The theater is cacophonous with the shrieks of the dead. You hold your ears tight, but it does little to block out the screaming. The tortoise’s head shrinking back as it watched this broken man collapse in on himself, and we, the people, the ones this bastard had struck down and burned and shot, we swirled around that pretty little skull of his and we clawed at the walls and we wailed and we said do you remember us, you demon, do you remember spilling our blood at your taloned feet and now here you are DOING IT AGAIN, and he groaned as he clutched at his head, his throbbing eye, and begged
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