The Fields of Death

THE FIELDS Of DEATH




Death walked among the fields of chaos in the form of The Approaching One or The Grim Reaper. Humans had given that name to it. For they imagined that Death was a tall hooded figure in a black cloak that wielded a curving scythe that bled darkness. That it's eyes were like chasms of nothingness and its voice was like the dread of the Devil itself. So from time to time when Death wished to roam among the dead humans it disguised itself as The Grim Reaper as it did now. 


As it walked, all around laid dead bodies piled in heaps, like slaughtered animals. Humans were indeed animals, but for all the arrogance they denied the fact until Death came for them. All life could feel their despair and their vanity when Death stared them into the eyes, mocking them as it seemed. But the nature of Death was not of mockery or of to show the  pointlessness of existence , instead it was nothing. Death was a phenomenon. Not any conjecture or metaphor for human brains.

Everywhere Death could see it found dead bodies lying in hea ps, some shattered, others burning. The battle was over but its essence remained. It was rare in the history of humans when battles like this were fought. That every soldier died upon the conclusion. The battlefield was now completely scorched reflecting the chaos and carnage inflicted here. The yellow autumn grass that glittered in the autumn sun this very morning was black ash now. The men that were breathing life were dead. The horses that raced with the morning gales, now lifeless. It was truly a strange battle for everything dead after its commencement. 

Death had a lot of lives to end today, but it decided to wait till it was sundown. Why? It also could not answer that. Afterall Death was Death. It didn't think. It walked under the overhead sun, it's heavy skeleton marching towards the village that was east of the battlefield. He would find many dead there too. There it will be more dreadful and despairing. Plague killed even worse than wars. 

After sometime when Death finally reached the village, he found that the fortifications of the village were torn out. The small wooden rampart that the villagers had created a few days ago in their fear that the battle would be raging towards them, was now in complete shambles. Obliterated and grounded to dust. The small meadow with the large oak tree that stood outside the village was also chopped down. There were also scorch marks inside the village as if the people had faced a large wildfire. It didn't seem like earth here. It was pure hell in the village. For all the destruction Death could see. It was stunned by what had passed in the village. 


As it strode inside the village it found that the houses were all lifeless, the streets abandoned, the tiny shops silent, their shutters closed. Not even a single soul stirred in this village. As if by a foul wicked force had ceased all life. Death was never merciful to humans for it knew their dark shades that lived deep down within their hearts. Human nature was plagued by a sickness of wickedness, a longing for ugly ventures and a desire for the most evil in existence. Mankind believed in superiority and in power and they committed the gravest for crimes in the ability. Other creatures had struggled for their survival but humans fought out of their malice and hatred of each other.

Yet all of the gravest debauchery that mankind restored they had a gentle heart to counter their grave  crimes. They had a belief greater than any. They believed in life. And this place was the antithesis of their belief. This village was sick and twisted, devoid of all life and as in their stories of destruction and armageddon. Death had seen the Fall of Troy, The Trenches of Verdun, The Massacre of Chios, The Black Death of Sodom, The Scourging of Earth, but it had never seen an evil as twisted as this village. It bled of darkness and deep sorrow for no were alive to lament the loss of the fallen. Prayers, faith, lamentation were the tools of repentance for mankind, their faith for a better world but when none remained to grieve the sorrow had taken over. Sorrow for it followed all painful things but Death was not painful. It was inevitable. And yet this village had something abstract and unnerving glow to it. An evil pulsed at its heart. Something not even Death could understand.

Slowly as noon passed and the sun began to cast long shadows of the lifeless houses in the dim hue, Death moved from one dead corpse to another, staring at those lifeless pupils and silent breaths. The dead were all bilous, drenched in filth and sweat. Buboes of pus and mucus had boiled from their skins, their bodies were pelted with numerous pale spots with groins and legs that were swollen with foul dried blood. Some of them stabbed themselves. Children had died in cradles with hot mucus gushing out of their small mouths, women had strangled themselves in their cotton tie ropes, men had died in their sleep, coughing and groaning. Chaos flooded this village leaving an ominous gloomy sentience. For every lifeless person Death passed, it began felt mercy for them. Such ruin has the plague brought upon them that even Death pitied them. No mother should mourn her children, Death had remembered a ballad from ages ago. For in these ruins, it saw a lifeless mother that died weeping over her infant child's cradle, the child's little hand clutched in her own for that plague had ravaged upon them both. 


