“What’s that in the mirror, or the corner of your eye.”
Each step a reminder of what’s coming.
Every sound the threat of death looming over your head.
“What’s that footstep following, but never passing by.”
Eyes as cold as ice.
Full of hatred and misery.
Overflowing with agony and horrors that make your heart stop at the mere thought of what he is capable of.
An arm displayed as a glistening token of his misfortune, or perhaps as a brand, marking him as the devil’s own creation.
“Perhaps they’re all just waiting, perhaps when we’re all dead.”
You know from the second his eyes connect with yours.
Those cold, calculating orbs, scanning everything and already knowing your greatest weakness.
You’ll find your every nightmare manifesting before your eyes, and you will know your time has come.
“Out they’ll come a slithering from underneath the bed.”
You’ll never understand, and you’ll never be told the reason why.
The chosen are those that hold specific agendas to the demon’s masters, agendas that cannot be allowed to come to fruition.
Agendas that the Soldier must wipe out entirely.
You’ll spend your very last moments feeling the life drain from your body.
You’ll begin to wonder if begging, or bargaining might have worked.
But if you look closely at the shadow standing in front of you, if you dare to stare into the eyes of the reaper himself, you’ll see that cold gaze thawing.
And you’ll realize that some monsters are nothing but tortured puppets in disguise.