Tales Ov Terror

Czar Kaag Urla

2020 RPNP

So; you've picked up this book, why? You want a fright? Something to cause your spine to
shiver? Or maybe you're sinister and want something to get off to; whichever reason you
have there's something here for you.
…reach out and touch it.

A Failed Fight

As the lone individual would send his dark, shadow-like astral form through the neverending
storm of saturn, he had one objective in mind; finding The Machine. What is this machine?
The Machine is an endless creator of chaos hidden deep within saturn, it turns and bends,
grinding and violently scratching.
He flew through the clouds of the hexagon, being on Cronus' planet without his permission
the male individual knew he was in trouble, especially attempting to turn off The Machine.
Something telling him to go east would go from something to an order, he sped towards the
east, surrounded by a blue cast of light with an anchor back to where his physical body lay.
He would quickly become anxious, and terrified, approaching this horrific, evil Machine. As
the individual would travel up The Machine he would see a black orb with what looks to be a
man screaming inside it from one angle, and a baby from another. Scared, and
uncomfortable, he would approach the orb; that...sense telling him he had to destroy it. As
he would reach out to grab it, but the closer he got the more he disappeared into a void. His
body eventually became part of the same orb in which he attempted to destroy, in his effort
to disable the machine.

A Game Ov Terror And Abuse

As the children ran through the green and brown forest, the hunters came short behind
them, being cut by plants, leaves, or things laying on the ground; trip wires, electric fences,
and armed guards surrounded the Game area, incase any of the younglings tried to escape.
Fear, and terror overcame their young minds, feeling as they have nowhere to run and
nothing to hide behind. Their handlers, captors, and abusers have all become their hunters,
the children sent out to run in the forest in what some call the most dangerous game in the
world, somewhere in what used to be Belgium, the game was continuining an old tradition,
held up by the previous owners of the castle and land in which the game was being held.
One young girl, made to strip like all the others, and given a headstart over all the others,
was still almost as lost as the others, hiding behind a tree she tried to avoid being spotted or
 seen; her skin cold, breath heavy, and mind broken into what could be compared to a
thousand points of light. She began to cry, feeling a sense of hopelessness as the elite
hunters came closer to her spot. The sound of footprints approached her, and she'd quickly
stop crying once she hears the whisper of a familiar voice, one of her handlers. She stepped
out from behind the tree in a now depersonalized state; only to have "truly" met her handler.
She was grabbed by her skull, and dragged away further into the woods. Her crying getting
louder and louder, as her young nude body would be continously cut on jagged rocks and
twigs. She'd not fight, as she was taught not to fight back or retaliate during situations such
as this, her body cut and bloodied as she's continue to be dragged across the forest floor.

A Tale Ov Mascvlinity and Rape

As the girl would Thrash about, and make horrific noise, the commissar would slash her
back with a whip as his cock would violate her virgin vagina; her legs held spread by a metal
pole and two braces. She'd scream as two agents held her arms down at the Sergeant's
request. "STOP, PLEASE, I'M SORRY, SERGEANT, I'M SORRY" she would screech in
pain. He would lash and whip her harder; laughing all the while, wanting to cause as much
damage to the servant as possible both mentally and physically. His gloved hand gripped the
leather belt tightly as he would break the skin of the female servant, crimson drops falling
from her back. "Say my name Natasha! Say it!" He'd say firmly, as he'd continue whipping as
she'd keep writhing and squirming. "SERGEANT, SERGEANT!" she'd repeat…

Joyful Songs Ov Thee Abused

A symphony of sadness sang slowly, crying beautifully and cutting the silence; they all made
the same sound, at the same pitch; uniformly crying and wonderfully at that. Singing in some
Foreign Language, about the horrors they witnessed in their academy, soldiers of sorrow
beating them relentlessly, raping them, torturing them and making them think they were
going to be executed. It hurt, but it made them better. It was what they needed as they would
not be able to do what they do if they didn't undertake the abuse. Their low pitched singing,
both male and female, sang of a great man who ruled over what was formerly known as
Russia, a strong man; a man of Iron. Who listened to no enemy; and ruled his country with
an Iron fist. He had a bushy moustache and a hearty smile, yet a mean gaze and an
indescribable rage on his face. This man was all that a leader should be; and more. He was
sinister. This man of iron was so sinister in-fact that he built labor camps for his jewish
slaves. So sinister he killed them all with no mercy; knowing what had to be done.