As Death passed through the silent streets he could feel a reeking growth pulsating at the heart of the village. It was ruinous, twisted, centred at destruction.

It was that seeping sorrow of this dead place that Death moved towards its ambience shelter. When Death finally reached the old cemetery, it found that no new graves were dug. All graves were empty of life. All the souls had departed as men would say, to yeh afterlife that awaited. The Beyond. The Heaven of God, where the tribunal of justice would serve  comeuppance for their sins and derality. How naive yet complex ideas humans have about their posthumous destiny. Death reflected for all its memories could serve upon the first of all life that blossomed in the First Silent Sea. It was such a majestic sight to behold. How these humans have become so infutile and so unscathing? 

Death strolled around the graveyard for sometime. It loved graveyards. The ominous silence, the queer winds, the grey trees without leaves, the dull shades of the soil and the dead decaying in their closed caskets. Decay was in the essence of graveyards and Death a cause of decay. Of things so grand and majestic fading into the ruins of nothingness. Decay was the process of all life. Of all Creation.


For the time that wandered and walked in the graveyard, its gaze fell upon a red cloaked figure that was standing below the huge oak of dried crimson leaves. It was a man of small stature, handsome but something around it seemed unusual. As the reality itself wrapped around him, the fabrics of space and time unwrapped. When he saw Death it smiled and moved to sit forward on a boulder nearby and gazed straight into the void filled eyes of Death, smiling and whistling. 

'I have been searching for you. My friend.' The man said with a thick commanding voice.


Death was spotted again. It occurred rarely, even rarer than Great Extinctions and Armageddons of the The Great. Death would soon erase the memories of this man of this meeting Death after they have talked, for the first time someone called Death a friend. Humans feared it, called it in their curses and painted him as a devil in their frescoes and paintings. The Approaching One. This man felt wiser than others yet a strange hue rippled about the red figure. 

"Thee search for me?' Death spoke with his small hissing voice, that some would call was like the screeching of a snake. Dreadful and Grieving. 'Thee wish to speak to me?"

'Oh yes indeed, but you know, you are hard to find these days. Among all this Chaos and The Pestilence and not to forget the war.' The stranger said. 

Death felt a need to speak to this man, his words were warm. No mortal had ever spoken to Death so. So Death also sat beside the stranger to have a conversation. 

'There were many deceased today, with that battle. Guess what they would name it?' He questioned Death.

'That I can't be certain of, the kind of man has strange behaviours. Some would rejoice at the announcement of battle for their pride would be elevated, whole others shall grieve for thine blood shall be split for the terms of battle.'

The man nodded. 'Humans are indeed strange.' He smiled again. ' 'Are you coming from that battlefield? "

'No. The village had I visited last.'

'The pestilence there. Hmm. The pestilence there, it is deadly, deadlier than any I suppose you have ever seen?' Death could not comprehend the question. The man seemed to acknowledge the fact that he was meeting with Death. The other mortals who had spotted Death before were conflicted and terrified of it. But this man was something peculiar.

'Yes. Deadlier than all that I have seen. It is much more merciless. It has killed each soul.'

'Ohh. Have you not been to the battlefield yet, then?' The man asked, again.

"I have.'Death replied.' But left them have I, to suffer in their groaning and trembling for did man kill man. It is unnerving.' Death's hissing, screeching voice was calm. 

'You are late then on your workday, I guess?'The man asked,once more. 

Death was silent for a moment then spoke." I should have no rest. Still, dost thou think not that I should rest for some time. For all the Death I see and taketh?'

'The village must be painful, I wonder?' 

Why was this man asking so many questions Death could not fathom? Still Death answered 'It is grieving. The place seems to weep. There are none who breathe. The battlefield. Decay rules there for as long as I sit here. It's tragic that no one should survive a battle that knights would sing for many ages to come.'Death continued. 'At least some could have been spared but destiny wished otherwise. Men. Brave men are dead. Worse, innocents are dead too in their own houses with no one to bury them and mourn for them.'

'The plague was not kind I guess.' The red cloaked figure whispered but this was not a question.' Although I wanted it much worse.' The stranger said, thinking.' I should have given them more pain……...more disgust and dread. Pain that would have flayed their souls from their flesh. Pain that could make a heartless soul weep.'

'What do thee mean? Thou wanted it?' Now Death was the one with questions.

'Ohh! You fool! Can't you see?' The man whispered, pure malice and contempt. ' Everyone here has perished within.Dead. Dying in their own filth and sweat and blood. Expect me.' The man widened his eyes and said 'I created the plague. It was me who served them this hell and I think I have been clementful.'

