The hunter, a silent, visibly scarred man stood
staring at his prey, the prey being a sixty nine year old male. He could taste
the fear emanating from the old man’s eyes. He waited till it was completely
consumed in its own fear. The time had come. He drew his sword back. The prey begged,
“Please don’t kill me. You are a God and Gods don’t kill.”
“I am God, just not the regular type,” replied the
hunter. And down came his sword. “May your soul rest in hell,” and the hunter
left leaving the prey to rot.
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