Reborn as The Reaper

Eldramor.

The land of the dead, as outsiders called it, where the fog never fully lifted and the shadows themselves seemed to stir with a life of their own. It was a realm infamous for its inhabitants: the wraiths.

These human-ghost hybrids roamed the streets of the kingdom. Trapped in a liminal state, neither fully alive nor truly undead, lingering in the thin space between life and death.

How had he ended up here?

How had he gone from the comfort of his apartment bedroom to this desolate, dreary place?

{Choose}

Embrace

Reject

—

Ethan's breath hitched, and his heart began to pound in his chest, faster than he thought possible. His mind was swimming. This couldn't be happening.

Thomas. 'My name was Thomas.' He clenched his fists, the familiar name echoing through his thoughts. He remembered his old life–the normal, uneventful life of a young college student, watching football games on Sundays and stressing over exams, studying for hours into the night. He remembered the soft hum of his apartment, the glow of his laptop screen. Only now had he realized how much he had taken these things for granted.

He missed it. Missed the comfort of being in a world that made sense.

It was all slipping away, like sand through his fingers. 'Who am I now?' The memories of a boy named Ethan flooded back, stronger, more insistent, blurring the lines between his two distinct lives. He remembered the cold eyes of his mother as he was abandoned to slavers for a few gold coins. He remembered the darkness of Eldramor, and the endless fear of what awaited him in this realm–becoming a servant, but not just any servant, an undead servant, bound to serve in death for eternity.

But how? 'Why do I remember all of this?' This life wasn't his, he was Thomas, not Ethan–he had never lived through these memories, yet they felt as real as his own. 'Why?' Every emotion, every fear, every bitter taste of despair gripped him as if he had always been Ethan, as if they had always been a part of him.

'This can't be real' he thought, staring at the glowing panel in front of him. 'I'm not supposed to be here. I didn't sign up for this!'

But there it was. {Choose}. The options floated in front of him. Embrace. Reject.

'Embrace what?' He didn't know what it meant. The memories? His new life? But his confusion was washed away quickly by a sudden, cold pulse which shot within his body.

It felt almost like a second heartbeat, ancient and filled with some sort of energy which he couldn't quite understand. 'What…what is that?' He wondered, his panic slowly beginning to fade, being replaced by a sick and unexpected wonder.

The pulse of power surged through his body, sending shivers down his spine. It was raw, potent, and strangely felt invigorating. He felt it move through his veins, traveling throughout every corner of his body, an exhilarating force that seemed to awaken something deep within him. Ethan closed his eyes to try and focus on the sensation, but just as quickly as it came, it left. 

Opening his eyes, Ethan had felt a sense of loss. The options floated in front of him, softly glowing in contrast to the cold darkness which surrounded him.

'Is that what I'd be embracing?' The thought echoed throughout his mind. The brief surge of energy had been intoxicating, and Ethan had felt as though he had become whole for the short period in which that energy ran through him.

He glanced back at the panel. 'What about my old life?' Memories of Thomas surface–his family, his friends, the warm embrace of his old world. Laughter shared with loved ones, and the simple joy of being alive. 

Would choosing to embrace this power mean losing all of that? Ethan paused, the thought of losing his past, his identity, plagued his thoughts. What if this new power turned him into a mere shadow of his former self?

As he struggled with his decision, another realization dawned on him. If he rejected the power, what would happen? His thoughts raced with fear. He had only hours before the ritual would be ready, before he would be bound to a fate which he desperately wanted to avoid. He would be turned into an undead servant—a mindless husk stripped of memories and will, forced to serve for eternity without the slightest hint of what made him human.

Ethan came to a decision, the fear of becoming a mindless servant had pushed him towards the only option which offered him a glimmer of hope. 

His hand moved towards the panel, trembling all the while. The choice was made. As his fingers touched the word Embrace, the panels light flared, enveloping him in a dark ethereal glow.

The sensation was immediate. The power surged through Ethan with a raw, exhilarating ferocity that overwhelmed him. It felt as though his very essence was being remade from the inside out, the transformation both excruciating and breathtakingly beautiful. His skin darkened to a deep, smoky gray, a spectral hue that seemed to absorb the surrounding shadows. His face took on a mechanically perfect quality, with sharp, angular features and a pair of deep-set glowing eyes, with a chilling, otherworldly purple light.

A tingling sensation began to spread across his back, growing more insistent until, with an almost imperceptible rippling motion, magnificent wings sprouted. These wings were immense and feathered, their dark plumage shimmering like liquid night. They unfurled slowly, the feathers rustling softly and trailing off into wispy tendrils of shadow that blended seamlessly with the fog around him. The transformation was complete.

"What…have you done?" The voice behind Ethan was sickly, raspy, barely more than a whisper. He turned to see a familiar sight, the wraith who had taken him. It's cold, ghostly form was hovering in front of him. Its eyes were wide with disbelief, as the creature seemed to examine Ethan's new features. "Impossible…" it rasped.

In that moment, Ethan was no longer conflicted between two identities. He was Ethan–and with that acceptance came a surge of anger. The memories flooded back–this wraith had been the one who had taken him, the one who planned to turn him into an undead, a hollow existence for eternity.

He clenched his fists, and almost instinctively reached deep into the core of his newfound power. The transformation was evident, his wings flared out, covered in an ethereal black glow. Tendrils of dark smoke began to seep from his skin, twisting around his body like serpents.