Death sat in silence, it could believe this man's word for then it summoned it's long black scythe that bled darkness.

"You wish to kill me?" The man questioned, mockingly. His solemn inquisitive former tone had changed into whispers of hatred and evil.

'I don't'. Thee be extraordinary. Thou has an aura around you.' Death replied.

'I have.' The man agreed in annoyance and contempt.'Wish you had not felt it.'

'What do thy wish? Why has thee smothered them mortals, with such a pestilence?'

'I wished to met you,' The stranger replied, his eyes gleaming like red coals 'and I want you to take a vow.' He ordered.

Death laughed. It's laugh like the screeches of infinite decaying worms.'Thee want Death to make a vow? Intriguing. Yet pointless. And what gives thou that authority? Mortal? To demand from Death itself? Powerful and strange you may yet be.'

The stranger chuckled like a madman and the earth heaved. Blue lighting hurled down from the sky and the lifeless grass of the cemetery groaned in agony. The graves began to shudder and wither as the dead rose from their graves tearing the ground asunder. Hands of the undead protruded from their graves with slithering worms that gnawed at their long decayed limbs. As if the evil of all ages came down to the graveyard, hundreds of dead woke from their graves, crying and moaning as if they wished to tear the world apart. With rattling dead teeths and voices of deep hell they marched toward Death in all their haste and if they wished to return to their graves again. As if this transitional phase of being neither dead nor being alive, haunted their souls that not. The sky darkened as black ashen charcoal and the sun veiled behind them dampening the earth into pitch darkness for the dead hurled themselves at the Approaching One.


For no mortals could see what happened in the cemetery, Death saw in the flashes of mad lighting that the dead were indeed alive ganshing and tearing at it. Their skeletons, a loose frame of decayed bones, and their decayed hands that swung blindly at Death. And in their hollow was despair and hatred and pain that arose in that conflicted state.

As Death hurled his reaping scythe and the clouds parted and the dead retreated for time itself ran backwards. The graves sucked the undead back into the void, their hollow eyes that were filled with hatred and pain sinking into nothingness, their limp forms cascading into rotten bones. The dead were driven back into their graves just like they had been risen and the sun shone brightly again. For the hundreds of dead man rested back into tehor long sleep.

Death stood silently for a long time for no one has ever risen the dead.


"What dost thee?" Death spoke firmly. 

The stranger chuckled again, louder and with more malice.He had been sitting on the same rock unmoved as witnessed Death battling the dead.

"I wish to make a demand, Death!" The man cried out loud, his voice stern and firm as if it would shatter the earth itself.

Death nodded and obliged. 'Demand.' But Death was not calm it's voice was like the great rumblings of an avalanche. 

'On the third week of the year that lies 16 years from now in the month of November when the clock strikes noonday, and the sun will burn like hell fire. A single man will die for the vice of a curse has been tethered with his Destiny.  No other man shall perish at that moment. Only the high King Phillip. Lo for his death awaits him and I demand, Death! That thou shall spare his life. That thine shall be wise and not let the world burn for the death of the king is the end of all times.'

Death looked grim if it could like that. It was silent too.

'Speak? Do you vow, Death? Do you vow not to kill Philip the fair that dies on the moment I told you about? Speak!' The man roared. 

At last Death spoke." What thee wish is neigh in my will. For I will not spare a life.' 

'Oh yes you can!' The man trembled with rage.' and you will!'

'I will not. Thee doesn't understand.' Death said.

The stranger was stunned as if not accepting the refusal, his anger boiling like the fires of hell, his nerves pulsing with hot blood. 'If you don't, then so be it for I shall slay you! Thine you have seen I am worthy of that. Worthy of slaying Death. Promise me Death. Vouch, that thou shall spare the king's life! Promise!"

'I can't.' Death whispered, it's almighty grimm voice an chalant speck of tones.

'Then so be it! We wait for 16 years and I shall see that thou spare the life of the King I speak of or else be ready to die! For my wrath shall wreck the existence of yours, Death!' The stranger's voice faded away as he vanished from the graveyard. 

From whence the stranger was gone the graveyard fell silent and a hot breeze sped across. The sun shone faintly on the oblivion and insects chipred in the warm air. But Death felt a chilling cold. Infact Death trembled for it had witnessed a miracle as it was impossible  that the dead could been brought back to life. At least by not mortal human beings.

