He, the Eternal Death

The Pale Man watched the setting-sun bear down on the crumbling city. Long shadows hid the corpse city amongst the red soil. Like the others, it was a relic of a bygone age; left to rot deep within the Earth. He could not recall the city’s name. A final act of disrespect perhaps, but by this point, they all looked the same to him.

From his vantage point atop the dunes, where there had once been a blue ocean, he considered the city’s immensity. Tall skeletal structures stretched out for miles. He deduced that the city must have once been substantial, or prosperous at least. Not that it mattered.

Important or not, this city had met the same fate as the rest. Equal in death. An oppressive silence pervaded the landscape, condemning the Pale Man to his miserable thoughts.

Wind battered him with the dusty remains of the fallen. He contemplated the many lives snuffed out by his rough, uncaring hands. This morose scene was all too familiar to him; etched into his mind, destined to torture him forever. What was left for him to do but keep vigil while he dwelt on his misdoings? They were all dead. Every single one of them. Humans they had called them: now gone. And the animals too.

It had taken years him of methodical hunting. The humans who survived into this brave new world had excelled at hiding. But one by one, he put an end to life on Earth. The Pale Man was Death Incarnate, and his victory earned him the desolate remains of the planet.

Could he ever forget those wide-eyed looks of fear as he rode into the cities? The frantic screams and wild flails as he emptied and swung his weapons? Or the hopeless confusion when he turned their own tools against them? It seemed impossible. There was one, a girl around ten years of age, young enough to have lived her whole life in the End of Days. A heart-shaped locket hung around her neck. The Pale Man had stared at that thing, with its elegant weaving golden vines encircling the heart. Strangling the life out of it, he had thought. Like he had done with the world.

A world which now existed as a monument to his cruel work. Sat on the hill of bone-sand, he stared intently at the still smouldering remains of the anonymous city. The streets were strewn with grisly reminders of his savagery.

Before the end, Earth had been a beautiful place. Roaring oceans replete with the most exciting forms of life. Endless jungles which glistened green and were home to wonderous creatures with compelling, staring eyes. Even these joyless grey sprawls the humans dwelled in possessed their own beauty - comprised of perfectly measured glass towers and angular slabs of stone. He recalled the many speaking tongues, the explosion of scents, the endless drive to, simply, live. Mostly he missed the bird song.

His was the poisonous influence which finally snuffed it all out. Through the wars and chemicals, the planet had been irreparably destroyed. A barren rufescent land now thick with the odour of decay. This was a great torment to the Pale Man, and he perpetually attached himself to his mask. It was a foolish notion, but he hoped one of his senses could escape the guilt.

He thought about the others on occasion. His brothers. There were four of them in all. Each had his own design. The Diseased One, The Warlord, and the Starving Man. Sent forth by the Lamb to rebuild the world in the Master's image: for the Master was finished with His project. All four believed they served a noble cause, that the Master was just.

The other three went before the Pale Man. They corrupted the bodies, minds, and souls of Earth’s people. They tainted their crop, rivers, and soil. They eradicated peace. Only once the work of those three was realised, did the Pale Man come forth from antediluvian Earth.

It was his brothers, however, who had been allowed eternal rest upon completion of their servitude. Of course, despite their divine mission, those three were still mere mortals. How could Death itself hope to escape the mortal coil? He existed for one reason, but the reaping was no longer needed. His selfish Master had abandoned him. Perhaps those final humans had been correct, and the Master had died.

The Pale Man sighed and ran his withered hand through the red sand. He picked up the heart-shaped locket and squeezed it. Somewhere in the distance, the roar of a building succumbing to its aliments echoed. So this was to be his fate? To live forever on a husk of a world? He couldn't think of a more deserving creature. Pushing his weary body up, the Pale Man shambled down the hill and away from the dead city. He walked down a dusty road to the east, which was shrouded almost entirely in darkness. There was nothing left to do, but pay tribute to the next city. And then the one after that. And after that. He would keep going until the very last cities became one with the sand. Forever stretched before him.

He, the eternal death.