapping back into what little focus he had. The leader began slowly advancing again, heavy armour'd footsteps hitting the ground with a heavy metallic clank, sword at the ready.

*Clank* *Clank* *Clank*

The footsteps came closer. From a hole in the ceiling, beams of sunlight shown through, reflecting off the nak'd blade in blinding streaks of white rays that could pierce the flesh of eyes. He held his sword like an Angel of Death, readying his tool to collect on her soul, to deliver her into the nether realms where only the dead walk'd. The blade would come down, in a slice perhaps, or a piercing action, cutting her life into tattering fragments that would spew her internals like a sacred rain.

"This is the end..." She softly murmur'd.