Inside the church the monks, all of them in jet-black robes, kneeled before an altar made of stretched flesh… human flesh.  One of them was painting ruins upon the altar with fresh blood.  Beside him was another monk holding the body of a young girl, her throat slit open and used as an inkwell.  Ever so often the painting monk would taste the blood on his fingers and smile.  The other monks were chanting in dark litanies, their guttural prayers sounding like the moans of damned men.  Once the monk was done painting he turned to the others, his face flushed with zealotry and red with smeared blood.

"Mephisto, hear our prayers!" he screamed like mad.  The other monks began to chant the name of Mephisto over and over again.

"Mephisto, Lord of Hatred, we are yours!"

Suddenly the doors to the church flew open of their own accord, an inky fog flowing in past them.  The dark man walked into the church, still clutching his skeletal scythe.  He had drawn up a cowl to conceal his features; his presence was dark and foreboding.  From inside the shadows of the hood he was still smiling, as if he were enjoying some amusing secret.

"Have you come from Mephisto?" the head monk asked.

"I have." The man answered with a gravelly voice.

"And what does he bring us, his loyal priests?"

The man pointed at the monk near the altar, his finger was tipped with a sharp, claw-like nail.

"He brings you… death."

An eldritch blast of light erupted from the man's outstretched finger and struck the monk in the chest, sending him flying backwards, knocking over the blasphemous altar.  The man whipped his head back, revealing his features to the others.  His smile was huge now, displaying even more of his feral teeth.

"It's Malek!" they hissed in unison.

"Yes… it's me." He brought the blade of his scythe to his hand and brought forth blood from his palm, "I'm here to finish this."

"Kill him!"

They rushed at him as Malek dashed the blood the ground.  The monks began to back away from the blood, their faces horror-stricken.  Slowly the blood coalesced into a puddle of impossible size, and it began to assume a human shape.  One brave monk attempted to strike the golem, but it wrapped a tendril of itself around his hand.  The monk began to scream wildly as the golem drew his blood out of his body, replenishing itself.  After only moments the monk fell to the ground, a withered husk.  The other monks pulled out their sacrificial blades and went at the golem, striking it to kill.  Malek grabbed one of the monks away from the golem and held him aloft, his feet dangling nearly a foot from the ground. 

"Ah, Sorush… glad to see your still as pathetic as ever…" he said, cold amusement glinting in his yellow-green eyes.

He dropped Sorush and shoved his scythe into the monk's chest, slicing upwards and separating the monk from the stomach to the neck.  He put his foot against the dead man's chest and pushed it off of his scythe.  The monk who had been holding the dead woman shouted above the din of combat.

"Forget the golem, kill Malek!"

They drew away from the golem, but Malek took the time to conjure up a poison fog that issued from the folds of his cloak.  Most of the monks lost themselves in the green fog, choking and gagging on it.  Malek passed by them, walking towards the monk who had issued the command to kill him.

"Tahgan… you're a lamb, you've always been a lamb… even when we were children, you were always the weaker."

"You bastard!  How dare you turn on us, you took the Oath, remember?"

"I recant."

"You cannot recant, you're as damned as any of us, more so!  It was you who massacred the scores of people at Rauroch, you who drank the blood of Bishop Zhantil." 

"Yes, I did these things… I never said that I didn't… only that I was wrong."

Malek raised a finger and pointed it at Tahgan.

"You can't!  You won't!"

"I can, I will."

Another great starburst flashed from Malek's finger and Tahgan went sailing backwards in a spray of his own blood.  Most of the other monks had already died, but Malek still heard a raspy breathing.  He walked past the ruined altar of flesh and towards the corpse of the one that had been praising Mephisto.  He looked down at the man's face, and then at his chest.  There was a hole where the poison star had entered into him, and Malek could plainly make out the man's heart and lungs.  His heart was not beating, but he continued to draw in labored breath.  Malek hunkered down beside him.

"Kavak, you still with me?" he said mockingly.

"You…" Kavak coughed, "you came back."

"Yes, yes I did."

"You… will never… win, you know that."

"Oh, I'm not so sure of that."

"Still… arrogant… aren't you?"

"And you're still dead… how long has it been?"

"Three… years, you've… gotten older… never wiser."

"Older, perhaps… wiser, most definitely."

"You… cannot recant… Mephisto's curse is on you."

"Mephisto's curse is on me, but unlike you, it has not become me."

Kavak spit in his face, it was mixed with blood and black foulness.  It ran down Malek's face like a black tear.

"I'm sorry, Kavak, you have to die.  Nothing personal, just duty."