He limped back into his house, clutching his leg and whimpering at the pain. Ainsely remembered disturbing a wasps nest as a child and being stung by several of the wrathful insects and his leg now felt exactly as his arm had then. Worse even.

In the bathroom he removed his pants and stepped into the tub intent on washing off. As he looked down at his legs, Ainsley saw the marks shining like a new tattoo. Bending to get a closer look he was shocked to realise two pentagram’s had been burnt into his shins. One on each leg.

He was shaking again now but this time it was with anger. The marks and their shape made a mockery of his religion, his God…his very world. And as he looked at them something in his mind seemed to snap into place and for the first time in his life Ainsley felt bloodlust. It felt good. It felt righteous. And he knew exactly what he had to do.

In the bottom of an antique blanket chest at the foot of his bed Ainsley retrieved the old rifle and box of ammunition. His father, who had been a soldier during The Great War had left it to him and Ainsley had always thought it was for some sentimental reason that he’d kept the gun. But now he knew it was God that had stopped him. For the sole reason of killing His enemy, Xothmog.

"Thy will be done." he said. Then giggling madly he sat by the bay window and waited for the cover of darkness.

Just after night fell, while he was climbing around the fence that stretched to the very edge of the cliffs at Doomby Point, Ainsley doubted himself for a moment.

Surely God would’ve picked a younger man for a job this energetic if this was His will he thought. Then reprimanded himself instantly.

Who am I to doubt God’s will he thought, ashamed. Ainsley looked towards the house that stood sentinel over the sea and was pleased to note that the only lights glowing were towards the street at the front. The loaded gun was swung over one shoulder by a worn leather strap and the weight of it was comforting. Ainsley held it out in front of him awkwardly and started for the house, creeping in the shadow that the fence cast while keeping an eye out for the dog.

He was about ten feet from the house when a low growl behind him sent a chill down his spine as he realised that while he’d been hunting Xothmog, the dog had been stalking him. Terror hit Ainsley as hard as a dumper at the beach and he spun around and started shooting.

The first shot threw him against the fence and the rifle dug into his ribs where he’d been resting it but he was already pulling the trigger again before he could stop himself. Day’s later he couldn’t remember the noise of the second shot, only the sound of his ribs breaking.

It suddenly became very hard to breathe. Each inhale felt like sandpaper was being rubbed down the inside of his chest and every exhale he had to try and stop himself from vomiting. Ainsley wasn’t sure how much time passed before realising the dog loomed over him and forgot the pain, faced with his own mortality.

He looked up slowly and Xothmog was grinning a very undoggy like grin. Ainsley’s blood froze as he saw long canine teeth inches from his face and the pounding of running steps that rose out of the darkness seemed to match his racing heart beat for beat.

"Get behind me Satan!" he screamed as the dogs snout came closer. "You are an offence to me, for you are not mindful of the things of God, but the things of man."

Ainsley tried to raise his arms in a semblance of the cross but the dog swiped them away with one huge paw and the pain made him cry out in agony.

"I warned you God boy." The dogs mouth moved unnaturally as they formed the words and it now appeared to be sneering at him as it spoke.

"God has no place on earth. Here I am free to do as I want and you have no power over me. What were you thinking? If the Son of God had to put up with me tempting him on Mount Sinai how did you get the idea into your head that you could get rid of me.

I’d kill you right now just for the pleasure of it, however, I think that watching you go insane at your inability to rid your town of my presence will be far more satisfying. Take him home." Xothmog said to Samuel and the two huge islanders standing behind him, bodyguards, judging by their girth and the handguns they were now holstering at their enormous hips. They hauled Ainsley to his feet, unmindful of his ribs and proceeded towards the house with him between them, Samuel leading the way.

They helped him sit in a chair at his house and Samuel asked them to wait outside for him. When they’d gone he turned to Ainsley and said,

"Father, I know you don’t believe me but I really don’t want you to get hurt. Just stay out of the way. We’re not about to start killing townsfolk or trying to bring about Armageddon so please just leave us alone."

"What, you have a conscience?" said Ainsley sarcastically. "Have you ever read The Old Testament Samuel?"

"Of course. I was raised a Christian you know."

"Then I’d like to remind you of something in The Book of Exodus. ‘If an ox gores a man or a woman to death, the ox must be stoned, and it’s flesh may not be eaten; but the owner of the ox will not be liable. But if the ox has the habit of goring people in the past, and the owner has been warned but has not kept it restricted, and it kills a man or a woman, than the ox must be stoned and it’s owner must also be put to death.’ You are guilty of harbouring ‘The Morning Star’ and therefore my enemy. Get out of my home."

Samuel turned on his heel and left.

Ainsley leant back against the cushions of the chair wondering why The Beast himself was in his town but before he knew it had fallen asleep.

