Demons and Hellhounds (art book)

Greyscale Street

This may or may not be related to an upcoming book
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The water looks peaceful today...
A pair of eyes silently studied the trickling substance, blinking once a drop of black fell into its demise. Blood may be thicker than water, but what it lacked in was numbers that could help push the enemy out. Without its army, a single drop of blood could easily be washed away and forgotten in the calm waters of this pond.
"You're awfully fond of that pond, aren't you?" The figure turned its head in order to glance at the other being, shrugging lightly before returning its eyes to the water.
You know I can't talk here, nobody can. It's only the water that may speak in this world.
"While that may be true for you mortals, it doesn't apply to demons. I'm sorry to inform you." Indeed, demons such as the man behind him didn't abide by the rules in this unrealistic world. He was free to talk whenever he pleased, and nobody could stop him.
A faint drip came from nearby, both their heads turning to see the feet of yet another person sink into the water.
That's twenty-three suicides today.
A white mask floated to the surface, quickly becoming stained and turning a horrifying shade of grey. Onlookers paid no attention and went about their day. In this world, suicide was about as normal as walking; nobody cared for the fallen ones, until it was their turn to die.
Sighing, the small skeleton crouched by the waters edge slid the thin blade over his bones once more, eyes fixed hypnotically on the black marrow seeping from the wound. This was his world, his mind, his reality.
"Zenzy," he nodded and tugged down his sleeve, laying the blade down next to the same grey flower that was always blooming.
I know.

What seemed like hours to him, the skeleton finally roused; jumping from his curled position. He blinked warily and tried to still his shaking body, a few twitches coming from his bones here and there. With every twitch came a click, or a tic, that was the worst part about his condition. Finally managing to grasp the true reality, the criminal pushed himself up and shuffled out of the alleyway, grateful for the cool air the dark hour provided come early morning. Sneaking a glance at which street he was one, an unsettling feeling welled up in his soul.
Greyscale Street.
Shaking his head from the dangerous thoughts seeping into his mind, he began at a steady pace down the road, a feeling of déjà vu tugging at his memory at the small pond sitting neatly in the park. At its edge was a small blooming flower, a shade of purple, and quite a lovely one at that. Beside the flower was a blade, its edges coated in blue bone marrow. Grinning weakly, he wiped the blood trickling down his arm off on his pants, noticing the undeniably strong presence of that demon behind him. His eye bored into the skeletons back, his stare hungrily sizing up the soul that would soon be his.
Just a little longer...
Despite the harsh memories in his dreams, Zenzy would always prefer the monochrome setting rather than this world he was forced to live in. Because, no matter what; silence would always be better than noise.
No matter how loud it can be.