“We’ve been forsaken…”

 "Burn, let it burn!" Bohemoth's last breaths flew in pillars of black smoke. Rain fell. The sky's expansive freedom paused, and the sombre ceiling felt like a prison, trapping the victims. The assailants, figments of the past, records since long forgotten with mentions in the survivor's memories, came upon the city like hungry beasts. There was no satisfying their lust, for in its rights, the more they attacked, the hungrier they felt. The first hit, that first buzz, the first high, nothing beats one's first, nothing, except fighting for another hit, another high, and another buzz. Wide-eyed weary smiles and confused expressions, the street's canals cried blood. Demons left and right, some cut down before their houses, others beheaded, and some burnt to a crisp. The skin shed, rain dropped, nothing sufficed, washing this sin, this taint, it would be impossible. 

 "Please," those alive prayed, "-someone come to help us, Devil, PLEASE!" demons knelt with hands pressed.