His spectral stride was not the worst of him.
His stoic face was a flawless slab of stone.
His rending claws slipped idly within his pockets.

As if extensions of his sheathed talons, on either side of the ghoul was a hound of hell.

The beasts could not look more different, save for their crimson eyes which sang of the gallows.

The worst had indeed arrived.
Each patient step glided after the other.
With no word, with no tempo, with no sign.
The dance of grimaced howls and fangs began.