Marwolaeth

I wanted to stop it.

I did, I swear I did. But now everyone thinks I'm crazy, and they're going to die. He'll take them. He'll take everyone... but me. He wants me to suffer.

I've told the story a hundred times, begged for them to believe me, yet still they don't. So I'll tell you. You'll believe me... and if you don't, well this is mostly for my peace of mind.

I followed him on his walk through London, I followed him to a warehouse. An abandoned one, by the looks of it. I snuck in behind him when he entered, and hid in the shadows when he met with nine others, "Gwythyr," they greet, nodding towards their leader.

They donned black cloaks, but I think it was more to conceal themselves in shadows then hide their identity. I remember them conversing about what was to happen, and caught a glimpse of a pentagram made of stainless steel, welded together. An alter lay behind it, behind what I now guessed to be the point. One of the nine 'followers' - a boy, not older than 14 - lays down on the alter, more to the far side of it.

The 'leader' brings out a lighter, and lights six candles, placing one at the boys feet, and one at his head. With the other four, he places them in a row on the near side of the alter. I assumed it to be part of the ritual he was about to do. With the candles burning he walks to the side where the boy lay, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly parted. Gwythyr brings out a dagger, it's blade made of stainless steel, and it's handle some sort of black wood with a painted golden, upside down pentagram. This was more and more looking like a cult.

He raises the knife, and to my eye it seemed to go in slow motion from there. I cover my mouth to hide my gasp as he brings down the dagger into the boys chest. Tears sprang to my eyes as the knife leaves his body, I began to tremble. There was blood staining the knife, and it began to pour out of the wound, falling down onto the altar. It seemed to fall in my directions, going around the candles and falling to the ground. I didn't realize how much blood a boy could have.

Gwythyr smiles, sinister and chilling. His dark brown eyes glinted with a malice I could never describe. He motions to his followers, who then move to what must be their set positions. Four of them move to a point, none touching the point closest to the altar. The remaining four stand about a metre behind the others. Gwythyr walks to the spare point and grins at his followers, he points at the ground, and the four followers place down bowls infront of them, seeming to represent each of the four elements.

I now suspect that those four represented air, water, fire and earth and Gwythyr represented spirit, for what happened next implied exactly that. The five of them link arms, holding each others wrist and Gwythyr Hughes begins to chant,

"Daemonium mortis

Apparent coram me

Vocavi te

In commutationem nam anima mea!"

The pentagram begins to glow orange, heating up. It melts underneath the cults feet, but it seemed to only burn their shoes, not them. Then, I have to fight not to scream or back away in terror as the demon of death appears, Daemonium mortis. His black horns too black to glint in the light, his black eyes make me almost feel as if I'm looking into something empty and his red skin sends shivers down my spine.

"What do you wish for in exchange for your soul?" The demon asks, his voice utterly terrifying, unlike anything I had heard before. His eyes drift upon Gwythyrs followers before landing on the leader himself.

"Power. Power to cause destruction. Power to kill. Power to destroy those who've hurt me," Gwythyr says, "I shall give you my undivided loyalty." As soon as he says loyalty, the four followers standing away from the pentagram step forward, brandishing knives I hadn't noticed before. They stab the others in the back. This situation was getting worse, and worse. I knew I probably should have stepped in earlier, before they summoned a demon to kill, but I was frozen in terror, scared for my life, scared that there was a real life demon in front of me!

Gwythyr drops his hands as the now dead followers drop, and where they touched the melted metal, their skin sizzled and burnt. He then kneels, the metal seeming to dissipate where he touched, "Daemonium mortis, accept my offerings. Make me powerful."

The demon roars with laughter, "Do you realize what you have done?"

"Yes. I set you free to wreath havoc on this horrendous world. To kill whom you please. To reach your full power!"

The demon steps out of the pentagram and the followers stumble back, freaked out, "You're an idiot!" One of them yelled, obviously he had not known what killing would do.

Gwythyr looks at her, and snarls,"You will be killed next if you do not shut up!" He yells, then returns his attention to the demon in front of hik who now stood directly infront of him. Gwythyr didn't react.

"Give me power."

The demon chuckles, and nods, "I will take your soul. You will answer to me. And you will recieve your power." The demon smirks, and suddenly Gwythye staggers, and falls to the ground. The demon then looks at his followers, "As for all of you..." The demon of death chuckles, "You shall be minions of death." Once he finishes his sentence, the followers begin to change, shrinking into stone-skinned creatures, donned with wings and horns.

"Gwythyr Hughes, you will now be known as Marwolaeth, the true demon of death!"

Then, the demon turns. And looks directly at me, "Macsen Hughes - don't think I didn't notice you the entire time." The demon laughs, chilling me to the bone, "You shall be left alone. No matter how many times you tell this 'story' no one will believe you. You'll be thought to be crazy - as the world falls apart, you'll fall with it." Then, with only the memory of it's chilling laugh echoing in my mind, it vanishes.

I left my hiding spot and walk up to my brother - although I didn't know what he was now. He was shaking, and his body seemed to be flickering, changing into a black shadow-like substance. I needed to find out how to stop this. Immediately. So, I decided to wake him - I realize now how stupid of an idea that was.

"Gwyth?" I ask softly, using his nickname from when we were children, "Wake up," I say, shaking him lightly.

His eyes open.

I screamed, unable to help myself, and feel myself fall back, my behind landing on the concrete harshly. His eyes were a terrifying blood red. His whole body turned into a physical form of shadows, horns perched upon his head, claws on both hands.

He completely ignored me and left, leaving me scared for my life. I was left on the ground, gulping down tears and shaking with fear.

And now, a month later, I sit an Asylum, screaming for them to believe me, begging for them to believe me. I didn't make it up. I swear I didn't. Please believe me. Please.

He'll kill. He'll kill and kill and kill until someone stops him.

But he couldn't be stopped... no one could stop the demon of death.

Television: There's been another six deaths this morning - this unknown killer has no pattern that we know, and we are being led to believe that this serial killer is killing purely for fun. If you know who this killer may be, call the police immediately. Thank you, and goodnight...