Dark Destiny by Thomas Grave

about to change . . .
     

 
     
    Monday, 9:09 pm
     
    The layered black robes surrounded his body, flowing in a supernatural wind. They stopped a few centimeters from the ground. The Reaper cocked his head and breathed out. Cold mist exhaled from within his hood.
    An ominous presence surrounded him, covering every surface of his room. His sketchbook, with all of his half-drawings, lay burnt and torn. His door-length mirror webbed with cracks, and was missing pieces, leaving jagged edges like shark’s teeth. A black oil-like liquid oozed from the ceiling and dripped down the walls.
    The smell of burnt wood was carried by gusts of air through the room, and the sound of a crackling fireplace could be heard, yet Sebastian didn’t have one in his room.
    Though everything was dark and strange, this place — this horrifying, terrible place — felt natural to him. Somewhere inside him, he understood that he was from here, born of this land. The familiarity of this place crept through his body, filling him with the warmth of home. If he had a couch in his room, the temptation would be to settle back, kick up his feet and turn on the TV.
    The robes dissolved into purple and black vapor that glided over to Sebastian’s bed like a mass of writhing, intelligent snakes. There, hovering over his duvet, the vapor reformed, becoming solid, turning back into the Book.
    The mist left him once again in his regular clothing. Then, a mysterious ripple was expelled from the binding and the sound of crashing waves echoed off the walls. His bedroom returned to normal, no longer dark and gloomy with cracked mirror and sagging floor, but bright and warm. Alive.
    “What was that?” Sebastian asked himself.
    The Book hummed, a small glow coming from it as Sebastian heard the Book’s words in his head, Purgatorium. Its voice was deep and resonant, like the voice Batman would have if he really existed, but there was something disconcerting about it too. It was eerily familiar.
    “I—I know you. I feel like I know you.” He sensed something above him.
    Yes. Old friend.
    “And, I know this,” Sebastian said as he reached into the air, about to grab something that wasn’t there. But something was there. When his hand made contact, he closed around something hard, solid. A scythe. A faint memory of a dream tickled something inside him, the fear now gone. This was an old friend. The scythe was translucent. He tried to pull it down to examine it closer, but something fought him. He pulled harder, forcing the scythe to become solid. It crackled into existence, blue arcs of electricity snapping around it until it slid free, leaving a trail of dark purple mist that faded into the air.
    The wooden staff had a smooth, worn texture, perfect for Sebastian’s now gloveless hands. The blade itself was massive, large enough to weigh over a hundred pounds at minimum. Strangely though, its body was equally balanced, even with the large blade on one side and nothing on the other. To Sebastian, it seemed to weigh no more than a broom.
    “This . . . is all so familiar.”
    Your memory will return in time, the Elder said.
    He let go of the scythe. It fell and shimmered away a split second before it hit the ground.
    “I can feel it, wanting to return.”
    The Book remained silent.
    A thought struck Sebastian. “Do you know anything about my memory? On why I feel like I should know things and I don’t?”
    The Book remained silent.
    “Okaaaaay.”
    My apologies. Certain topics are blacklisted. Even from me.
    “Well, that’s going to be helpful,” Sebastian muttered.
    Let’s start from the beginning. I am The Elder. And you are the reincarnation of Death. You have been asleep, resting, for more than five hundred years. It is your responsibility to—
    Buuuuzzz .
    Sebastian glanced down at his phone. What timing. “Oh, hang on. It’s a friend. I really got to take this.”
    The Book remained silent.
    Buuuuzzz .
    After pressing the “accept” icon below