A man of plain stature lay where even the moons radiance feared to shine, wishing that the being that glided before him would overlook him; allow him to survive to tomorrow. He dared to open his eyes, trying for a glimpse of her. A creature the gods themselves would one day face, a symbol of the fear all beings can never escape. Death has come to collect the souls of the pure and dammed.
His brief glance through the dense black fog turned to a paralyzed stare. The women’s robes forged in the darkest pits of hell were the purest of black. The hood was pulled tightly over her head hiding her straight black hair. Her silver eyes shot to the man lying behind a fallen crypt. Her skin pale as bone. The sound of her breathing in the deadly silence of the graveyard shot fear deep into the man’s humanity. Her nails stained black with the souls of the wicked and guilty; were wrapped around the scythe, whose blade bleached from the souls of the innocent and pure.
As the woman drifted toward the man the air grew heavy and cold. The man stood to run, but before he was to his feet; the women had him by his throat off the ground. Her hand crushing the man’s neck. She gave a smirk, showing a set of teethe so sharp they were reserved for the tearing of flesh. Her hand releasing the man’s neck slightly before her obsidian nails slide through the soft skin of his throat. Blood seeped out over her fingers. His panicked gasped for life filling the air. The women tossed the wilted body to the ground, laughing slightly as she licked the blood from her fingers.
YOU ARE READING
Reaper's Heir
HorrorThe first and only spawn of the Grim Reaper has come into existence. Meet horrors of your nightmares, the things that go bump in the night, while she searches for the reason for her existence.
