Everyone, everywhere, working in the street or sleeping in their beds, they were all in danger. Benignly unaware that they could die today, they went about their business; nonchalant and doomed. They were free, yet imprisoned by fate. Their eyes were filled with unspent tears, saving them for a day when they actually needed to cry. This town was nice, far too nice to continue up its current path. Soon everything would turn upside-down as loved ones are taken, brutally murdered. A good deal of these people had experienced death before, but only on their gods’ watches. Today, a wraith would steal souls against the course of destiny. Their goals and aspirations were fruitless next to Her will, and even the Dark God’s desires came before theirs. It was a tragic death to their way of life, yet a fitting one.

Soon She would speak. When She did, he would make his next move. His journey had only just begun; so far he had merely three souls marked off as one of the thousand. By the end of the week, he’d be sure that number would rise into the hundreds.

He loomed motionless atop the clock tower, virtually unseen by the bustling civilians below. As an enigma, he would slice through this town like a knife; then vanish with only a trace of blood to follow. Such thoughts were morbid, dwelling on death, but those were his thoughts nonetheless. He briefly wondered what kind of lives he would be ending, whether they had families or loved ones. He wondered if they would miss them, or if they would even remember them in the afterlife. The three souls already haunting him were starting to grow wearisome, but soon they would be drowned out by the screams of hundreds.

He was happy today. Something about the air, the wind, the unsuspecting crowd below; it all made him remember his goal: Just one-thousand souls. When this was all over, he would finally have his life back.

Brusquely, catching him off guard, She spoke. With a start, he turned around on the clock tower top. Whenever she said something, it always made him remember that first day. If he had one, shivers probably would have crawled up his spine; they didn’t, though, because he was nothing but a hollow shell.

Someone was trying to find him? How could that be possible? He’d only just recently been released, the idea that someone was searching for him came as a shock. Who would have known he even existed? It very well could have been Vaskalen’s puppet; she had a loud mouth and could have spread word fast, if anyone was willing to believe her.

Whatever the cause was, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the task. He wouldn’t question his orders, but he would see them through.

Two fingers bit into the eyeholes of his bone mask, lifting it to his head. She would be his eyes and ears, directing him as always. He placed the demonic face on the front of his head, pressing it into place.

The guy trying to find him, whoever he was, would die today. He was eligible to be one of the thousand.

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Tree | Styx