Ezekiel & Death

It's been a month since the end of Cyrus Jackson's life. Since the nightmares began, so vivid that they felt like memories rather than dreams. Visions of a dark throne, slick with blood. Since the shadows in his home started to move towards him as he walked, more alive than the people that surrounded him. Since he began killing the things he touched, including his own parents.

Since he became Death.

Or so the voices in his head had told him, whispering to him as he sat on his bed, staring at nothing, so sleep deprived and brain-fried to do anything. The voices told him lots of things, but his mind was too exhausted to remember much.

He could remember a name though, a name that was so out of place in the swirling screams of the demons in his head.

Ezekiel.

Cyrus didn't know who Ezekiel was, or if Ezekiel even meant anything. He only knew that he had to find him.

And he had to kill him, before he killed Cyrus.