The Ugly One And The Plague of Perfection

There was once a sorceress named Fiore who had attained immense power through the devoted study of a white book; an ancient book of magical arts but, in order to do so, had lived a life of total purity and abstinence and modesty; she dressed herself in a long gown of white and chose to live in a white cave surrounded by Lillies and white roses and she prayed to a white ephigy of a virgin mother and infant within her cave and gave her abstinence to it as an offering.

However, what the sorceress did not know was that the book she read from was really a black book and her long gown was as black as shadow and her cave was really a black cave surrounded by dead black flowers and the ephigy that she prayed to was truly the black god of death; the Perfect one holding the head of a corpse in its embrace, Death the Nemesis of the Imperfect God of life that is the God of the green Earth; the God of fertility and all forms of love.

Death had deceived her, you see, into hating all natural, warm yet imperfect human manifestations of life; Gods imperfect body and instead she hallowed the unnatural, perfect yet cold and lifeless representations of purity; the virgin birth and the eternal infant.

And so, when the sorceress decided to summon angels to spread purity and abstinence and modesty throughout her land she saw angels appear that were bathed in a golden halo of light and which had, dove white wings upon their backs and beautiful faces but in reality they were angels of death, cloaked in darkness with skeletal faces and the wings of ravens upon their backs and the golden trumpets that she saw within their hands were truly scythes of cold, hard steel.

And instead of going out and spreading her idea of pure divine, perfect love; the angels of death simply slaughtered all that were unchaste or impure; they washed the land with blood; blood was spilled upon everything and rotting corpses strewn across the earth.

And so the green goddess, feeling the pain of her children; gave birth to a hero but he was not the perfect hero; the hero that looked like a statue carved in marble; he was an ugly wild, lustful creature; as much a wild animal as a human being; in fact he was so ugly that when he was born his parents thought him a demon and his father chased him out of the house with an axe.

Fortunately, Mother Nature had blessed her hairy hero with the strength and resources to survive in the wilderness without the care of his human mother but also an intelligence far greater than ordinary humans so that, before long, the creature had taught itself to speak fluently in the language of its homeland.

Unfortunately, in spite, of its great intelligence, whenever the beast went out of its wilderness and into the towns and cities, everyone hated it; even when it made the effort to steal and dress itself in human clothes and shave the hair off of its face, still everyone who saw it thought that it was a monster.

And ofcourse, this was not helped by the beasts complete lack of self-control. He was a creature of impulse; constantly gorging himself on food and wine; getting into fights; chasing after women, usually women who were screaming in horror at his ugly appearance; gambling and stealing; infact almost every vice that had ever been invented.

Yet, in spite of all this, he could be enormously kind and gentle and brave; as much as any hero and it is this natural kindness and bravery that brought him into conflict with the Angels of death that were, with machine like rapidity, killing the unchaste people of a village that he was passing through.

Unlike those being slain, to whom the angels were invisible, the beast, because of his animal senses could see and smell and hear the angels and, because he had a living beating heart filled with natural emotion, he did not like what they were doing.

But he also noticed that the angels of death were avoiding the children of the village whilst killing older people and so he had a very clever idea.

Using his natural athletic abilities the creature started to do all kinds of acrobatics; walking on his hands and jumping somersaults and, when the children of the village saw him doing these amusing tricks they started to gather around him in a circle and it was a circle that the angels of death could not enter.

Then the ugly creature; picking up rocks as large as boulders hurled them at the angels of death, cracking their skulls and shattering them into bones.

Unfortunately, when the beast did this, he noticed that the angels of death simply started gathering up their scattered bones and skulls and putting themselves back together because, as undead things, you see, they could not be killed by normal means.

So then, watching the angels of death rebuilding themselves, the beast leapt out of the circle of children and snatching up each of their skulls, lit a fire and throwing the skulls onto the fire burned them into ash and then, using his breath that was as strong as a hurricaine, he blew the ash into a million specks so that it could not be reformed and without their skulls and eye sockets to see out of, the angels of death, like headless chickens all stumbled blindly into a lake and sank to the bottom

and when they did the witch within her temple finally saw the true face of the idol she worshipped and the darkness all around her and, tearing off her white robes, she ran naked and screaming into the forest where she lived, for the rest of her days, as a wild beast.

Then all the people of the village seeing what the ugly but courageous creature had done did not hate him anymore; in fact they saw the imperfect god of Nature in him and they celebrated it; instead of condemning him for his vices now they tolerated them and in return he used the force of life that seemed extra-abundant within him to help and protect them against real evils and, as the beasts fame spread, all the people of the land started to see him not as a monster but as a hero.