He held his sickle, his pale face tainted with the same Crimson Red that painted the tip of his gray, steel of his weapon.
He was wearing a black robe framed with symbols of golden runes. His neck was covered by a golden scarf and he was wearing a pair of Loafers.
His features, an adam's apple, prominent veins, hunter eyes, and a chiseled chin, put his character's suspected age as a teenager
His eyes sharply gazed the sight of people with steal weaponry closing in on him before he charges forward, leaving a large trail of dust behind his tracks.
He swung, hard, breaking one of the claymore's swung at him, his sickle was made of a special metal that made it nigh-invincible. He held the victim of the slashed blade by the shirt collar and slit through his neck.
His eyes swung right and saw another for swinging a saw shaped blade at him before ducking and using the sickle to do an uppercut slice, beheading the wretched soul.
But no mortal is invincible, behind him was a sharp swing to the lungs, plunging his body forward as his mouth vomited blood. Tears formed from his eyelids, 'I guess this is how it ends' he frowned, as if his supposed duty wasn't finished.
But then he heard a click, his vision, though blurry, could still send messages to his brain which still, somehow, functioned.
The walking, the attaching and detaching of the lips, the hand gestures, they all slowed down, this is not a typical experience before death, and he wondered if it was just an illusion, if he had already died, and that his minds just refused to let go.
A deep voice, he heard, a familiar voice, the voice of his... Father? He could not accept it, his father had died months prior. His mind was messy, but he calmed down to fully comprehend the messages given to him by this enigma.
'Son, favored by the god of gods, avenger of those dearest to him, rise up once more, and your spirit won't go to unending regret' the boy heard.
His mind clouded again, 'This is just false Hope', he thought. But without his command, his hand pushed down the ground, then his knees, then his feet.
He had risen up, but unobedient to his will. He never believed in miracles, he had never believed in anything at all. But he won't forsake this opportunity to kill those wretches who tore the life of those dearest to him apart.
He swooped forward, swung his sickle and gashed the stomach of four henchmen. Two left in horror, knowing when to quit. He did not bother chasing them but in haste, leapt towards the throne room.
There stumbled the king, in terror of the bloody face of the boy. The king begged, got on his knees and wailed, 'I will give you anything, I promise, please spare me'.
'You have nothing to live for, and in my case, the last thing I have to do in my life, is to murder you' the boy walked forward staring down at the king, eyes glowing at the dimly lit room.
'Why are you doing this?' The King screamed the question, and the boy smirked, and the smirk turned into chuckle. 'Playing the victim now I see', he lunges forward latching his hand unto the king's mouth, shutting it tight.
'It's ironic for a genocidal dictator to beg for mercy at his own death, the Reaper won't gift you mercy, I'm just saving him the chore' the boy laughed hard and crushed the jaw of the king with his hand, making the king sob painfully for he can't scream for help, for no one had ever been by his side out of fear, and that fear he imposed is now the cause of his death.
'Your death will be painful, I don't want noise in that moment of satisfaction' the boy jubilated, cut the king's tongue, spilling blood over his and the monarch's face.
The king cried and cried, it looked like a child weeping in the shell of an adult, and the boy had enough. 'One more thing, gold doesn't recover souls', the boy said leaving a fatal stab to the abdomen with a pocket knife, twisting it four times, and took it out.
Blood spilled all over and the king tumbled down, dead, sleeping by a puddle of the price of his atrocities.
The boy sat at the throne and layed at the comfort of the leather coating, he placed his sickle on one of the chair's arm rests and closed his eyes.
His mind lost consciousness, leaving him a peaceful passing.