Grave Digger
"Through the murk, the souls lurk,
and through the fires beyond the gate, hell devours the bait."
Dark eyes blinked ponderingly as the formidable man strode within the safe domain.
Far from the other burial grounds that belong to the typical Grave Digger, these grounds were not likened to the sunny grasslands he was used to.
The man gave a backward glance to the outside from which he had retreated only moments before.
In contrast, these grounds were rocky and bare. The trees were brittle and decayed, the flowers and grass were withered as well. There was no sunlight either, with the sky permanently overcast in desolation. And down in the dale, the open valley surrounded by mountains, were hordes of resentful wights.
Souls who cultivate the evil within their hearts and refuse the salvation brought by the Grimm Reapers to pass on.
He faced forward once more, taking in the eroded surroundings and jagged rocks.
The air within the safe domain felt oddly moist yet smelt of stale and salt. The stalagmites positioned both threateningly and protectively around a crude looking dais. The seating was dilapidated and crumbling. And there upon that seat was the Grave Digger who had caused such a ruckus among the Virtues in Heaven.
And what a wretched sight the former mortal made.
The man strode past his exhausted comrades, absently noting that they were barely clinging to consciousness. He felt a flash of pity. Short-lived as it were. It was their first time having to perform multiple burials one after the other and with little time to rest. Much less from within another Grave Digger's realm. His comrades' grave digging counterparts must have been well past their limits as many were either collapsed or already unconscious.
The other beings eyed him and the unattached Grave Digger with ill-disguised apprehension, already realizing why he was here, as well as the Choir's desperate choice.
The man who seemingly embodied both darkness and death itself refrained a chuckle. Lest he scare the weak of heart.
He halted in front of the soaked figure, holding out a gloved hand. "You must be extremely unlucky to have me chosen as your partner."
The figure twitched. Wary of the being who had spoken to him.
"But regardless, it is now our turn to perform a Funeral March worthy of the Damned..."
A cruel smirk pulled at thin lips as the other man's pale gold eyes peaked through a curtain of chocolate brown.
"…and open wide the gates of hell." He whispered in glee.
TBC...