He shut his eyes, relaxed his whole body and minimized his breathing so that his lungs didn’t expand too much when he took air in.

William felt the man move closer to him and Garret. When its feet was right next to his face, he couldn’t resist opening his eyes, but by just a tiny bit. Dread and confusion made him feel smaller than he thought possible. The man wasn’t really wearing dark boots. His feet rivaled the blackness of a raven’s feather while coils of smoke snaked around his skin.

The weight was suddenly lifted from his chest as he immediately shut his eyes. A hard thud sounded behind him as the floor vibrated. He could only discern that the man tossed Garret aside like he was made of paper, making him cower in his head, figuring how strong the man could actually be.

As thoughts of escaping slowly dwindled from his mind, a brush of cool air passed over his face, causing his body to tense. His left hand was buried around his back as he felt the fine, hard leather of his dagger’s hilt. As he planned an attack in his head—if ever the situation had called for it—a hard, icy and chilling grip held his jaw. His eyes flung open.

Staring right back at him was a dark face of a man. No. It wasn’t entirely a face. It was a head composed entirely of black matter with depth, contour and shapes that somehow replicated a human face. It had two dark pits where its eyes would have been as it seemingly stared right at him. The more William’s sight adjusted to the dark, the more he learned that this wasn’t a man. It was a shadow. A living, breathing shadow.

“AAAAAHHH,” screamed William.

The shadow screamed back with a monstrous howl, tightening its hold on his jaw. When its fingertips dug deep into his skin, he released his dagger from its holster and slashed it across the shadow’s face. The shadow recoiled back and covered its face with its hands, shouting, shrilling from the pain.

William staggered to stand and walk over to where Garret was. When he was right next to him, he repeatedly and softly slapped and shook his face. “Garret. It’s me William. Get up. Garret. Wake—“ A strong force held him by the arms and threw him across the room. He landed in the middle of chests and crates as his limbs were scrapped by its sharp corners.

The shadow howled from its victory toss, stretched its arms and started towards him.

With adrenaline masking the pains in his body, William forced his limbs to push himself up while holding the dagger in his hand clumsily for defense. When the shadow came in close distance of him, he swiped it up, down and across, daring the shadow to come closer. The shadow shrilled, darting its limbs forward and back.

After a few missed forays, it made a grumbling noise and extended a hand in the air. Its black arm swelled, curled and bubbled, changing into a full length dark sword. It raised its sword-limb into the air and hacked it down. William defended with his tiny dagger but the length and strength of the sword made him release his weapon and hopelessly take a gash at his arm. The shadow raised its sword in the air again and slashed it down. William plucked a plank from the side and blocked with it. But the blade broke it into pieces and swiped his shirt and parts of his skin.

By instinct, he threw what’s left of the plank on the shadow’s face and ran to the side. But after three steps, a piercing pain shot through his left calf, making him trip and fall flat on the floor. His eyes bawled as he clawed his way forward, eager to leave. But he couldn’t move. He looked back. The shadow had pinned him with its sword right at the flesh of his leg.

The shadow towered over him with its black body and created another sword from its other hand.

His eyes locked on its two pits, he whispered with quivering lips, “Please, let me—AAAAAHHH!!!“

It had punctured its free sword right between his shoulder and chest while howling in delight. A snicker passed across the shadow’s face as it wobbled its blade, stretching the wounds wider, playing with his bleeding muscles. Crying out, William blinked back tears as blood gushed from his injuries.

The shadow bent down, so its blank face was right above his. Immediately, he felt light headed as his body was robbed of its strength and will. The adrenaline pumping on his veins seemed to diminish, replaced by a cold eternal calm. His eyes flicked to the side where the sword stuck through his chest. Bits of white light escaped his open wound and glided right at the sword, disappearing into the body of the shadow. His breath began to shallow as his capacity to cry out withered. His legs began to feel numb as did his arms.

Right when his body craved for sleep, a dark hand wrapped around the shadow’s neck, yanked it away from William’s ailing body and flung it across the room.

Another shadow had appeared.

