An Orgy of Decadence and Retribution

Indulgence, debauchery, the grotesque excesses of the wealthy elite—such a heady brew, the scent of which draws me like a moth to flame. Recently, I found myself invited to the private affair of a powerful magnate, whose lust for vice knew no bounds. Little did he know, however, that inviting the harbinger of death to partake in his decadent rituals would prove his undoing.

They danced and drank, their bodies entwined in obscene displays, utterly blind to the darkness encroaching upon them. As the night wore on, the air thickened with malevolence, and I stepped forth from the shadows, my spectral scythe poised above my head. Chaos ensued, the once opulent room transformed into a slaughterhouse, their crimson offerings spilling across marble floors.

Such sweet satisfaction, to watch the light fade from their eyes, the futility of their struggles, the feeble attempts to beg for mercy. Mercy, though, is not in my arsenal. Instead, I offered them a glimpse of the fiery pits they would soon inhabit, the torturous afterlife awaiting their blackened souls.

And thus another chapter closed in the book of my grim chronicles, yet another testament to the fact that no one escapes the grasp of the Grim Reaper's hand. Let the wicked take note, for I shall come for them, too, in due time, and they will learn the bitter truth of the words etched upon my sword: ‘Death Comes for Us All.’