DEATH DEALER
DEATH DEALER fiction stories
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marius
mariusOff-grid poet & storyteller
Autoplay OFF  •  a month ago
The death dealer does not always wear a black robe, does not always carry a sythe, and rarely arrives announced.

DEATH DEALER

par Marius Villefer

Why he stood silent and still no one could have known. Alone, piercing blue eyes scanning that dimly lit sea of corpses.

He absorbed the warmth of those around him. That driving beat and those dancing lights stripping away any innocence.

Those bodies danced, socially lubricated, nubile and lithe. Lowering his head, narrowing his gaze, he prayed...he preyed.

In a foul swoop a page turned, a chapter ended. A crimson pool formed, while banshees screamed in the night.

The room was drained of its spirit. Fear poured into the streets.

He disappeared into the night. Liberated by the souls he reaped.

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