His attacker immediately got off from the ground and charged at the new shadow. It swung its sword across and met a newly formed axe from the intruder. His attacker started shrilling and squealing, talking in a language and a form that had no comprehensible words. The second shadow replied with the same unintelligible babble, flinging looks and gestures at William and a sleeping Garret.

If William had the strength, he would have moved from where he lay, took Garret with him and escaped while they were distracted. Or he would have stabbed one in the back and kicked the other. But he could neither do those things, nor could he yell for help. He was spent.

Weapons returning to regular arms, the two shadows stopped bickering and made their way to him.

It was his time. William’s head sided to his right. “-elp…pleaz…hel…” he breathed out into the darkness, into the shadows that clung on his deathly hour.

One shadow stopped right before Garret and the other walked in his direction. When the footfalls of second shadow ended at William’s face, a dark, deep voice said, “Grimnir, defile.”

The shadow on Garret squealed in terror as it flew in the air and hit the wall. The second shadow turned back to the source of the first’s terror when the intruder hacked its arm with a scythe.

A man in dark robes held a six-foot tall iron rod, decorated with skulls and bones. At both of its ends was a crescent moon blade pointing in opposite directions; if it was viewed from afar, it was shaped like an almost circle with a cut right through its center. One of the blade shone silvery white and the other a blacker shade of ash.

The severed arm on the floor quivered as the shadow screamed in a vengeance. It raised its still working arm and changed it into a sword. Charging, it flung its makeshift blade across. The intruder blocked with its scythe, sidestepped and hacked the white side of his weapon on the shadow’s leg. As the shadow released another howl, the man twisted his weapon in his hands and beheaded his opponent. When its head fell from its body, it and all of its other parts burst into ashes.

Howling, the second shadow had recovered and leaped onto the man with two axes from its limbs. The man blocked the first strike and stepped back. The shadow didn’t let down, striking, swinging and charging. When the man’s back tapped the wall, the shadow cried in near victory as it slashed its double axe down on him. But its blade only hit the floor, flinging bits of wood across. The shadow turned from left to right, wondering where the intruder had gone. As it stood straight, the man fell from the shadows of the ceiling and landed with its scythe slashing through the shadow’s body. The second the man’s blade connected with the floor, the shadow burst in a fog of ashes.

The heavy air that weighed on the room dissipated as the red light from outside disappeared.

The man released a breath; its scythe glowed and changed into an iron key hooped in a large silver ring. He gazed at an unconscious Garret before coming to a wheezing William. “It has been a while since I’ve heard a soul-cry. You’re lucky I was tailing the other damonen, otherwise I would have come later,” he said.

William stared at the tall man, sensing a familiarity from him. Because of the robe that cloaked him completely, he could not see much of his features, only his perfectly sculpted chin and pinkish thin lips. “Who are—“ He coughed the rest of the question, blood bubbling in his throat.

The man’s lips pursed. “You do not know me? Yet you called for me? How can—ah… Your family must have hidden knowledge from you. I suppose knowing is dangerous. Especially when you live out here in the open.”

Knowledge? What was he saying? He tried to speak but an insistent coughing came out instead.

The man stared at William for moments and then smirked. “You remind me of someone, but I can’t seem to recall who. Never mind. I suppose you know not of any spells yet.” He reached a hand in to a shadow on the ground as it passed through and appeared where William’s dagger was. He gripped the hilt and plucked it from the floor, passed it through the shadow and held it in front of him. He opened his mouth as an ancient language escaped his lips, full of stuttering and crackling of the tongue.

It reminded William of the chants his father does under the basement or sometimes outside of their house. He had asked once what it was about, but he was greeted with another round of beatings. From then on, he knew well he should keep his mouth shut when his father did something he didn’t quite grasp.

At the end of his chant, the man kissed the blade with his pinkish lips and returned it to William’s holster. “I bestow you my blessing. Now you can defend yourself properly,” he said.

“Who,” William managed to say.

He knelt down and whispered, “I am your patron. Your Bringer. Your herald. I am Death.”

“Death?” His eyes shone in glee and excitement though he didn’t know why.

“Yes. Now sleep, my child. You need to recover.” Death placed a hand on his forehead as a calming and soothing presence washed over William. He felt the clutches of sleep and exhaustion take over him.