Frigid Lightning

A Glimmer in the Dust Storm
The cloudy skies overlooking a barren village in disrepair could scarcely be viewed beyond the blanket of dust in the air. Not a single soul was present upon the dirt road between the settlements other than a battered adolescent clothed in tatters. Draped in sweat and breathing profusely, the young man dragged his body away from a certain threat with his final dregs of strength. Every other villager had promptly hidden themselves away before they could meet the sight of the scourge they had known for far too long. That scourge, shaped as a rugged man wearing only a black hakama; numerous scars decorated his bare chest. The sword he brandished as he closed the distance between him and his victim-to-be displayed his roguery as an unaffiliated Shinigami.

“Don't waste my time, peasant!” the Shinigami roared with bloodlust in his eyes. “You're just prolonging your sufferin'; makin' me cry.”

“N—no, I can't...” with no stamina to his name, the peasant lost his balance as his sole collided with a rock and sent him face-first onto the ground. Rolling on his back, the peasant could only watch from below as his assailant lifted his blade to usher in his final sentence.