Grim

There are no greater monsters than those that evolve from human beings. The deepest and darkest affliction of the human soul is not the ability to commit atrocities. Rather it is the ability to find justification for those atrocities in pursuit of profit or enjoyment instead of the simple need for survival.

The crowd cheered when his neck broke.

The cries of approval echoed like a disharmonize choir off the coal-smudged buildings that overlooked Sternberg's Penitent Square.

Some onlookers stared with grotesque fascination while others watched with the gleam of dutiful patriotic pride in their eye. All would remember this day, their nation, Freiland made safe with the death of a traitor.

The rope swung back and forth like a metronome to a slow tempo.

Standing on the penitent stage, two gallows-men dressed in full black long coats and full-head hoods hid their identity from the mob. "Serves 'im right," the smaller of the two gallows-men said to his fellow. "Hope the bastard enjoys Tarantir."

"I hope his soul never finds warmth." There was twisted, yet childlike glee in the hooded-giants voice. A month ago, no one knew the traitor's name, and even now many struggled to bring it to their tongue, but a dance is a dance.

The concerto of the crowd continued, fragmented and restless, awaiting the second act.

"Aye, we best be gettin' on with it."

With a nod, the giant went to the gallows' hitch and untied the traitor. The two gallows-men dragged the body by its heels down the stairs, hitting every step on its way. Grotesque spikes sprung from a latticework of bars, composing the frame of a wrought-iron carriage that awaited the traitor. Sliding the traitor's limbs on the spikes, the gallows-men impaled the body, posing it for the audience as a mockery of life.

"Let's show 'im the capital," the short gallows-man said before hopping on the back step of the carriage. Ready for the dance, the traitor's body now an effigy of its former self.

The driver of the carriage snapped the reign and the horses began their path along the cobblestoned square. Curses sung with ignorant hatred accompanied rotten fruits and vegetables thrown at the body as it paraded through the streets of Sternberg; farewell gifts and parting words for the traitor's soul on its way to the long dark, Tarantir. The procession departed Penitent Square, following a winding path through the city to the Coal Gate in Sternberg's southern wall where it exited the city.

The land outside the city held the dismal cheer of Sternberg. Vegetation had receded from the coal-kissed hillsides. Fog of industry further thickened the brume which naturally blanketed the stone-strewn hills surrounding the capital.

Shrill calls came from ravens perched on the black gates of the cemetery and greeted the traitor's approach.

"Woah!" The driver pulled back on the reins, stopping the horses. They had not passed through the gates nor had they reached the potters' field. To the side of the carriage was a trench lined with carcasses of all manner of things, fortifying the cemetery.

"Quickly! Quickly! Let's unload him." Fear and haste resided in the driver's words as he spat each one at the Gallows-men. "Come on. I don't want to be here when the berghasts come to eat on this corpse."

Jumping to the ground, the stunty man peeled back his cowl. "Shadow hounds eat the dead. Not the living."

"Mulder says Berghasts only show up because they smell the dead. But they'd rip ya throat out, just the same," said the simpler giant "Still, I guess yar right, though. They'd just make ya dead before they start to eat ya." The men erupted with laughter.

"Will, you idiots, shut up and hurry up?" The driver's voice had gone from fear to anger.

"Yeah, yeah." Both men grunted as they lifted the body off the spikes. They carried the limp form of the traitor to the edge of the pit and slid it down the side.

Between breaths, the cowl-less man said, "at least 'is body will help keep them from digging up the proper folk in the cemetery."

"Are you two done yet?"

"Yea-" the gallows-men froze in place. Beyond what the fog let them see came the hollow soulless bay of a hound.

"Berghasts!"

Not waiting to see what came their way, the gallows-men were hares being chased through the thicket. The two bound onto the iron carriage, almost missing its departure. Bucking to the side as it pivoted the carriage raced back to Sternberg. All memory of the traitor's body forgotten, left to the ravens and shadow hounds. But it was not to be raven or shadow hound that would claim the corpse.

Moving like shadows through the fog, draped in frayed black robes, their faces hidden by masks scrawled with the rune of Nis'met upon the forehead, slunk four figures. Gaiting unnaturally and inhumanly smooth the figures approached the edge of the trench. Down the steep incline, they floated to where the dead man lay. In absolute silence, they moved. Each grabbing a limb of the traitor and with the same silence they had descended, the shadowy figures lifted him out of the trench and disappeared into the night.