scorching sun seared his skin. Sweat dripped from his brow, falling onto the cracked, dry earth. He dug into the ground with the shovel, as if burying a past he never wanted anyone to uncover.
He covered what he had buried and rose slowly, breathing heavily, his chest tight with a weight he couldn't name. Just as he turned to leave, a hand gripped his shoulder.
He spun around, sweat running down his temple, and found himself face-to-face with a tall man-medium build, gray hair clinging wetly to his face, clad in a black cloak identical to the one he had seen on that creature.
Don's eyes widened.
He tried to strike, but the man moved faster.
A quick sweep behind his legs sent Don crashing to the ground.
Before he could get up, the man knelt over him, pressing a small blade to his neck. His eyes burned with restrained fury.
In a calm but deadly voice, he said, "Don Martik... don't resist."
Don smirked, despite the pain. He raised his finger and pointed to his own neck.
"Do it..."
Silence.
Time itself seemed to pause.
They stared at each other, like two souls that had known each other forever.
The man smiled.
"Why not?"
And in an instant-without hesitation-he slit Don's throat.
His head dropped. Blood spilled, soaking the hot earth... once again.
But the blood crawled back. Fused. Formed.
Don rose-gasping.
He ran.
Ran without a destination. Without hope.
Toward emptiness... seeking escape.
He looked back-no one was there. Relief filled him.
But only for a moment.
He collided with someone.
He looked up slowly-it was him. The gray-haired man again.
Don gazed at him with pleading eyes, sorrowful.
"Why are you doing this to me?"
The man froze, then burst into laughter. A mocking, wild laugh.
Don sank to the ground and whispered, "Why... why did I come back to life after you cut off my head?"
The laughter stopped.
The man leaned closer, voice low and serious. "That creature... the one who killed your grandmother... what do you think it was?"
Don replied blankly, "I don't know."
"Think."
But Don couldn't. He felt nothing but emptiness.
The man asked again, "And what do you think I am?"
Don shrugged. "Just a human?"
The man smiled.
He raised his right hand-and in a flash, a black scythe appeared in his grasp. Its blade shimmered like a memory etched deep in Don's soul.
Don's eyes widened. He'd seen it before.
The same as that creature's...
"Yes," the man said calmly. "We all have this scythe."
"We are... Durmak. And now, you've become one of us."