The Ferryman

Reason

“Grave, it’s Sheppard.”

“Grand Paladin Sheppard, to what I owe the pleasure?”

“I just got your resignation letter from the Crusaders, care to explain?”

“That letter is supposed to reach you roughly 5 weeks ago, Sheppard.”

Grave whispers as he keeps his right index finger pressed onto his earpiece as he keeps a look out.

“I quit. It is as simple as that.” Grave crouches next to a pile of bodies, a mix of families and lovers. Grave exhales to the sight, it is part of what he does, or rather. What he used to do. Grave calsps his hands together.

“Maybellestra, Goddess of Death. Please, put aid in the passing of these souls.” Grave lets out a prayer for them, although it can be said to be useless but it is all he can offer for them.

“Quit? Grave you can’t quit! You’re my candidate to be the next Grand Paladin!” he could hear his friend sounding surprised and annoyed over the earpiece.

“Sheppard. You and I know that if you have chosen me as your candidate. Then you must be mad.”

“Grave, you’re the only one who would qualify as Grand Paladin. Abdol is too gungho for his own good. Granger would kill everything because it is easier while Krist is focusing on being benevolent!” Grave walks into the town square, where he could see the half eaten corpses. Some of the corpses had been impaled to the wall. Just another way to inspire fear through the mutilation of corpses, the dead bodies lying around.

“Grave, tell me what are you doing in Mastidfelt?”

“I heard that there was something here. Either the Queen of Demons or a Royal.” Grave answers as he looks at the castle, the dark skies surrounding it, the eerie feeling that would send shivers down your spine. Macabre atmosphere, this is just how would a high ranking demon or Royal would prefer it.

“Grave. What is it that you’re searching for?”

“A reason. A reason to believe that all that I’ve done has been worth it..” Grave draws his machetes as he looks at the bodies that are rising up from their slumber. They were from the pile Grave had just prayed for them.

“Good luck, my friend.” Grave sighs, his porcelain mask changes to black as he holds the machetes in a backhand fashion.

“To the Gods, of Old and New. Forgive the blasphemy of what I am about to do. Forgive me, for the killing that I must cause, for the harm and death that I am about to bring. Allow me to still wield my blades in your name, to put a rest to these trapped souls.” Grave’s hair turns white as snow, his eyes crimson.

Grave rushes forward, hacking one ghouls head off. Then swinging the machete at another ghoul’s face, cutting it in half.

One swing downwards to decapitate a ghoul, then another swing to the limbs to keep their grip away from him. Grave grabs a ghoul by the neck, pushing the ghoul forward. Charging with the ghoul like a battering ram, pushing the other ghouls aside. A ghoul attempts to grab Grave, therefore he swings the machete to the arm, then throwing the machetes at the various groups. Grave throws his cloak aside. Revealing his horned demon skull mask, a hooded tailcoat, black slacks and leather shoes. Grave pulls out the pair of pistols from his thigh holsters. The pair black pistols that have been crafted, the pistols have been blessed by the many High Priests, Elders and Archbishops. He fires at a swarm of ghouls before him, seeing the single shot tear through three ghouls with ease. Grave snaps his aim from ghoul to ghoul. He finally hears the click, as the slide of the pistols cycle completely to the back while his thumb presses the magazine release. Grave swings the pistols to the side as he reloads them with a fresh magazine. Then flicking the slide release with his thumbs.

15 rounds of 313 Scarce munition. Under the barrel, two iron statues that have been welded to it. The statue of Goddess of Death Maybellestra and the other, God of Souls, Grimmoire. The name of this pair of the pistols,Deliverers. For they will deliver whatever that is on the end of the barrel to their deaths. Grave dodges the reach of the ghouls, trying to keep the ghouls in a group. Firing the two shots to send them flying.Grave keeps on firing until the threat has subsided. He takes a moment, putting his hand by his chest. Feeling his heartbeating at the very second, appreciating that he is alive. Appreciating that he has a living and beating heart. To understand and appreciate that life in all forms are sacred, even the monsters that lurk all around.

Grave lets out a sigh, his hair returns to the usual black and the pale blue eyes. Then he could see the transparent humans walking to him. These are the human souls that have been released.

“Grimmoire, as a servant. I plead and pray for your grace to guide these souls to rest.” Grave whispers as he reaches to the zip of his lower calf, reaching in for some petals of orchids, roses, chysanthemums, irises and carnations. After the prayer ,Grave brings the petals to his face and blowing it away. Watching how the petals fly all around him, the happy smiles of the souls that have now vanished completely.

“That is my offering for these souls, Grimmoire. Please, allow them to have their rest.” Grave wishes, as he watches the petals vanishing.

“Thank you, for accepting my humble offerings. I will be sure to maintain it.”