Humanity was extinguished. Like a fist full of sand, piece by piece, each and every grain was lost. None was salvaged but one. Ever since a rain of fire came down, no one was ever going to be the same. Yes, there was a Heaven. And there was a Hell. There were worlds above and below, far and beyond. The flow of creation slipped through the Human race like water in a cup that has a hole in the bottom. They were nothing but slaves to creation itself. Slaves to the beliefs of existences and to the belief that there was a Heaven and a Hell.

We all wonder the question of; where do we go when we die? There's no punishment if you've done horrible things in your life. It was a waste of time of what humans thought. An Afterlife? There was only the process of purification and purging the spirit of all memory, before it can flow through creation once more, and can pass through the Well of Souls.

The winged crusaders of the sky are known as the Angels. They were the oldest living race since the beginning of time. They only simply follow the ancient laws of Heaven.

And what of the Demons? Demons were old as the ancient race. They were commanded to destroy, and destroy again. Until their master is pleased with the bloodshed. But it was never enough. Even after driving humanity to extinction.

There was a race above all others, older than time itself. They were known as the Nephilim. The only race who can wipe out civilizations. The Nephilim put countless realms to the sword and burned them to ash. But Four amongst them grew weary of the slaughter and feared their conquest would imperil the balance. And so, a truce was made; The Four would serve the Council, in exchange for unimaginable power. Thus were the dreaded Horsemen formed. And the riders' first task was to purge their brethren from creation. . . To annihilate the Nephilim, and destroy their souls. Let us cast our gaze to one amongst the Four. Not War, who lies chained at the Council's feet, professing his innocence, but one who will save his brother, above all else. He has many names - Kinslayer, Executioner. . . Death.

He stood there at the edge of the perished city. Colourless, and crumbled city before him. His eyes watched as dull sand swept up into the wind. Countless demons roamed the city, as many parts of New York were blocked off. Abraxus, a demon who blocked off most of the city, and was not yet happy with the bloodshed, continued to build a demon empire. It was yet true that Humanity was lost, but there was no hope left that a single Human was left.

Short flurries of sand danced in the wind, as the heavy smell of oil and gasoline filled the air. Death studied the buildings that were now half dismantled. They say that the Humans built skyscrapers higher and higher to one day touch the Heavens.

It was simply. . . foolish.

The soles of his age-worn boots remained atop even the flimsiest layer of packed dust, as though he were weightless—or perhaps, again, it was merely that the dust wanted nothing to do with him.

Hair as black as a demon's shadow hung to his shoulders in matted, greasy locks. Below them, torn and stained streamers of bruise-violet fabric whipped and trailed from the back of his belt; perhaps the only remnants of what had once been a tunic or cloak, perhaps something more. The dark leathers and piecemeal armour he wore from the waist down, and the fraying strips that wrapped his palms and forearms, were equally grimy and unkempt. The skin of his exposed torso, shrunk tight over a wiry frame, was the dull gray of a corpse even without the filth in the air. Death was Death, he wasn't some prince charming that some damsel could fall in love with either.

Death held his scythe in his left hand. The weapon was known as Harvester. Death could simply refer it to a massacre. It was taller than him, and jagged by every edge. The blood of creation flowed through it as if it was alive. It yearned for blood. Death continued to watch the sand dance through the air. He was here once before, to protect a sacred chapel of the Humans. He knew they were inside. Death swore to revive the balance. But there can be no balance without darkness or light.

He wore a bone mask that obscured his face. What was even worse; was the fact no expression could be leaked from the mask. Death never gave a second thought about removing his mask, never since the day he slayed his brethren that he could once call Brothers. It was who he was now, an immutable barrier from who he was and who he once was. It was a burden of weights that weigh him down.

An ebony creature flew in the sky and landed on Death's shoulder. It raked its claws on Death's pale skin. Death didn't mind his companion doing that. Dust was Death's eyes in the sky. The crow turned to him and started squawking.

"Yes, Dust." Death took in a breath and continued in his low voice. "Humanity didn't stand a chance when the seventh seal was broken." Dust acknowledged the reaper's words, but suddenly had a slight protest against him. He continued to listen to Dust.

"A Human is. . . alive?" Death furrowed his brows under his bone mask. It was quite unfeasible for a single, weak, Human to live this long. Maybe there was more than meets the eye. . . A sudden tempest of sand kicked up into the air and obscured all sight of the city, for just a moment. "Show me." Death commanded. The crow instantaneously took flight and flew right into the storm. Death took a breath in and exhaled. Death mumbled something before his scythe snapped in half and became two weapons. Both dual weapons became two crescent blades. Dual scythes. Death raced through the storm, at the same time he watched the illuminate green glow of Dust fly through the air. 

Loud gunshots went off in the sudden distance. A weapon that he once heard before. By the time the tempest disappeared, his eyes locked onto a small person fighting off a demon. He was astounded that one single Human was surviving this. The Human sprinted towards the demon, they held two hatchets in their hands. Death could have sworn he saw a wide grin on the demon's face, as its mouth dripped with saliva. The demon looked like it was going to tear out the human's throat. Just seconds before the demon had extended out its charcoal-coloured claws, the Human leaned all of their weight on their heels, and extended out their right leg. It was almost as this fight was in slow motion. The demon accelerated its attacks on the Human but missed by inches. Death thought this would have been the termination for the Human. Death looked closer and saw a split oil from an oil barrel under the monster. "Clever. . ." Death mumbled with a hint of amusement. The Human slid under the demon and extended their right arm up, causing the hatchet to slice open the demon's stomach. Blood, intestines, and whatever it ate the night before, had split out.

Within a second, the demon had toppled over. This was defiantly abnormal to see a human fight like this. The Earth shook and rattled the Human's bones. Right, when they turned around it was like Death saw their life flash away. He could sense the dread they were feeling. Something even bigger than a normal demon was behind them. "Oh, crap. . ." The Human mumbled.

Hey! Thank you so much for reading another chapter of the re-written version of Death Lives! Please do tell me what you thought of this chapter! Don't forget to make that star shiny at the top right corner of your screen :) Thanks for reading!