.
Doctrine
Knock. Knock. Knock.
It’s the usual way I go about this. I take inspiration from the more well known ones of my group.
Bundy, Speck, Kemper. Approach them with kindness and a sense of fragility and you’re in the clear.
 I check my arm to see if my cast looks believable as I wait for an answer. A petite brunette woman
opens the door and looks up at me to make contact. I use one hand to move the wet hair out of my
face while adjusting my jacket. “Hello, miss. I’m sorry to bother you this late but my cars broken
down up the street and My phone isn’t paid yet. May I use your phone to call my sister? She lives in
this area, I believe.” The same lines every time and no one learns to not answer to me. My charisma
is a shining gift. I see her look down at my arm in the cast before letting me in quickly. I sit down in
her living room as she readies the phone for me and look around for pictures of her and her boytoy
or carpet munching cunt lover. I see nothing around and she comes back to me with the phone.
“Here you go,” she smiles at me and hands it over. “I hope she’ll be able to help you. If it’s gonna be
a while you can stay here.” I shoot her a fake smile and pretend to dial a number into the phone and
shoot shit with the non existent sibling on the other end. I hand the phone back to her and lay my
head back “She said she’ll be here in about 30 minutes.” 30 minutes should be enough to do my job
right. I check my phone for the time, 10:00 pm. She’ll be my 46​th​ by 10:30 and it makes me feel warm
and hard. “Do you have anything to drink, ma’am? I’m real thirsty and I have no money to go down
to a convenience store.” I asked her, using my best fake southern accent to fit in. I’m in Klan Kounty,
Georgia. Despite the predominant group, this area hates the Klan and I’ll never understand it. “I
believe I have some soda left in the fridge. Diet okay for you?” She says and I grit my teeth upon
hearing the word ‘diet’. Is this meat trying to castrate me before I even start? I glare slightly before
forcing a toothy smile. “Diet’ll work for me.” She turns her back and walks into her kitchen and I
remove my cast slowly. I stand up and walk behind her, carefully to not make any noise. I check my
jacket pocket for the new needle I had picked up full of tetrodotoxin, enough to paralyze her. I cover
her mouth and jab her in the neck with the syringe, plunging it in deep. She tenses and her eyes
widen at me. I slowly let her into the floor as she looks up at me with tears in her eyes, I look down
at her with hate in mine. I kick her swiftly in the chest and she pukes up on the floor. My fake accent
drops as I kick her more and scream in her face “Did you think! That a kind stranger! Would just pop
up! And not do harm!” More tears fall and I get down on her level and grab her by the cheeks before
spitting in her eyes and using my pocket knife to cut the word “whore” into her forehead and cutting
off her shirt. I pick her up and slam her face into her own counter, seeing her blood splatter across it
and onto the walls gets me even better. I remove her skirt and her cut her purple panties off before
removing my pants. I ran my member into her, guessing my the slight block I can tell she’s a virgin
too. I keep fucking this chunk of bloody, bruised, crying meat until I finally blow one inside of her. At
this point she’s just bawling without screaming, just groans and grunts. I check the time and notice
it’s 10:20. Was I in her for 15 minutes already? Time flies when you’re having fun, I assume. She
looks up at me again, busted nose, blood pouring from her face and a look that just says “Why would
you do this?” I laugh at her and look through her kitchen drawers to find something to finish her
with. I settle on a butchers cleaver and her eyes widen even more in fear. “Never trust a stranger
after you hear that there’s a spree killer in the US. No one knows where he’d strike next.” I swing
once onto her lower leg, on the ankle and move my way up her body so I have time to yell
everything I wanted to when she opened the door for me. “Dirty! Filthy! Bastard! Whore! Cunt!” I
keep going until I decapitate her with 5 strikes down. I check the time for the last time. 10:29. I
always manage to impress myself. The victims phone rings and I decide to answer for this rather
unfortunate creature. “Hey, Heather! We’re gonna go out in a few minutes, Can we pick you up?”
God, she has a voice I’d love to shoot point blank. “Heather? You have the wrong number” I lie to
them on the spot. “Noo… This my friend Heather’s number.” “Clearly not. I’ve had this for 10 years,
don’t call back.” I panic before hanging up and containing myself. I walk out of the house and leave
her door wide open, lights off so people can be surprised by my work.
The guards here don’t like my stories too much. Except for one that drops by and delivers writing
material, art apparatuses and whatever else I’d need. I’ll have to stop next time he’s making rounds
down here. I’d like to see what he’d know and whatever he’d like to know.
 Hallway Harvest.

