Slaying is such a guilty pleasure. Really, it is. You might deny it, claim that you derive pleasure from something more intellectually stimulating. Something nicer. But once you've gotten a taste, it's hard to stop. It's beautiful, mesmerizing in its own disturbing way; the blood doesn't just seep out, but gushes forth in a glorious fountain of gore. The dismembered limbs don't just fall away, but go flying across the room and leave splattered trails in their wakes.