• It was Mid-day when a cart rolled into the silent, small village outside of the quiet, dark kingdom of New Troy. It pulled along with two passengers in the small car. These two were no ordinary people. In fact, they were the very leaders of the large Citadel outside of the village. It's towering complex could be seen for miles on end and was the crowning achievement of the kingdom of New Troy. And these men were the starters of it all.

    They trudged along happily across the dusty village roads, their faces masked by their posh transport. One of the men, Olimar Hansen II, opened his case by his seat and revealed to the other, Clark Venice Montreal, co founder and friend, a set of documents delicately sealed in thick steel tubes, in other words, of obvious importance. "I'd like you to see these, they are some ideas for an addition to the surrounding walls of the Citadel." This was typical for Olimar to always privately exchange building ideas, regarding the Citadel, to Clark and vice versa. It became more of a fantastic, creative hobby other than the important future of a post-war kingdom.

    "I think you'll like these," said Olimar. "Yes, yes you told me. Now, let me have a look," said Clark. It was strange to Olimar that Clark would seem a little bothered, or even serious. Boy, he never thought of him being so serious all of a sudden, after all, directing seemed so fun to do. Building new things, meeting important people, being regarded as important to the rebuilding of a once struggling society, it was like playing a big board game with a friend. Today was a little different, maybe because of the weather, it was a little gloomy outside, and he could be set on a certain mood when weather was different. " Hey, are you going to let me see them or not? I am the co founder of this citadel, you know." Clark was especially serious this time. "Okay, okay. Don't get your hair in flames, for God's sake." For God's sake! Boy, he can't remember the last time he had even listened to a sermon. Now he's beginning to wonder why those Protestants seem to have so much fun. What was I thinking, he thought, I'm going against something I've committed to, why show so much disobedience? Well, there's another talk for the confession.

    Handing the papers over, Clark uncorked the thin seal on the tube and took the paper out, the fresh scent of creativity and the amalgam of ink and paper filled his nose, a smell he found pleasant over time. Now even more eager, he unrolled the document to reveal the detailed drawings of his counterpart neatly laid upon the sheet. This one happened to be some kind of small outpost set on the gate structures that lay upon the Citadel walls. An imposing frame that even he thought looked extravagant and well thought-out. Height, weight, time to build, materials, tools, worker numbers. All there and set, a detail only his colleague could rightfully accomplish on his own. All Clark ever done was supervising construction of the buildings.

    "These seem so imposing than ever, Olimar. Why the improvement?" Clark asked. Olimar beamed in his approval, he always took pride in compliments of his work. "Well, this was for the hope that maybe we can help keep the recent spike in death rate you've been of aware of, right?" Clark was immediate to recall, after all it was headline news in the kingdom. Just about anything to do with death, destruction, and new proposals traveled like wildfire among the lips of the people. "Yes, especially when that family in the south district, was, oh, about 20 people, all dead from an unknown cause?" "Yes, precisely 20. It's getting worse, I fear." "Have they found what might be causing it?"
    "No word yet."
    "Well, I think so."
    "What do you mean by that?"
    "Well, there have been rumors of something."
    "What are the rumors?"
    "Well, the villagers say the cause of the death increase was for some reason, the minions of Death himself are after someone, and they kill anyone who won't help in their search." "Ha ha, boy! You sure do come by some of the weirdest rumors. I think you visit the brothels too much nowadays." "Shhh, don't say so loud, you never know if one of my congregation members may hear." "Ha, sure. But go on, tell me who they are after." "Well, the person they are after is a man that goes by the tag 'Death Hunter' or something. Well, they say this 'Death Hunter' guy just took out some of Death's minions, brandishing Death's own scythe. A skilled lad, indeed, they say he took them all in one quick slash, like cutting about 30 yards of wheat in radius equivalent." "This still seems a little farfetched to me. I mean come on! Death Hunter? Death's minions killing innocent lives just to find some nut with a farm tool? There has got to be something else to it. Have they reported any known sicknesses? Maybe a wound of any kind?" " No. The reporters are even saying, though, that the victims look like they've had the life sucked right out of them."

    Tap! Tap Tap! Something tapped at the cart window. Both of the men turned to see a raven pecking at the glass, red eyes glowering at the two men. Freaky, it seemed, that this creature would have such a look like that; it was almost never even noticed before. It quickly took off, must have been spooked by something. Whatever it was, it sure wasn’t afraid of the men inside the cart. A sudden knock on the door of the cart followed. The men were still a little dumbfounded by the sight of the raven, but at least Clark snapped out of his stupification and opened the slide on the cart. They never dared opened the cart door for anyone unless they recognized them as important figures. "Yes, can I help you?" A low, serious voice followed,” Yes, I need to find South district." "Sorry," said Clark, "but that area had been closed off so far due to the mass murder that happened there." "Nevertheless, where is it?" said the stranger. He sounded collected and ready to respond at a moment's notice. Was he military, Clark thought? Still, he dared never give free rides to soldiers, not after last time, which he dared not recollect. "Uh...About 13 kilometers Northeast of here." Just follow the road leading in that direction, only one road to there from here." "Many thanks, gentleman. God bless you and may New Troy smile upon you." Huh, Clark thought, why does he sound so, I don't know, pious? Very strange, he thought.

    Only now did they notice that the cart had stopped. Olimar said finally, "Clark, our cart has halted, I'll investigate." Olimar exited off the other side of the cart and went up to the driver. "Hey," said Olimar,"why have you halted for so long?" No answer. He could clearly see the driver, though he appeared as if he was sleeping. What an insult to such a man that he wouldn’t even respond to an important figure such as Olimar. "I said driver, why have you stopped?" Still no movement from the driver. Olimar was infuriated by this man's disregard for his questions. Olimar flung himself up to the driver's seat in a mad rage. He took the driver by the collar and cried "Answer me, now!!!" All of a sudden, his blood ran cold. The driver was not sleeping at all. He was motionless and dead, and from the smell of him, he had been lifeless for almost an hour. He also saw the very raven that had pecked at their window earlier, cawing at him with no sign of fear whatsoever. The crow then leaped to the shoulder of the dead driver and moved it's beak around the face, Olimar horridly pale and stone-like motionless. The bird then, in one foul swoop, pecked out the eyeball of the corpse of the driver, and Olimar began to feel dreadfully sick. Gaining enough courage to move, he leaped off the top of the driver platform and back in the car, quick as lightning.

    Catching his breath, after panting out of fear, he regained his sanity and looked over at Clark, oddly in the same position as he left him, staring at the outside window. "Clark...t-t-t the driver...h...he's dead, Clark. Dead!...Clark?" Olimar had the feeling that Clark was not paying any attention. He leaned to meet Clark's face to see. Clark was pale white and stone still, like he had seen a ghost, with acception of his bottom jaw quivering. "My colleague, what have you seen?" said Olimar. Clark slowly directed his eyes toward Olimar, head still firmly still. "T-t-t-t that man...he...that man...he...oh, brother I believe I'm beginning to believe that silly rumor, brother." "Calm down, I'm not your brother. Tell me what you saw." "That was no ordinary man, Olimar." "What makes you say that?" "He...he carried a.....a scythe. A scythe! It was no farmer scythe, I swear! It is stained with the blood of many men, this was the scythe of Death, I tell you, Death!!" Olimar started to share the fear that Clark had. They lay in the cart, fearing, motionless, stranded in the quiet village, in fright of the Death Hunter.