You want to beat us, do you?
You want to "kick our freaking bum", do you?
You want WAR, do you?
Oh, my dear, that can certainly be arranged.
Erik Specteur is not very pleased, you see. I had him read over your message. He killed more than an old man, you should know. And he WILL kill again. You'll know when he does, believe me there.
I have a parody Erik, yes, but HE KILLS TOO.
And believe me when I say I will win.
This is your first warning, Epic Insanity, and I think if you think you're going to win, you're seriously deluded.
Erik has a message for you.
It appears you've tried to undermine me. Well, I'm not very pleased with that, you know. And you say that I'm not, as some people say, EPIC? Well, that's disappointing. You may not be trembling YET, but I sense the doubt in your mind. It appears the so-called "hunter" – calling you such IS optimistic – has become the hunted. I am going to kill you.
Yes, I am serious.
It appears you're looking at the "phangirl" qualities of what makes me, or any impostor of me, by composers, authors or otherwise, epic. Are you looking at how I, or any other "Erik", kill? Are you scrutinising the way I win Christine, in particular? Well. Do you perhaps look at the fact that I have not yet murdered Raoul de Chagny? Because if you want him dead, I can arrange that. Though, at this point in time, having looked at your drivel in which you lament the problems of lost love and endless torment from Cupid, I can see that YOUR rendition of me is quite pitiful compared to . . . me.
And though I agree that Raoul de Chagny should be rendered lifeless before he takes his next breath, at the moment it seems I am slightly more fixated on getting rid of you.
You should know by now that my authoress can defeat you with the greatest of ease.
And you have the nerve to call her "kiddo"? You're just serving to make your own death more painful when it comes, child. You think that I cannot kill people gruesomely, making others' blood run cold, simply because I choose not to? You're a misguided fool. You think that simply because I killed one of the weak in society to vent anger, that, in turn, makes ME weak? You're mistaken.
You are going to die. Every pitiful rendition of myself you create will be knocked down, and destroyed; ground into dust at my very own hands.
Bring it on, bitch.
Yes, Erik Specteur just said "Bring it on, bitch," and yes, you are going to die.
If . . . what was it you said? "Covering my bum"? Well, if covering my bum is asking you not to plagiarise my titles, then yes, I am covering my bum.
You can have your "Killer's Reverie" title if you so desire, but the war can ONLY be executed on that story. Are we agreed?
In turn, I will only post on this story, but I will make many Eriks, each more epic than the last, and they will bring you down.
(To anybody else reading this, cheer us on. We like encouragement.)
Epic Insanity, you stepped out of line.
It will be my great pleasure to whip you back into shape.