Forgotten Lands | LVA [Anthology]

Nox Mors Pt.2 (Cliffside)

Sometimes I don't know what I am, a murderer or an executioner. Sometimes I don't know what I should do, murder or execute. What's different? Both have the same end, the same result, the same destination. But you do know, don't you?

I don't feel fear, I don't feel remorse, I don't feel the cold nights or the warmth of dawn. I feel disappointment, I feel anger, I feel sadness and empathy for the man. It's something you can never feel, well you are the worst of them, galloping from town to town while I follow your trail of desolation.

I carry the fear attributed to your name, men, women and children, in their faces are horror, I see them when the clock strikes twelve and the bells ring, for I have finally come to solve your mess. And they know me very well.

The meaning of life, fear of men, shepherd of souls, pale skinned knight and yellow horse rider, all those titles attached to me. All these titles are true, but they all have the same end, the same result, the same destiny, but only one will have more weight.

I am the reaper of the fields in the spring, I cut the grass and weeds to see the flowers born, the hidden beauty of humanity. My hands, Keres. My scythe, Thanatos. My words, Charon. My name, I already told you.

Do you think humanity deserves such a punishment? Maybe. I thought so too. I've heard so many stories that would break any man, some would make you feel disappointment, others anger, sadness and empathy.

I heard the screams of a man who later regretted it, because the rope on his neck had already begun to tighten. Who knew that betting everything also meant betting his own life, the cards were not on his side.

I saw a man on the ground and a coward behind a trigger. A pool of blood and a sack of potatoes. Will the price have increased or will there not be so many jobs? In any case, where did the gun come from? With hard work I doubt it.

I approached a man who seemed worried, in his eyes there were only seas and in his hands calluses. He was working all day, just to get a couple extra cents and come home exhausted. An old woman lay on a handmade bed, covered by a rough but warm enough blanket. She coughed and looked at her son with a smile, nostalgic for a past that is fading away. Her hands on her son's, she swore that everything will be fine, because there will be no tomorrow,that when the clock strikes twelve she will finally be able to rest after so long, death is the only medicine that has no cost. And the man cried in her arms all night, with goodnight kisses before going to sleep, kisses from a mother that will never be able to give again. And her body fell asleep, with the dawn touching her cold skin and she gave her last breath before closing her eyes for the last time.

Sometimes I don't know what I am, a murderer or an executioner. Sometimes I don't know what I should do, murder or execute. Sometimes I don't know if I should still be alive. I have already tried, but fate has wanted it that way, death itself seeks its own death.

I have seen what will come, I have seen what will happen. Men fighting with each other, defending a patriotism that does not exist, pieces of land that once were for everyone are now black gold for ambition. Sometimes I don't know why man hates himself so much.

But there is only one thing that I am completely sure of and that will be my wish. My coffin will be the spring flowers, my grave will be in these lands,my tombstone will be made of the bones of every human who has not appreciated their life. And my epitaph will be decided by you, for I can only die in two ways, when everyone has perished or when you don't need me anymore.