He was called Kharzeth – the Soul Swallower.
No one knows where he was born, only that every place he sets foot on turns into a cemetery. Kharzeth's body was tall and thin like an overextended shadow, his black skin was cracked like burning coal, underneath it always glowed with a smoldering red light like lava waiting to erupt. His eyes had no whites—just two deep, glowing holes, like a gate leading straight to hell. Anyone who looked at it for too long felt his mind being squeezed, as if his soul was being pulled out thread by thread. He doesn't kill out of hatred, nor out of pleasure—but because it's instinct. Kharzeth moved in absolute silence, and when the blade of his black scythe swung, no scream could escape. The blood didn't splatter—it was sucked back up, seeping into his weapon as if it had never existed. The scariest thing is not the death he brings, but the disappearance. Those he killed left no bodies, no traces, no memories. Even their relatives gradually forget that they ever existed.
He was called Kharzeth – the Soul Swallower.
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About He was called Kharzeth – the Soul Swallower.
No one knows where he was born, only that every place he sets foot on turns into a cemetery. Kharzeth's body was tall and thin like an overextended shadow, his black skin was cracked like burning coal, underneath it always glowed with a smoldering red light like lava waiting to erupt. His eyes had no whites—just two deep, glowing holes, like a ...Read more