A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

04 | The Cloak(edited)

Witnessing people on their knees, beseeching for a final chance, their agonised screams resonating as they burned under the weight of their transgressions, brought a perverse thrill to Devereaux's darkened soul.

While the world saw him as a villain, he saw himself as the hero, his perspective a twisted kaleidoscope of morality but has anyone dared to question him?

In the realm of his existence, where grime was collected and sins were devoured, there were two immutable truths: one could evade anything, but not fate; and one could avoid everything, but not death. It was a mantra Devereaux Severan lived by.

Mercy was an alien concept to him, a word he had long abandoned. Those who knew him, even if by name, dared not cross his path. Save for a select few souls who hailed from the same abyss.

Or that one human girl he used to cherish; Ada.

After all, the realm of the deceased who valued their continued existence held little appeal in enraging him. For even if their earthly remains lay six feet beneath the ground already, forever denied the warmth of the sun's gentle rays, they would find no solace in the plains of Life Beyond even in their spectral form.

After reducing that wretched soul , the Reaper who persistently evaded his grasp and the one job he was assigned to, to ashes, Devereaux relished in the satisfaction of his handiwork. A self-satisfied smile played upon his lips as he reminisced about the sheer terror that had gripped the woman's eyes; the so-called human mother of the Reaper whose impudent soul had sacrificed his life's worth of freedom and dreams.

Ruffling his midnight black hair, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. Clad in ebony The Dark Lord was the true embodiment of the adage 'looks can be deceiving.' Though cloaked in darkness, he defied conventional expectations. The absence of contrasting colours did nothing to diminish his graceful presence. Especially those eyes, their hues shifting like the ever-present hellfire.

The newly appointed servant, standing behind him holding his cloak, gazed at him in awe—as she should, of course. Sighing, he recalled his previous servants, who would have looked at him with the same reverent eyes every night as he dressed himself for work. A flicker of a smirk played upon his lips, knowing well that her gaze, laden with unspoken sins, could lead down a path of tantalising transgressions—ones from which redemption might forever elude her grasp. Humans, after all, have a penchant for the bizarrely forbidden.

With a smirk playing on his dark lips he reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. He ensnared the cloak with a motion that was both a caress and a claim, his touch lingering just a moment too long. His gaze, dark and fathomless, held a glint of otherworldly fire, as if he drew power from shadows unseen. The maiden stood transfixed, a shiver of foreboding tracing her spine, as he adorned himself with the night itself.

"Await my return. Tonight's reaping shouldn't take long." He winked, then turned to an ebony veil of smoke and was gone.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

On the southern side of the peaceful town of Serenel, a woman clad in a green leather coat stood before a bustling pedestrian crossing, awaiting her impending doom. The city lights gleamed as usual in the wake of dusk and the city buzzed to its usual rhythm.

Three days had elapsed, yet she had been unsuccessful in persuading Death to grant her more time. She knew he would appear at any moment now.

Her face was unnaturally pale, a stark contrast to her surroundings but no one seemed to notice her restless feet tapping the ground, her teeth biting into her painted lower lip, or her darting eyes scanning the street ahead.