The chicken VOLUME. 1

This Story contains massive amounts of blood, gore and violence. So all those that have a queasy stomach should not read on. 

For all those who enjoy the friendly splatter of internal organs in the morning are asked to read on and enjoy the madness
 that takes place in the depth of my skull.

                                                                ENJOY



                                                                Chapter One 
The Chicken By: Michael (Verminlord) K. 

In the year 1284 in a small town of only about 500 or 600 people there was a violent string of
murders. The crimes went unsolved for many years. The only witnesses of these brutish crimes 
were usually the victims, cut into pieces and sacrificed in some bazaar ritual of carnal bloodlust.
 The crime scene was always clean, except of course for the blood and limp, dismembered body 
parts that lay all over the place. But soon all the terror was about to end. The night was 
like no other.
 Most people stayed in there homes, even though that's always were the bodies were slaughtered.
 The sky was dark and the air was damp and cold. The light in the town bar blew out as it closed
for the night. This left Frank Glades and other town drunks without a place to wash away there 
self pity’s and sorrows. Frank left for his house. Stumbling down the road, and unable to see
straight, Frank thought nothing of the recent murders. Then he heard a rustling from down the 
back alley. Without thinking Frank staggered down the alley. Trash was built up on both
sides and rats could be seen savaging for food in the trash heaps. Frank strained to see what 
was ahead of him. Down the alley he could see a shadowy figure. When his double vision
cleared up he noticed that it was a man. Draped around him was a blood soaked priests gown. Frank
ducked behind one of the garbage heaps and looked on.
"Oh, my lord.", Frank
whispered to himself in an inaudible voice. "That's... that's father John Day." Frank watched as 
John Day leaped over a fence and disappeared into the shadows of the night. Frank thought of running 
but his curiosity got to him, (or possibly just the drinks,). Frank tipped the door and peered inside.
 The room was covered in deep red blood. It flooded the walls and seeped into the cracks on the 
wooden floor. Frank stood petrified at the site of the blood, slowly running down the wall, and resting 
in the grain of the wood. Frank hunched over and tried to hold the putrid vomit in, but to no 
avail. The mixture of alcohol and the horrific site of blood was too much. The vomit spilt out 
and splashed as it hit the floor. Frank turned to run, but something caught his eye. In the middle 
of the room was an ordinary table, adorned in sacrificial cloaks and garments. On the table was 
a large lump of cloth stained in blood. Again Frank succumb to his curiosity and decided to 
investigate further. Frank looked closer at the cloth. He reached down and slowly took a firm grasp 
on a loose corner of the cloth. Frank began to lift up when he felt something cold and wet hit the 
top of his head. To stunned to do anything else, Frank looked up, and there he saw the upper torso 
of what was left of a man, pegged to the wall by a sword. Its chest had been cleaved open and most 
of the internal organs were let lay down out of the open wound. The intestines were in his hands 
still leaking blood and excrements on the floor below. As Frank’s sight moved up he noticed that 
the jugular of the person had been split open and now hangs down, still dripping blood. His head, 
bashed into a red clod. The eye hanging out of its socket, and the face. If it weren't so beaten and
 battered, would almost appear to have a distinguishing look of shear agony masked over it. Frank 
stared, petrified, yet unable to look away. A dull thud turned his attention away. Near the wall a

human heart lay motionless on the floor, a cleaver through the middle, which was once used to hold the 
heart firmly in place on the wall. Frank, shrouded in fear, turned to run but forgot that he still 
had the cloth in hand. 
 As he turned away, the cloth slid down, and a powerful smell of freshly slaughtered pig could be 
smelt. The lower torso lay there, arranged in a gruesome display of carnage and evil. The organs slid 
out and slumped over the side of the table, hitting the floor with a wet splatter. Frank's grip 
grew tight with fear, his knuckles became white and blood seeped through the cracks between 
his fingers. Frank dropped the cloth and slowly stepped away. Once outside Frank once again through
up. Then headed for the nearest police station. 
 That night Frank didn't get any sleep. Carnal pictures flashed through his mind of the gruesome 
pictures, and the look on the face of the killer. No-one believed that there beloved priest was the 
killer, they all dismissed him as a mere hallucination in the eyes of a drunk. The next day they let 
Frank out of the drunk tank. He tried to spread the news about the minister but with
no luck. No one would believe him. So Frank decided to go straight to the source, the church. 
 It was a Sunday so the church was pretty much packed with people praying and such.
Frank opened the door and walked in. As Frank looked upon the minister’s face he could see the 
terrifying images flash through his mind. The blood, the gore, all were going to haunt him until
the evildoer is brought to his knees. Frank tried to hold his anger back as the John preached 
about sins and god. 
"HOW DARE YOU PRAISE MY GOD YOU MURDERER!!", Frank yelled while pointing a frightened finger 
at John. Yet John merely laughed it off. But then in a storm of footsteps and swords, the door
burst open and soldiers stormed the church. 
"John Day, You are now under arrest for the crimes  of Several Murders.", The Captain of the guard
said in a calm voice, "Please come with me so we can quietly execute you." The 4 other soldiers 
stepped toward him and drew their swords. The frightened citizens began storming out of the door,
trying to fit far too many people in a small opening.
 John reached down and quickly pulled an auto crossbow from a cabinet in the pedestal and lit the 
wadded end on a near-by torch. Frank tried to run but was too late. John already had the
flaming quarrels released. The small dart like arrow scored a direct hit on the back of Frank’s head. 
The small-wadded end burst open spraying hot oil all over the back of Franks scalp.  The hot oil burst 
into flames. The searing heat blistered Franks scalp, and burned his hair. Every one watched in terror
as the blisters grew then popped shooting hot puss and blood on the nearby men and women. John on the 
other hand took advantage of the situation, and managed to take the sword from one of the distracted 
guards. This turned their attention to John. The men clashed and John fought surprisingly well for a 
man of god. Thou shall not kill went right out the window as John sliced the stomach out of the first 
guard, and cleaved open the skull of the second, spilling chunks of his brains all over the floor. 
The other two surrounded him and started attacking from both sides. The next guard manages to get 
in a lucky hit, slicing Johns arm open. The wound was large and began spewing blood in the air at 
every beat of his heart. But John didn't so much as cradle his arm but instead took the
opportunity to jam his sword into the gloating soldiers eye. But it would prove a mistake. 
The last guard struck at John, slicing at his open back. John tried to pull his sword out but the
guard, even in death held it firm, his hands tightly wrapped around the hilt. The last guard was 
ready to strike John down in a final blow. Then to his surprise, John swung around. The dead body 
still clinging to the end. The guard’s sword sliced into red steel as the body flew toward him. The 
final guard screamed in pain as the metal-cloaked guard smashed into him, turning his face into a 
stained red mass of broken bone and spilt blood.