Eric Matthew's work

Prologue

            A tall, black-cloaked figure rushed forward.  Countless grotesque creations burst into toxic sludge as his wicked-looking scythe swept through them.  They threw themselves upon him, their impossible disfigurations exploding on contact with the pure, white blade.  The figure’s bleached hands and face rarely showed from under the cloak, but one didn’t have to see them to know they were made of bone.  He fought silently, in stark contrast to the abominations around him with their unbearable shrieks.  None could stop him.  He was a Warrior of Death and he dealt it to all before him.

            A massive beast, thirty times the height of a man, landed before him.  It was a mess of disfigured limbs and mutilated flesh, its bellow loud enough to shatter rock.  A bellow which was cut short as the Warrior’s scythe flashed through the creature’s chest and face.  The Warrior didn’t slow his assault, pressing forward through the muck.

            No longer did the Warrior fight an army of individual beasts, instead he fought a never-ending wave.  It arced, towering over him; all of the powers of the ocean united in anger at this one, solitary, dark figure.  He tore it to shreds with his scythe.

            The mortals told stories of him and similar warriors.  They feared him and called him Death, a title he was not worthy of.  Death was his general.  Calling him Death was like calling a common soldier a Warlord.  The mortals also labeled him the Grim Reaper, saying that he harvested the souls of the world.  While there were harvesters, he wasn’t one of them.  He was a warrior and he fought the hoards. That was his duty.  He did it well

            He waded through an abominable ocean, his scythe parting the waters.  Every fiend that threatened him died.  Every brute that thought itself superior was killed before it even saw the sweep of the blade.  Every monstrosity that supposed itself lucky was quickly and effortlessly proved wrong.  The creatures’ size and strength were meaningless when faced with the scythe that moved quicker than Death himself.

            The Warrior had never gone so deep into the creature’s territory.  The land’s ethereal formations were alien to him, yet he was not worried.  In these lower planes creatures grew larger and more powerful, yet the Warrior must press onward.  For Death himself had sent the Warrior deep into the abomination’s army, hoping to discover the source of these creatures that have scourged Death’s borders since the beginning.  Death had commanded and so the Warrior obeyed.  There was no other option.

            A mutated canine with multiple heads snapped at him.  Three insects with crushed exoskeletons swooped in.  A fused collection of burnt teeth, claws, and thorns charged towards him.  They all took only a moment to fall dead at his feet before being replaced by more.  A giant was cleaved from hip to shoulder.  A tusked serpent was beheaded.  A bat with six wings was sliced in the chest.  And then, nothing.

            He was in a large circular area, yet the wave hadn’t stopped.  Instead, it surged around the area, creating a sphere of artificial peace.  What could control the creatures in such a way as to create this? 

Across the clearing he found his answer.  An unusually humanoid creature stood opposite from the warrior.  It stood proud and erect, though its skin still held the burns and scars of the creatures.  The scene was peculiar, never before in the Warrior’s long memory had he faced a similar creature, though he remembered every beast he had ever destroyed.  Shrugging off the uncertainty, the Warrior charged.  The creature just stood there, still, immobile, somehow not comprehending its impending doom.  The Warrior swung his blade to end the dim-witted creature’s short life.

The creature dodged.

The Warrior stepped back, its bleached, white face showing nothing, yet completely and utterly surprised.  While the abominations typically didn’t just stand still and let themselves be cut down; they never dodged.  They instead were so comparatively slow that many didn’t even have time to register that they were being sliced, much less attempt to dodge.  This one, on the other hand, had dodged.  Not only that, it might actually be faster than him.

The Warrior had to finish his duty.

He swung again, blade missing by a hair’s breath.  He brought the blade back, a vicious stroke which was also missed.  Unfazed, the Warrior pushed forward with an insane hurricane of strikes, scythe becoming a blur as it slashed at the creature.  The abnormal thing evaded every sweep of the blade, showing no difficulty or aggression.  The Warrior did not worry; he was sustained by the very wastes of running the world and would not tire, while the foul creature surely would.  Hopefully.  Besides, it was not his place to worry.

He maintained his barrage of masterful strokes upon the abomination.  Not one landed.  The blade flew faster, and faster; a streak of silver upon a dark and demonic landscape.  It was still untouched.  Throughout it all, the horrendous wave of creatures had continued around the clearing, oblivious to the epic battle in the center.  Or was it even a fight?  The abomination seemed to simply be toying with the Warrior, displaying its definite superiority above him, one of the elite.  

Finally the Warrior backed off; this fiend was delaying his objective, and had to be eliminated.  He must complete his task. 

The creature stepped forward, he stepped back.  Its hand lashed out, its first offensive move.  He raised his scythe, but the thing grabbed it and yanked.  He flew forward.  It sidestepped and crushed his leg.

He fell, aghast, before pulling himself up on his scythe.  He could repress any pain, but he would no longer be able to fight.  The Warrior evened his gaze at the thing.  It was a major threat to the legions and must be destroyed, but the loathsome thing was playing with him and he was now crippled.  He held up his scythe threateningly, before collapsing without the support.  He tried to think, tried to find a way, any possible way to stop this unbelievably powerful abomination.  He must go back to report.  Death must be told, but how?  The atrocity simply regarded him for a moment, before widening its repugnant features into a smile. The dreadful image would have sent the greatest of armies running.  The Warrior took a step before it rushed forward, a blur to even his eyes.

A rip sounded.  Pain burst in his chest. 

Then all went black.