A QUEST OF DEATH : Shadows Never Lie (undergoing MACRO EDITING)

06 | Assignment

The weight of exhaustion settled upon Devereaux like an oppressive shroud as he flew wearily back home. It had been an arduous day, filled with the grim tasks of collecting misplaced souls, sorting them to hell or heaven as he escorted those that did not fit either with him home.

The long journeys back and forth between the fiery pits of this damnation and the mortal realm had taken a toll on his once-majestic wings, leaving them sore and aching. He glided through the smoky air. The cobbled alleyway snaked below him like a serpentine path of despair.

The Land of Shadows, or the port between life and death that humans named it as Life Beyond , akin to the idea of the underworld in various cultures, was inhabited by individuals without prominent souls: those whose life stories ended in infamy, and those who had been wrongly murdered. Here, they faced the consequences of their actions or awaited justice for the wrongs done to them in life. Only when their attachments, particularly the unresolved injustices, were rectified could they find passage to the afterlife, whether that meant reincarnation or ascending to a higher plane of existence.

Those lost beings were lying on either side, boring the visible scars of their defiance, their torn rags revealing deep claw marks—a testament to their futile rebellion against the laws of humanity and nature.

Devereaux couldn't help but emit a bitter chuckle, which, in his current bird-like form, sounded just like a harsh croak. It mixed with the hollow echoes of torment and suffering that permeated this liminal space between the worlds of the living and the deceased—a stark reminder of how misguided humans could be in their belief that they had any power to challenge the order of things.

He had once been one of the ignorant masses. His role as the gatekeeper of The Land of Shadows was not one he had willingly embraced. It was a consequence of his own merciless behaviour during his human life, mirroring the cruelty he had once imposed upon others. He had been equally unforgiving and unrelenting as a human. And now, as the Deity of Death, he was forever trapped between the living and the departed, a ceaseless sentinel at the crossroads of existence.

Descending further into the abyss, Devereaux navigated through the dense forest, where eerie wisps of smoke danced through the gnarled trees, their ghostly forms illuminated by the crackling of fire. The air was heavy with the scent of sulphur and brimstone, the very essence of malevolence clinging to every breath. The infernal flames cast a macabre glow, casting flickering shadows upon the twisted creatures that lurked within.

Finally, he was at the entrance of his abode, the gateway to his sanctuary amidst the chaos. The heavy stone walls of his dwelling shimmered with a celestial radiance, adorned with intricate patterns that glowed with an otherworldly luminescence.

Beyond the torment and desolation of hell, tucked away in a secluded corner, stood Devereaux's abode-a place that seemed to have been plucked straight from the realm of heaven itself. As Devereaux approached the entrance, the darkness of the underworld gradually gave way to a scene of breathtaking splendour.

The massive doors, adorned with intricate carvings of celestial beings and divine symbols, creaked open, revealing the magnificent interior. A warm, golden light spilled out, illuminating the hallway with a soft radiance. The air was scented with delicate notes of jasmine and lavender, offering a stark contrast to the acrid stench that pervaded the outside world.

Inside, the grand hall stretched far and wide, its high vaulted ceiling disappearing into a haze of opulent clouds that danced with ethereal hues. Rays of celestial light filtered through stained glass windows, casting vibrant patterns across the polished marble floors. Delicate chandeliers, adorned with countless crystals, shimmered overhead, casting a gentle glow that bathed the hall in a celestial embrace.