His right sleeve was burned and fire was dancing in the grip of his right hand. His avatar changed into demonic statue with blur presence. His name was known by few people but they had really no clue about him. He was standing alone for a while watching how messed up his place was back then. Behind him there were people who hated him. People who always were looking down upon him with whisper of hate. As his body began to root with fire his mind turned on reflections of his actions lately. As his eyes watching his fallen betrayer his mind demanded answer.
To whom am I doing these?
These weren’t meant to be answered, he thought. He figured as his right hand began to transform into burning iron that he had no clue for standing between Death and his people which he used to call friends. His body was then unrecognized by his own kind and burning hand wasn’t normal for human. He took a minor step back and lowering his gaze to his hand.
Is this the right thing to stand between what has been lined for eons?
Death knew him as an old friend. Death offered him his own hand and said,
Come or be gone, I come for what has been my duty since before your time.
He looked upon the Death whom was standing idly in front of him. Destiny was blocked by his own hand. He remembered how his people forgot him for reasons as he kept on remaining himself about keeping them safe. His avatar faded and his right hand became normal once again. The heat from his right hand turned the raindrops into a thin layer steam merging with the smoke of the dead. He turned his sight to people behind him. People who were called friend stood in shock finding not being human.
I’m not human nor demon nor angel. I’m not an offspring of the two or of them all. I’m not a God himself.
He walked to the mist created by the steams and smokes on the battlefield and vanished into the unknown of afternoon. The day of happiness turned into the day of darkness. He left the scene and never came back. His legacy in town was sealed and never found as if he indeed never existed in the first place. His right hand started to cool down and after the temperature was normal he put on his old coat.
He left the shattered earth on ruins of the living. He left his trust of things he remembered. He left the scene badly wounded and with heavy internal bleeding which the dead would gladly presume he would join them sooner. Among his former an so-called friends there was no one survived. Death claimed them all in one swing of its swift and painless scythe.
He walked with mourn of nothing.