Darkness. Blink. Blink again. My vision starts to clear, and I can see an ephemeral figure slowly emerging from the darkness. Inky, black, cowled robes. An empty hood, save for two, glowing, red orbs, floating eerily towards me. A dusky, red gleam of burnished metal.

The spectre evokes a primal fear, deep within. Of its own accord, my body turns away, to the unknown, towards the empty darkness, turns to flee; anywhere, so long as it is away from the Shadow.

I only manage a few faltering steps before a similar shape materialises out of the gloom before me. It is subtly different - the way the draped cloth falls, the shape of the red eyes, set with cruelty rather than cold indifference. But its purpose is the same.

Again, I turn to evade capture.
As I freeze and back away from yet another Shadow, my heart pounds a thundering rhythm, pounding at my chest.
This time, its distinguishing feature is the haft of the scythe, topped with a white, leerng skull.
I turn, but manage only seven steps before I freeze once more, wide-eyed, trapped. I am surrounded by faceless, glowing eyes.

As they come closer, I begin to tremble, and then to shake, utter terror sweeping uncontrollably through my body, draping a cloak of cold sweat over shivering flesh. I stand at the centre of the shrinking circle of Death. Nowhere to run!

Six scythes arc down. The flash of light on falling metal blinds me. Quick and sharp, the strokes cut through my body, and then there is constant pain. Fiery agony following icy blade, through bone and muscle and sinew. I am helpless as they slash me to pieces, again and again. The pain wrings gasps and screams from my soon severed vocal cords.
Although they slash me to ribbons, I still live. I revive. I come back from the dead, only to die again. I die indefinitely, a million deaths. Cold. Hot. Tortured.

They have had their fun. They lay me on the floor, moaning in pain. Slowly, they lift their scythes, and as the dark glimmer of metal assaults my vision, I realise, 'They are going to behead me!'
I am paralysed; my body not under my control. My eyes stare in horror at the rising of the Reapers' weapons. I prepare for my final death.

Swift downstroke, metal at my neck, such biting, icy cold, slippery, cutting easily through mortal...