Present day.The picture above the bed was large. It was an original painting; the master who had produced it unknown. On the canvas, simply depicted, was a drawn sword. It stood against a black background, alive, shining and luminescent even as a representation in oils. It was the Sword of Light. It hung above the massive bed in a stone alcove in an ornate bedroom of immense size; the architecture ancient, stately.A killer lay sweating under the painting, spittle dripping, tears flowing from twitching eyes. The mattress, as well as the thick blanket that covered him, was damp with the manifestation of his toil. The room was well above ninety degrees, but he still shivered. His hair plastered itself wet against his scalp. He was more than simply sick.The things he saw within his bedroom made him consider death as an exit strategy for peace. But he wondered if what was swimming in space above his bed would follow him when he left this world.There were three lizard-like demons flying about the room.
