THE FOUR REASONS TO DIE

THE CASTLE IN LIMBO

Darkness was all the eyes could see, pitch in its description and cold in its grip, giving one not the information as to whether it was either day or night. Redacted landforms unraveled upon the periodic contact the sky made with the earth, and death in all that crept on the earth. Trees stood tall and dark, denuded of leaves, as the earth sat, giving off grey dust in its cracks and dryness, and water, the little there was, trembled in fear there in. Life forms in their skeletal forms crept all over the earth and the air paused any form of certainty, continuing the lopped feeling of uncertainty throughout all of the realm. Death played before the entire landform and darkness crept along the playground moving further, edging closer and closer into the heart of its solitude which danced with the black glistening sky which for some reason, was inky black.
Moving, the only way it could move, the journey continued blindly, gripping the cold earth with uncertain talons, creeping with fear at the very thought of it.
Stopping abruptly, a metal gate swung open, not that he could see it, but the sound suggested so. Moving still in the darkness which danced with its bride, the dust, his feet began a forceful accent upon feeling obstruction in his path, upon what felt like broken stone steps. Up and up went his feet until he reached what felt like the last one and all before him was revealed.
Staring back, he saw not the darkness he had treaded through, nor the dust he had swam through, but vast land was what graced his vision in conjunction with the five moons in the heavens, all seating at equal distances from each other, in an equilateral pentagrammic position, having the red moon stretching it's hands to the yellow moon and the white moon, giving a colorful combination to the earth, while the pale green and orange moons hid within their shells, giving off not even the smallest speck of descriptive felt light.
The firmament went for pitch black in its simplest of description and none expected what more the heavens had to say.

'Why was I chosen to grace death,’ came the thought from the lone figure standing before the castle, dark in its description, for he feared the walls were more than just conscious, a thought he was correct of.
At the instance of his approach, two fiery figures, hooded in their flames phased out of the wall, out of the base of the barbican to face he who graced death. Speaking in an old lost tongue, one only understood by only a handful alive, the lost tongue of Egril, they asked of he.
'What do you seek of death?’
'I seek not of death but for death,’ came the bold reply, a facade put-up to avoid uncertainty.
'And why gift of death?' The second asked.
'Because the celebrant is joyous,’ came the short reply.
'And what say you to seek and honor the code of death?' The first continued.
'I say, I seek the council of the lost, I seek council with Ezrael, the conceived one of hatred and his commander, Real we plead his assistance,’ he replied.
'Your soul is dark, we see, and your desires true, but where is the coin of morte,’ the second asked.
Fishing out a gold coin with a skull having a sword running from top to bottom, in addition to the strange writings and inscriptions it featured, he handed it over to the gate keepers.
'Your request is absolute and passage granted. You may step into the abode where it is darkest,’ the second continued.
Moving past them, right past their middle, their fiery physical forms guided him through the darkness there was, ushering him through the doorway to the grand hallway which owed its architecture to Mongolian origins, dark in its age and strong in its bonds. Moving, torches lit up, revealing faintly, the vaulted ceiling surmounted upon columns, finished with black marble, while the point of interaction of the vault with the columns celebrated their presence with pure gold, seeing to the rest of the vault finished in linings of gold and surfaces of marble.
Time being subject to motion saw him entering a large hall, dark it was but somehow, its features glimmered in an unknown identity, revealing its finishes, same as the hallway and a large throne finished in gold surmounted upon twenty marble stairs. The hall being large was supported by columns with strange inscriptions on its columns, all written in gold and changing sporadically after what felt like ten seconds. Flanking the stairs were balusters of golden origin, climbing up steadily, leading to he who sat on the throne.
'What do you seek of me?' He who sat on the throne, dressed in black hooded robe, lined with silver which was surmounted on what looked like black armor which too was finished with silver designs, asked. His sleeveless robe revealed the metallic armor he cladded his arm with, stretching down to his wrist, which he held out, from which blueish green flames emanated from.
His feet were shrouded by a thick black smoke that moved continuously out of the throne, dissipating as it entered into the grand hall, giving off a strange smell of death, both peaceful and violent.
'I come bearing gifts,’ the messenger began, 'gifts of power has my master promised, gifts of revenge have my master proclaimed.’
'And where is this gift?' Ezrael asked, clenching his fist on the side arm of his throne which had a skull as its finished design.
'It is, my Lord, yours for the taking, as you have heard the rumors of He who is to come and is come,’ he paused to study the reactions to his speech as smoke began emanating from the throne, filling the hall, taking human forms, to reveal wraiths, all hooded in scanty rags, trembling at the words of the messenger.
'And he now walks the realm of magic, coming closer to his destiny,’ the messenger continued.
'So it’s true,’ one of the hushed reactions was audible, as more noise continued to spread among the wraiths all which communed in the tongue of Egril

'Silence,’ Ezrael demanded. 'The rumors I know are true, and his destiny absolute,’ he paused, clenching his fist tightly before continuing.
'What have you against he who is nature?' he spoke on, getting up from his throne, assuming human form, dressed in silver robes.
'The lands have seen darkness, much out of balance, much out of order and he comes to strike a balance, to restore the realms and yet, the Veneficus wants his head,’ he spoke with utter disgust, strolling down from the throne towards the messenger.
'I am but a vessel of death born out of a lousy generation,’ he continued, 'and the bounty set on his head glitters of power, one I have long sought to complete my destiny upon all, but what more have you, for to kill He who has tasted death, a soul meaningful on the scales must be given,' he said, stretching out his hands.
Discovering that he wasn't just the messenger, but the payment, he pronounced before all,
'I am he who must bring the death of the other, my blood will quench the last ray of hope and my life force, dark it is, shall reign in place of balance. I am what will continue to be, for my life is yours for the taking and my will, immeasurable to what is required of me, but before I grace the altar, I present my innermost desires, for my lips cannot speak but mother nature hears,’ he paused as he fell to his knees.
After some moments, Ezrael let out.
'It is done,’ he proclaimed and at that moment, Ezrael reverted to his true form of a god, towering high in the throne room.
'Corvus occulum corvi non eruit,’ Ezrael pronounced, dragging his soul out of the messenger, by means of his eternal flame, leaving nothing behind to decay.
'A sacrifice well laid, a sacrifice well received. The bounty has been proclaimed, and the horde of death shall rise again until the last hope as we all know is vanquished and the flame of hope reverted to dance in the dark,’ he proclaimed in a loud voice.
'Felix culpa, I pray the end may be, for ex nihilo nihil fit,’ he shouted, as he turned, advancing towards his throne.
'When the red moon dances with the green moon,’ he continued, 'we shall ride to fulfill the voice of nothing, vox nihili.’
'Vox nihili.’
'Vox nihili.’
'Vox nihili.’
The wraiths shouted in a voice of death as limbo was once again revived to life.
'Vox nihili,’ said he who sat.