Ethan could see the wraith's emotions shifting from disbelief to something else, something far more satisfying–fear. "A mere human. How could you wield the power of death?" It hissed, stumbling back from the impossible sight before it. "Lord Reaper…? This…this cannot be…"

Ethan had heard enough.

He flung his hands forward, and the tendrils obeyed, surging towards the wraith. They wrapped around his body, sinking deep into its smoky form. The wraith shrieked–piercing through the silent desolation that was Eldramor. It thrashed violently, and in response Ethan only tightened his grip.

"W-wait! Please! Forgive me, Lord Reaper if I had known…" 

The words were cut off abruptly as Ethan's hand tightened into a fist, tightening the smoke around the wraith, crushing the creature. The wraith's eyes bulged, its mouth opened in a silent scream as he was slowly crushed to death.

"Enough," Ethan growled, filled with a wrath that he hadn't known he was capable of. The wraith would have no mercy from him today.

His fists squeezed even tighter, and in response the creature writhed, its pitiful cries becoming more desperate. "P-Please!"

But Ethan wasn't going to give it a chance to finish its plea. After all, if he pleaded in a similar way before being transformed, would he have been given mercy? The answer was clear. And with one final brutal twist of his hand, the dark tendrils constricted completely.

The wraith let out one last piercing shriek before its entire form collapsed inward, crumbling like paper. In an instant, the creature disintegrated into nothing more than a swirl of ash and smoke.

Silence followed, and Ethan stood there. There was no regret for his actions.

The wraith was gone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, Ethan felt like he had control.

However, a sudden shift in the air made Ethan freeze. He could feel it–an energy, approaching him quickly. The vast land was sparsely inhabited, and wraiths were few and far between. But now, their presence made itself known. They were coming.

The pulse of their approaching energy grew stronger, and Ethan could tell they were close. He didn't know how many were on their way, but he instinctively knew one thing–he couldn't face them all. Not yet.

Without hesitation, Ethan flexed his wings and bolted into flight. The fog slowly swallowed his form as he traveled faster than any human ever could.

—

Behind him, the wraiths converged on the spot where their kin had fallen. There were six of them–ghostly figures with the same smoky gray skin and dark and feathered wings.

One of them, the leader, knelt down, his fingers brushing the remnants of ash which was once their fellow wraith. 

"He's dead," one whispered.

"But that's impossible," another added. "The only thing which can kill a wraith is-"

"Holy power," the leader cut in, his tone sharp, "or the power of death" He looked up to the others before finishing. "There is no remnant of holy power here."

"But the power of death… that can only be wielded by The Reaper. Don't tell me he's-"

"No, it can't be." The leader's tone was firm. "I had the honor of being in the presence of the Lord Reaper before he ascended. His power was…suffocating. Overwhelming…While powerful, this energy doesn't have the same presence."

"But still…Vareth is…" One of them spoke up.

The leader scoffed, dismissing the thought with a flick of his hand. "Vareth was a fool. He was the weakest among us. Any one of us could take him on thrice over and still emerge unscathed."

"And besides," he continued, "if this was truly the Lord Reaper, why would he kill Vareth? And furthermore, why would he run away?"

The others saw the logic in his claim, but nonetheless shifted uneasily.

"But who else could wield the power of death?" one wraith challenged, looking around. "Kyrel, are you suggesting…?"

The leader, Kyrel, straightened, his gaze hardening. "I don't know," he admitted slowly. "But we will find out. Investigate Vareth's recent dealings and see if anything stands out."

He turned to the rest of the group, his tone commanding. "Follow the trail of whoever killed him. Whoever they are, they can't be that far."

—

The throne room of Eldramor was quite the sight. Although dark and dreary, the walls were illuminated by countless glowing runes, each pulsating with power. Towering pillars stood like sentinels throughout the chamber, their surfaces etched with scenes from the Kingdoms past.

The floor was a mosaic of black and gray tiles, separated by veins of glowing purple, casting an eerie glow which danced throughout the room. 

Dark, tattered banners hang from the walls, proudly displaying the symbol of Eldramor. The scythe of the Reaper, the weapon of their God, the first wraith.

At the far end of the room, a grand throne sits atop a dais, carved from jet black rock and adorned with skeletal motifs. The throne itself is imposing, with high, jagged backrests and armrests that seemed to resemble bony fingers.

Kneeling at the base of the imposing throne, a wraith bowed its head low before the figure seated above. "My Lord," he spoke.

"Report."

"Yes, my Lord. We investigated the site of Vareth's death. His form—now reduced to nothing but ash—is all that remains. There were no signs of struggle, suggesting that the one who killed him possessed considerable power."

"The power of death?"

"It appears so, my Lord."

A chilling silence filled the air.

Slowly, the figure on the throne opened his eyes, a pulsating, eerie purple radiating from them. The glow bled into the area surrounding his eyes, casting a shadowed menace over his face.

"The culprit?"

"The one responsible fled as our stronger forces approached."

"He fled?" The figure's tone seemed surprised, and more than a little intrigued.

"Yes, my Lord."

Once again silence filled the air. Eventually, the being's lips curled into a grotesque smile, an unnatural stretch that seemed to revel in its own wickedness. The grin was unnervingly wide, dripping with a theatrical malice that sent shivers through the room.

"Interesting," he murmured, his smile growing even more grotesque. "Find him."