He was so tired. He worked for countless hours. Every day. Every week. Every month. Every year. For years. It wasn’t funny anymore. He was his own boss, so he could quit at any time, theoretically. But practically? Well, thousands of people all around the world needed him. He was their own hope. But he couldn’t do this anymore. So he quit. From one day to the other he was gone. And was never seen again and all those thousand lost souls suffered, cried and asked why he wouldn’t help anymore. Nobody knew why he was gone. He never spoke to anyone in the past about his work. The weeks passed. And slowly but steady a wave of rage rolled over the planet. Millions were confused, millions were scared, millions were angry. And all of them started to pray to the lord in hope for help.
But there was no help. Chaos. Riots. But no matter what happened in these months after he quit, it didn’t make him reconsider his decision. He was gone. A year had passed. In the meantime, after all those people realized that being angry was no solution, they started to search for alternatives. They organized themselves and tried to make the best out of this situation.
There was this moment, when he sat down, staring into the sky. He had so much time thinking about things in the past months. About his work, his relationship to all those people. He was gone but still heard all of them crying for help. It was no problem for him in the first time. He didn’t care because nobody would ever care for him. He had worked so much and never gained any respect nor was his work appreciated. Was he angry about them? For not caring? Or just burned out from all the pressure, like the world itself lasting on his shoulders? It didn’t matter yet. While staring into the sky he heard their lonely voices, crying, praying, for help. His help.
“Is this really my destiny? To work for them, even if I would slowly starve to death?” he asked himself. Sadness filled his dark, empty soul. Sadness. Feeling guilty. His head sunk onto his chest. He knew that he had to return, no matter how he felt about this. It was his work and it has to be done. Period. A quiet sigh came from his mouth, then he whispered: “I know you are listening. We haven’t talked for a long, long time. But now I need your help. I need the power to start it all over again, to help them to be free.” His head turned up into the sky, he stood up from the bench he was sitting on. The city in front of him was sleeping and nobody would expect him to return in that seconds. He rose his arms against the sky and then called for him: “Help me. Give me the fire! Oh Lord, give me that fire!” And the lord answered.
Thousands of crows started to sing his song. The clouds started to form a hole above him and suddenly the sky turned from blue into a dark grey in just a few moments. A strong wind rushed trough his cloak, a grey aura began to wave around him. Suddenly, blue flames blazed in his hands. He closed his eyes for a second and his face turned into a grimace. When he opened his eyes again his pupils were all black. He felt stronger and better than ever before. The past months were a long needed holiday from taking the lives from the living. He was ready to start his work. Again. Now, the weak ones first. Then all the other lost souls that deserve to be swept from the face of earth.
He was back. Death was back.