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PROLOGUE*

Death walked among the fields of chaos in the form of The Approaching One or The Grim Reaper. Humans had given that name to it. For they imagined that Death was a tall hooded figure in a black cloak that wielded a curving scythe that bled darkness. That it's eyes were like chasms of nothingness and its voice was like the dread of the Devil itself. So from time to time when Death wished to roam among the dead humans it disguised itself as The Grim Reaper as it did now. 


As it walked, all around laid dead bodies piled in heaps, like slaughtered animals. Humans were indeed animals, but for all the arrogance they denied the fact until Death came for them. All life could feel their despair and their vanity when Death stared them into the eyes, mocking them as it seemed. But the nature of Death was not of mockery or of to show the  pointlessness of existence , instead it was nothing. Death was a phenomenon. Not any conjecture or metaphor for human brains.

Everywhere Death could see it found dead bodies lying in hea ps, some shattered, others burning. The battle was over but its essence remained. It was rare in the history of humans when battles like this were fought. That every soldier died upon the conclusion. The battlefield was now completely scorched reflecting the chaos and carnage inflicted here. The yellow autumn grass that glittered in the autumn sun this very morning was black ash now. The men that were breathing life were dead. The horses that raced with the morning gales, now lifeless. It was truly a strange battle for everything dead after its commencement. 

Death had a lot of lives to end today, but it decided to wait till it was sundown. Why? It also could not answer that. Afterall Death was Death. It didn't think. It walked under the overhead sun, it's heavy skeleton marching towards the village that was east of the battlefield. He would find many dead there too. There it will be more dreadful and despairing. Plague killed even worse than wars. 

After sometime when Death finally reached the village, he found that the fortifications of the village were torn out. The small wooden rampart that the villagers had created a few days ago in their fear that the battle would be raging towards them, was now in complete shambles. Obliterated and grounded to dust. The small meadow with the large oak tree that stood outside the village was also chopped down. There were also scorch marks inside the village as if the people had faced a large wildfire. It didn't seem like earth here. It was pure hell in the village. For all the destruction Death could see. It was stunned by what had passed in the village. 


As it strode inside the village it found that the houses were all lifeless, the streets abandoned, the tiny shops silent, their shutters closed. Not even a single soul stirred in this village. As if by a foul wicked force had ceased all life. Death was never merciful to humans for it knew their dark shades that lived deep down within their hearts. Human nature was plagued by a sickness of wickedness, a longing for ugly ventures and a desire for the most evil in existence. Mankind believed in superiority and in power and they committed the gravest for crimes in the ability. Other creatures had struggled for their survival but humans fought out of their malice and hatred of each other.

Yet all of the gravest debauchery that mankind restored they had a gentle heart to counter their grave  crimes. They had a belief greater than any. They believed in life. And this place was the antithesis of their belief. This village was sick and twisted, devoid of all life and as in their stories of destruction and armageddon. Death had seen the Fall of Troy, The Trenches of Verdun, The Massacre of Chios, The Black Death of Sodom, The Scourging of Earth, but it had never seen an evil as twisted as this village. It bled of darkness and deep sorrow for no were alive to lament the loss of the fallen. Prayers, faith, lamentation were the tools of repentance for mankind, their faith for a better world but when none remained to grieve the sorrow had taken over. Sorrow for it followed all painful things but Death was not painful. It was inevitable. And yet this village had something abstract and unnerving glow to it. An evil pulsed at its heart. Something not even Death could understand.

Slowly as noon passed and the sun began to cast long shadows of the lifeless houses in the dim hue, Death moved from one dead corpse to another, staring at those lifeless pupils and silent breaths. The dead were all bilous, drenched in filth and sweat. Buboes of pus and mucus had boiled from their skins, their bodies were pelted with numerous pale spots with groins and legs that were swollen with foul dried blood. Some of them stabbed themselves. Children had died in cradles with hot mucus gushing out of their small mouths, women had strangled themselves in their cotton tie ropes, men had died in their sleep, coughing and groaning. Chaos flooded this village leaving an ominous gloomy sentience. For every lifeless person Death passed, it began felt mercy for them. Such ruin has the plague brought upon them that even Death pitied them. No mother should mourn her children, Death had remembered a ballad from ages ago. For in these ruins, it saw a lifeless mother that died weeping over her infant child's cradle, the child's little hand clutched in her own for that plague had ravaged upon them both. 


