Scene V: The Grim Reaper's Breath
The shadow ceased being a pillar and moved with blinding speed, zipping past the stunned Casey. It focused its malice entirely on Bathsheba. As it moved, the formless shape rapidly condensed, pulling the cemetery's darkness into itself. It hardened into a tall, slender man wrapped in a sweeping dark, flowing robe and a deep, shadow-casting green hood that obscured everything but the chilling pinpricks of the eyes. This was its focused battle form.
The Figure raised both hands, and the pinpricks of green light within its hood intensified, then snapped to a malevolent, burning red. Its posture exuding ancient, casual power. The air around its fingertips turned liquid black, then spontaneously condensed. A sickening vapor, the Grim Reaper's Breath, began to generate rapidly from its palms. This was the cold essence of death given form. The sound was a high-pitched, psychic whine that drove needles into their minds.
The Figure (a low, rasping voice, heavy with power and finality): “Enough games. Time to begin the feast.”
The figure lowered its hooded gaze, the Grim Reaper's Breath intensifying, preparing to unleash the lethal torrent of corrupted energy upon Bathsheba and Casey. The confrontation had finally begun.
Featured in
Scene V: The Grim Reaper's Breath
Cursed Spaghetti
Featuring
Scene V: The Grim Reaper's Breath
The shadow ceased being a pillar and moved with blinding speed, zipping past the stunned Casey. It focused its malice entirely on Bathsheba. As it moved, the formless shape rapidly condensed, pulling the cemetery's darkness into itself. It hardened into a tall, slender man wrapped in a sweeping dark, flowing robe and a deep, shadow-casting green hood that obscured everything but the chilling pinpricks of the eyes. This was its focused battle form.
The Figure raised both hands, and the pinpricks of green light within its hood intensified, then snapped to a malevolent, burning red. Its posture exuding ancient, casual power. The air around its fingertips turned liquid black, then spontaneously condensed. A sickening vapor, the Grim Reaper's Breath, began to generate rapidly from its palms. This was the cold essence of death given form. The sound was a high-pitched, psychic whine that drove needles into their minds.
The Figure (a low, rasping voice, heavy with power and finality): “Enough games. Time to begin the feast.”
The figure lowered its hooded gaze, the Grim Reaper's Breath intensifying, preparing to unleash the lethal torrent of corrupted energy upon Bathsheba and Casey. The confrontation had finally begun.
