It was the one place where the words of a child would be respected as that of an adult: where age didn’t matter, and your decisions were your own.
Nothing more than an open space in the middle of the market square, it had always had a name too grand for its appearance. But it was where battles were fought, debts were paid. and grievances settled - with the price of blood.
Which made it the one place… the only place… where he could get his revenge.
Now as he stood amongst the crowd, watching the final match before his own, plotting and visualizing the many ways he was going to butcher the bastard… a strange calm settled over his mind.
He took a step forward, making his way through the throng of people surrounding the ring...
His eyes intently focused on the goal before him, he pushed aside those who stood in his path, and squeezed between others unaware of his wrath.
Clearing a space around himself with elbows and shoves… Until the space started to clear itself;
Eyes began to widen, and those who could see him, muffled their screams in their hands...
I watched him.
I saw the crazed look in his eyes.
As he pulled them one by one, squirming, off his head.
Slime oozed from their fat, tubular bodies... his hands were covered in it.
But recognition never once registered in his eyes.
And when he pulled the last one off, I stood transfixed.
Watching as they came for him, surrounded him, engulfed him, and devoured him.
The wurm is said to be the weakest creature of the black. For it can only consume those who are already consumed themselves, and kill those who are already dead inside