As Death passed through the silent streets he could feel a reeking growth pulsating at the heart of the village. It was ruinous, twisted, centred at destruction.

It was that seeping sorrow of this dead place that Death moved towards its ambience shelter. When Death finally reached the old cemetery, it found that no new graves were dug. All graves were empty of life. All the souls had departed as men would say, to yeh afterlife that awaited. The Beyond. The Heaven of God, where the tribunal of justice would serve  comeuppance for their sins and derality. How naive yet complex ideas humans have about their posthumous destiny. Death reflected for all its memories could serve upon the first of all life that blossomed in the First Silent Sea. It was such a majestic sight to behold. How these humans have become so infutile and so unscathing? 

Death strolled around the graveyard for sometime. It loved graveyards. The ominous silence, the queer winds, the grey trees without leaves, the dull shades of the soil and the dead decaying in their closed caskets. Decay was in the essence of graveyards and Death a cause of decay. Of things so grand and majestic fading into the ruins of nothingness. Decay was the process of all life. Of all Creation.


For the time that wandered and walked in the graveyard, its gaze fell upon a red cloaked figure that was standing below the huge oak of dried crimson leaves. It was a man of small stature, handsome but something around it seemed unusual. As the reality itself wrapped around him, the fabrics of space and time unwrapped. When he saw Death it smiled and moved to sit forward on a boulder nearby and gazed straight into the void filled eyes of Death, smiling and whistling. 

'I have been searching for you. My friend.' The man said with a thick commanding voice.


Death was spotted again. It occurred rarely, even rarer than Great Extinctions and Armageddons of the The Great. Death would soon erase the memories of this man of this meeting Death after they have talked, for the first time someone called Death a friend. Humans feared it, called it in their curses and painted him as a devil in their frescoes and paintings. The Approaching One. This man felt wiser than others yet a strange hue rippled about the red figure. 

"Thee search for me?' Death spoke with his small hissing voice, that some would call was like the screeching of a snake. Dreadful and Grieving. 'Thee wish to speak to me?"

'Oh yes indeed, but you know, you are hard to find these days. Among all this Chaos and The Pestilence and not to forget the war.' The stranger said. 

Death felt a need to speak to this man, his words were warm. No mortal had ever spoken to Death so. So Death also sat beside the stranger to have a conversation. 

'There were many deceased today, with that battle. Guess what they would name it?' He questioned Death.

'That I can't be certain of, the kind of man has strange behaviours. Some would rejoice at the announcement of battle for their pride would be elevated, whole others shall grieve for thine blood shall be split for the terms of battle.'

The man nodded. 'Humans are indeed strange.' He smiled again. ' 'Are you coming from that battlefield? "

'No. The village had I visited last.'

'The pestilence there. Hmm. The pestilence there, it is deadly, deadlier than any I suppose you have ever seen?' Death could not comprehend the question. The man seemed to acknowledge the fact that he was meeting with Death. The other mortals who had spotted Death before were conflicted and terrified of it. But this man was something peculiar.

'Yes. Deadlier than all that I have seen. It is much more merciless. It has killed each soul.'

'Ohh. Have you not been to the battlefield yet, then?' The man asked, again.

"I have.'Death replied.' But left them have I, to suffer in their groaning and trembling for did man kill man. It is unnerving.' Death's hissing, screeching voice was calm. 

'You are late then on your workday, I guess?'The man asked,once more. 

Death was silent for a moment then spoke." I should have no rest. Still, dost thou think not that I should rest for some time. For all the Death I see and taketh?'

'The village must be painful, I wonder?' 

Why was this man asking so many questions Death could not fathom? Still Death answered 'It is grieving. The place seems to weep. There are none who breathe. The battlefield. Decay rules there for as long as I sit here. It's tragic that no one should survive a battle that knights would sing for many ages to come.'Death continued. 'At least some could have been spared but destiny wished otherwise. Men. Brave men are dead. Worse, innocents are dead too in their own houses with no one to bury them and mourn for them.'

'The plague was not kind I guess.' The red cloaked figure whispered but this was not a question.' Although I wanted it much worse.' The stranger said, thinking.' I should have given them more pain……...more disgust and dread. Pain that would have flayed their souls from their flesh. Pain that could make a heartless soul weep.'

'What do thee mean? Thou wanted it?' Now Death was the one with questions.

'Ohh! You fool! Can't you see?' The man whispered, pure malice and contempt. ' Everyone here has perished within.Dead. Dying in their own filth and sweat and blood. Expect me.' The man widened his eyes and said 'I created the plague. It was me who served them this hell and I think I have been clementful.'

