What was left of Seti could no longer be called human, yet it had human thoughts and feelings. The pain was so intense that he could barely think, barely remember, and not even hope to fight back. The thing had taken him over completely-no, not completely. That would be merciful. There was just enough of him left to suffer and to regret.
This thing had not turned out the way he had hoped. No life of luxury and pleasure for him now-just eternal suffering and damnation. For the first time in his life he could understand the meaning of hell. He was probably dead. His body was gone. That much was obvious. All that remained was his head and face and brain perched atop this demon’s neck like a demonic version of a Siamese twin. He felt nothing below the neck and only the agony of burning above it. Yet, by some perverse miracle, his flesh did not burn. It only felt as if it were constantly on fire. He was probably immortal now, he suspected. Be careful what you wish for….
Even his screams of agony were dwarfed by the sounds of the demon’s internal furnace, which never seemed to run out of hellish fuel. He could feel his screams vibrating in his throat, but couldn’t hear them. It was as if he shrieked into a vacuum.
The demon itself no longer paid any attention to him. He could experience its thoughts, such as they were. Mostly the thing emanated raw hatred and raw evil beyond anything that Seti could ever have imagined. He was experienced in the art of evil and violence. But his feeble hatred was nothing compared to the all-consuming evil of this mind, where it was built into the very fabric of its existence. Seti no longer tried to communicate with the beast. His suffering was all that it required of him now.
He had seen the destruction of the SWAT team in the woods, but his suddenly being engulfed in the flames and lava of the monster made the memory very sketchy. He couldn’t really see, but could only experience what occurred around him, all through a very thick layer of pain. He’d seen the Police Barracks go up in flames, and that had almost pleased him, if it were possible to be pleased in this condition. And he’d seen the Indian, the one the demon hated, as he’d escaped into the woods. He hadn’t bothered to tell his tormenter about that. It was his one small victory-and his one miniscule hope.