A QUEST OF DEATH : Dawning Darkness

20 | A Soup For A Sorry - Part 1(edited)

Devereaux strolled down the foreboding path connecting the Land of Shadows to the accursed realms of Hell. His journey back was long, but a walk and some sulphur-scented air could help calm his nerves. He had vented most of his anger on Shinatzai Zen, and after wrenching his wicked soul the Dark Lord felt significantly better. Still, he could use the lone walk back home.

The dense forest of gnarled trees twisted and contorted around the stone-paved walkway, resembling the condemned souls within the underworld. Eerie wisps of smoke danced through the air, their ghostly forms illuminated by the faint crackling of distant fires. A little ahead lay the shattered remnants of the old Ephemeral Gateway—a crumbling testament to a time when the portal monitored entities traversing between realms.

The once-majestic arch, crafted from ancient stones adorned with intricate carvings and embedded gems, now lay in disrepair. The stones, once meticulously arranged, had succumbed to the ravages of time, their surfaces weathered and worn. The carvings that had depicted celestial beings and ethereal landscapes were now mere fragments of their former glory, leaving only vague impressions of the tales they once conveyed.

Adjacent to the arch, a small cabin stood. It had been a station for those who once operated the Eternal Gateway, the cabin had seen better days. Its walls bore traces of intricate symbols, remnants of protective wards and enchantments that had long since waned. Vines had claimed parts of the cabin, weaving through cracks in the walls and around were used to be windows. The air around the ruins carried a haunting stillness, as if the very stones retained whispers of the countless entities that had passed through the gateway in ages past.

On the remnants of the old Eternal Gateway were ravens—the literal, feathery kind whose glossy black feathers caught the dim light of the underworld, creating an almost ethereal sheen. They perched majestically, their keen, watchful eyes scanned the surroundings with an intelligence that seemed almost unnatural.

Devereaux approached the gate and the tranquillity around the ruin severed. The ravens started to greet him with a chorus of loud chirps—not quite the ordinary manner avian sounds, but rather a melodic symphony resonating with recognition and allegiance. Their glossy black feathers shimmered in the muted light as they fluttered their wings in a rhythmic dance.

Since the day he assumed control over Hell and the Land of Shadows a millennium and a half ago, this portal had remained unmonitored. Before his tenure as Death, monitoring the portal had been part of his responsibilities. However, upon gaining authority over it, he decided to shut down the monitoring system.

Instead, Devereaux had chosen these intelligent birds to oversee whoever passed through the gateway. Rogue had accused him of paranoia, but Devereaux was not willing to allow anyone to occupy that cabin as a guardian—he refused to let history repeat itself, as it had with Gan Gagagore, who was discarded when the Ladies grew bored or if he violated a serious law.

Ever since he ascended to the throne of Hell, no one dared to play tricks or test his patience. He instilled fear in every soul, and the ravens, with their keen eyes and sharp intellect, ensured that travel between realms occurred without incident or defiance. The fear of facing the Dark Lord's wrath was enough to maintain order and obedience.

Among the avian guardians on the ruins, one raven stood out. Its demeanor exuded a sense of deference and familiarity. Unlike the others, it ceased its chirping and executed a deep bow—a respectful gesture that conveyed more than mere avian greetings. The Dark Lord's keen eyes fixed on this distinctive creature, recognizing it as Sam, the Reaper. He pondered its life cycle, from human to denizen to raven guard. It was not every day he granted second chances to souls he encountered in his long run. It was about time he put this kid out for something more fitting to his agility than just sitting around on a ruined arch.