Suddenly the room got cold, the air filled with the cawing of crows and ravens. They were scared, all of them. It wasn't natural... something bad was bound to happen... And there was that sound. A blade dragged across the floor, scratching the rules with a terrible screech.

𝙹リᒷ ꖎ╎ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ꖎᒷ ʖ╎∷↸...

Tommy and Tubbo hugged tighter, feeling as their breaths were getting slow and desperate, oxygen freezed in the air. But the ghosts were feeling much worse and so did the bandits. Unreasonable fear flooded them, feet glued to the floor, body stiff as a rock. And that pressure, clutching grip at heart...

ᓭ𝙹 ꖎ𝙹ᓭℸ, ̣ ᓭ𝙹 ᔑ⎓∷ᔑ╎↸...

Crows were getting louder, flapping their wings and getting into the room. And suddenly they saw someone standing among them. Pitch black wings brushed the floor as he folded them, dark robes and blond hair blew in the wind. He moved slightly, exposing the thing he was holding.

A scythe with blade dark as a night, glowing slightly in dim light.

Ghosts knew what was standing in front of them.

The Death had come.