He woke in the morning feeling like his entire chest was on fire. So after calling a doctor he unlatched the front door and went to bed. The doctor left, apologising that there was nothing much he could do for broken ribs and Ainsley took one of the strong painkillers he’d brought him and fell asleep again until just after lunch.

As he went through the painful process of making tea and a sandwich Ainsley noticed that the tablets had made him confused and light-headed. Sure the pain was gone but he felt like he’s head was filled with cotton wool. Vaguely he turned the kettle on over and over again before looking at the clock and noticing that fifteen minutes had passed, the water was most definitely boiled now. He made his tea and headed out to the lounge room then realised he’d forgotten the milk. Ainsley walked back to the kitchen and forgot what it was he needed the moment he stepped into the room. This happened three times. Finally, milk in now lukewarm tea, he seated himself in his favourite seat by the window and promptly fell asleep once more.

When he woke night had fallen and the pain had returned in full force but before he took more tablets he ordered a pizza and rang Father Thomas. He gave the young priest a carefully edited version of what had happened and asked him if he would check on him several times during the next day.

When he woke the next morning the first thing he saw was the Archbishop’s face looking down at him wearing an expression of extreme displeasure. Ainsley had fallen asleep in his chair after eating a few pieces of pizza and taking more pills. It took him a moment to realise that his robe had fallen open and his eminence was staring with unconcealed hatred at the twin pentograms burnt into his pale, wrinkly shins.

Ainsley hurriedly pulled his robe closed and started spluttering an explanation but he was cut off by his very angry superior.

"What is the meaning of those Father? Have you gone completely around the bend? Thomas rang me and said I should check on you but never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d find something like this. I can’t possibly let you work again and I think you should go see a therapist of some kind."

And still the Archbishop went on and on and Ainsley stopped listening knowing that nothing he said would make one wit of difference.

The next two weeks he went nowhere further than the front garden, and each day he saw that one of his beloved rose bushes had been set burnt to nothing but a black skeleton. Ainsley knew exactly who’d done it but there wasn’t a person in the world who would’ve believed him. So each morning he silently gazed upon the wreckage of his garden and the rage inside him grew until he went through the day sometimes sure he was just about to spontaneously combust.

Ainsley never saw Samuel or Xothmog and there was no way he could stay up at night and wait for them to enter his garden as the pills kept sending him into nothing short of a coma within half an hour of swallowing them. But the pain was getting less and he knew the time would come soon when he could face them again.

He had forty rose bushes in his garden and almost half of them had been destroyed when one evening Samuel and the beast came walking down the road. Immediately the rage that Ainsley kept pushing down into his gut threatened to overwhelm him and it was with considerable effort that he stopped himself jumping straight through the window and throwing himself at both dog and man. As they walked past, a beautiful purple rosebush called Spellbinder burst into colourful flames at least six foot tall. Amazingly nothing else caught alight as the flames crackled greedily and spun like a catherine-wheel. Within thirty seconds it was over.

Ainsley looked out the window in shock. The rose bush that had just been destroyed was very rare and the pride and joy of his garden. He felt a scream building up in his throat and vented it. Ainsley screamed and howled and vowed that he would bring an end to the awful game he knew was driving him to within an inch of his sanity.

The next night as the twosome approached his property Ainsley was waiting. He crouched in the remnants of his garden, dressed completely in black with boot polish smeared across his face. He had a machete in on hand and an evil looking pair of garden shears in the other. As the noise of their approach reached his straining ears he put one arm across his mouth to stifle the insane giggling fit that was bubbling inside of him.

Of course they had known he was there and had turned to face his charge unflinchingly. It did surprise him however to see that they were on the footpath when he’d distinctly heard the crunch of gravel indicating they were on the road.

Ainsley paused, weapons held aloft, then screamed a wild battle cry while waving the machete and garden shears. They stood and stared, showing no fear. Xothmog’s eyes glowed hot and red, illuminating a small area on the path and neither of them so much as flickered an eyelash as Ainsley came running their way.

The priest who was no longer a priest managed four running steps before a garbage truck came speeding out of nowhere and knocked him into the afterlife.

Father Thomas who had been watching from the front of the church couldn’t believe what had just happened. He’d been keeping an eye on Ainsley since he noticed him crawl behind the burnt rose bushes dressed like a thief earlier that evening. And now one more unbelievable thing was to happen before the nights events came to an end.

As Thomas watched, Xothmog trotted to where Ainsley had fallen and sniffed at the crumpled body then, cocked one leg and pissed on the old priest’s corpse before turning to where Thomas was standing concealed and giving him a very undoggy like grin. He could’ve sworn that was followed by a wink. Then man and beast walked off.