Death sat in silence, it could believe this man's word for then it summoned it's long black scythe that bled darkness.

"You wish to kill me?" The man questioned, mockingly. His solemn inquisitive former tone had changed into whispers of hatred and evil.

'I don't'. Thee be extraordinary. Thou has an aura around you.' Death replied.

'I have.' The man agreed in annoyance and contempt.'Wish you had not felt it.'

'What do thy wish? Why has thee smothered them mortals, with such a pestilence?'

'I wished to met you,' The stranger replied, his eyes gleaming like red coals 'and I want you to take a vow.' He ordered.

Death laughed. It's laugh like the screeches of infinite decaying worms.'Thee want Death to make a vow? Intriguing. Yet pointless. And what gives thou that authority? Mortal? To demand from Death itself? Powerful and strange you may yet be.'

The stranger chuckled like a madman and the earth heaved. Blue lighting hurled down from the sky and the lifeless grass of the cemetery groaned in agony. The graves began to shudder and wither as the dead rose from their graves tearing the ground asunder. Hands of the undead protruded from their graves with slithering worms that gnawed at their long decayed limbs. As if the evil of all ages came down to the graveyard, hundreds of dead woke from their graves, crying and moaning as if they wished to tear the world apart. With rattling dead teeths and voices of deep hell they marched toward Death in all their haste and if they wished to return to their graves again. As if this transitional phase of being neither dead nor being alive, haunted their souls that not. The sky darkened as black ashen charcoal and the sun veiled behind them dampening the earth into pitch darkness for the dead hurled themselves at the Approaching One.


For no mortals could see what happened in the cemetery, Death saw in the flashes of mad lighting that the dead were indeed alive ganshing and tearing at it. Their skeletons, a loose frame of decayed bones, and their decayed hands that swung blindly at Death. And in their hollow was despair and hatred and pain that arose in that conflicted state.

As Death hurled his reaping scythe and the clouds parted and the dead retreated for time itself ran backwards. The graves sucked the undead back into the void, their hollow eyes that were filled with hatred and pain sinking into nothingness, their limp forms cascading into rotten bones. The dead were driven back into their graves just like they had been risen and the sun shone brightly again. For the hundreds of dead man rested back into tehor long sleep.

Death stood silently for a long time for no one has ever risen the dead.


"What dost thee?" Death spoke firmly. 

The stranger chuckled again, louder and with more malice.He had been sitting on the same rock unmoved as witnessed Death battling the dead.

"I wish to make a demand, Death!" The man cried out loud, his voice stern and firm as if it would shatter the earth itself.

Death nodded and obliged. 'Demand.' But Death was not calm it's voice was like the great rumblings of an avalanche. 

'On the third week of the year that lies 16 years from now in the month of November when the clock strikes noonday, and the sun will burn like hell fire. A single man will die for the vice of a curse has been tethered with his Destiny.  No other man shall perish at that moment. Only the high King Phillip. Lo for his death awaits him and I demand, Death! That thou shall spare his life. That thine shall be wise and not let the world burn for the death of the king is the end of all times.'

Death looked grim if it could like that. It was silent too.

'Speak? Do you vow, Death? Do you vow not to kill Philip the fair that dies on the moment I told you about? Speak!' The man roared. 

At last Death spoke." What thee wish is neigh in my will. For I will not spare a life.' 

'Oh yes you can!' The man trembled with rage.' and you will!'

'I will not. Thee doesn't understand.' Death said.

The stranger was stunned as if not accepting the refusal, his anger boiling like the fires of hell, his nerves pulsing with hot blood. 'If you don't, then so be it for I shall slay you! Thine you have seen I am worthy of that. Worthy of slaying Death. Promise me Death. Vouch, that thou shall spare the king's life! Promise!"

'I can't.' Death whispered, it's almighty grimm voice an chalant speck of tones.

'Then so be it! We wait for 16 years and I shall see that thou spare the life of the King I speak of or else be ready to die! For my wrath shall wreck the existence of yours, Death!' The stranger's voice faded away as he vanished from the graveyard. 

From whence the stranger was gone the graveyard fell silent and a hot breeze sped across. The sun shone faintly on the oblivion and insects chipred in the warm air. But Death felt a chilling cold. Infact Death trembled for it had witnessed a miracle as it was impossible  that the dead could been brought back to life. At least by not mortal human beings.

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