I’ve lost my arm in the battle; digital swipes leaving limbs untied. Versus the Beast, you procure the plasticized. And the church is burned down - a million kids’ static bones charred on the ground. It skinned the young ones down. 

And he said, ”Baby, your lips are red like an apple, just give me one nibble.”

“Now step back, Beast; I am Pixl.”

Little boys turned to plastic toys. And oh how their parents cried from the Sun Beast’s prepubescent genocide. It skinned the young ones down. 

And he said, “I was born, and the earth did tremble.” 

“Bitch please; I am Pixl.”

It’s all done - this’ll end the collection of tiny artifacts.

Grafted trophies suffocated by the fiery fiend. I took a stab in the dark from the blasphemy. Lava like blood was gushing, while I serried slashes liberally. I skinned the bad one down.

And he said, “With everyone you love dead, I’m the only thing left!”

Then I cut, cut, cut the Beast to death.

Mom and Dad, I hope this letter reaches you in the after dark. To place your thoughts on the canvas of remarks: 

“Dear Mom and Dad, I did this for you. I slaughtered the Beast for you. Decorated my sword in membrane for you; I did everything for you. This is the last you’ll hear from me.”

Then I cut, cut, cut the Beast to death.