An Eminence? No, I am just a reaper (OC story)

The wolf howls, death hums

Speech =''...''

Thoughts = [........]

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....If you cut a king, you better cut him to the quick...

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He could not die...

He could not, he could not.....

Those were some of the weak, barely perceptible thoughts that lingered inside his mind. Slipping by through the open cracks of his skull and the pool of blood that had formed around his battered body like a broken record.

Unable to come up with something else, too tired to try as he felt the coldness of death sink in deeply into his marrow.

A touch he had never felt in a thousand years...

He could not...

He-he...

He would have gritted her teeth if he could, but he felt too weak to even breath.., blood and teeth falling out of his mouth. Every single second was nothing but utter torture., feeling the way his body was burnt out, slammed and broken into oblivion.

Yet not enough to shut him down and allow him to drift peacefully to death...

He could not die....

He he had to... fight, he had to win...

It was his destiny.

His destiny..

To become the master of this world. To become the one and only that would dictate the laws and rules that will mould civilization for eternity.

To become a god...

Blood-stricken lips churred and twisted with a crooked, feral smile. His face, or what was left of it furrowed with insanity as he felt those wishes become into reality behind the depths of his rotting brain lost in delirium of the agony that he had suffered on, and would continue for centuries.

Yes, yes...that was his dream.

That was his only dream, and he would be damn if he allowed it to fail because of his own folly.

He felt his body slowly stir up to life, his exhausted body finding new life flaring into his seared veins, pushing away the dread of death that had been descending over him, with its callous wings open as he pushed or at least finally regained control over what was left of his body.

It was not much as he crawled like a snail rather than been able to stand from his soon to be aquatic grave, the instincts of his body called him up to flee, to ran away from him but he steeled himself against it and the re-acknowledge of the thought that barely any bone had been left intact.

But it mattered little..., his target was on sight.

The small sized bottle filled with pills that he always carried with him, a bottle that he would have believed destroyed if not down right turned into powder by either the titanic blows he had taken during the fight and then the bone snapping joy race his assailant had pushed him face first.

It must have fallen out and laid there when he landed here...

Yes..., this was his destiny..calling out to him. Red ichor spilled from his lips in an instant, thick and arterial though with different tones of red and black spread all over it. And in spite of the pain that still writhed within he smiled. A gesture that only grew wider and terrific as he stretched his last remaining arm and graved the bloody thing with a shaking hand and went to swallow the entire bottles contempt which could have been in the hundreds.