Executor

Hark! The ground groans beneath the scratch of metal,
A clangorous sound that sends shivers down hyenas' spines.
Yet to me, it resonates like divine harmony within my very being,
Or rather, my decaying husk.
Half a month has passed since the fierce battle.
My flesh has rotted, my veins are dry.
I linger on this battlefield, waiting,
Longing to return to my ultimate resting place, the realm of death.
I lie among the mountain of corpses,
Wondering when Aidonia's executioner will make their appearance.
I stand by the River of Souls, waiting,
Praying for the safety of my soul.
And then, at long last, the voice echoes in my ears,
My hollow eye sockets see the scythe that signifies my eternal rest,
And the compassionate gaze of a maiden.
Thanatos, my great god, I have felt the gentle touch of your hand.