A buzzer would ring; breaking the silence of the hallway. Young bodies; both male and
female lay chained by their hands and necks to the wall. Upon the hearing tbe buzzer, the
young girls and boys began to scream as they heard the intercom state "Disciplinary To The
Hall, Disciplinary To The Hall"; chains rattling and the screeches of tortured souls. A tall, 6'4
man dressed in a black uniform with a leather belt across his chest and waist, a paddle, and
a martinet would enter the pure white room. "Punishment time, kiddies!" He would yell and it
would echo down the long corridor. He grabbed the nude child closest to him, and
immediately began paddling him. Singing the theme song to an old cartoon known as
Caillou, paddling the child relentlessly and hearing his screams. Getting significantly more
turned on each paddle...not wanting his work to be done poorly.
The 6'4 man would radio in two agents; who would open the door with another buzz. They
entered the hallway, untied the child from the wall but instead hogtied him.
The paddler undid his generic black cargo-pants and kneeled over the boy; inserting his
small and dry cock into his ass. The child would wriggle and scream as the agents held his
chest down; screaming at him, over and over again. "YOU WILL ACCEPT THIS RAPING,
THIS RAPING IS YOUR SAFETY. YOU WILL ONLY BE SAFE WHEN BEING RAPED, DO
YOU UNDERSTAND??"
The boy would scream in reply, "YES! YES SIR!", causing the agents to scream louder.
"YES WHAT?! WHAT ARE OUR RANKS?!"
"YES AGENTS, YES AGENTS, I'M ONLY SAFE DURING MY RAPING" the terrified child
would scream; shaking, and heart beating fast.
The Disciplinary would take the Martinet-style whip off of his belt, and began to beat the
child's back, cracking the air and skin almost immediately, blood splattering on the man's
face. The male beat him, and beat him, and raped him until he felt it was time to pull out. The
man handed the agents a knife and walked out; ordering the agents to "Finish the Harvest"..
The two first stabbed the child in the head, spilling his blood all over the place and draining it
into a vat. That vat would then be carried away, and his body quickly taken by two servants
to dispose of it. Blood spilling on the white floors and the servants white suits. Two
custodians would almost immediately after come in and clean the blood from the floor,
leaving the room as it was but with one less problem…

The Mind Ov A Beast

Roaming slow, and quietly over the forest floor the uniformed man would make his way. His
clothes were dirty, a ragged black uniform, consisting of a jacket, a belt, boots, a beret and
his pants. He kept his 1911 clone service pistol close to his chest, and his body leaned
forward as he'd move behind bushes and trees to move as safely as possible in such a
hostile environment; especially in the dark of night. He hears something and quickly turns to
 raise his sidearm, then waits. He hears nothing; so he investigates, drawing closer and
focusing only on what is at hand, not the tasks he could be doing. He is in danger and he
must protect himself. Terror fills his veins, and he starts to breathe deeper, eyes shifting
around; he smells blood in the air and can only imagine the horrors of what he is about to
see…'​what is it though? what caused it? is it even blood? where am I?'​, his mind and heart
begins to race as he considers the mess he may have gotten into. He pushes on through the
bushes and closes his eyes. Suddenly, nothing. No quite literally nothing. Nothing but a
snap, a flash, and the vacuum of death pulling him away.