Black soil scattered and covered the modestly-sized grave, as the night sky closes at the end of time, burying the eternal death. The god, born after the Annihilation of All Things, now rests here, at the moment this world meets its end, turning into a small mound on the hill.
The disorderly wind blew from the dark, gently caressing the mound, where nameless wildflowers and weeds swayed in the wind, making a soft rustling sound. Duncan stood in the wind, holding the shovel with both hands, gazing long at the pile of fresh soil before him.
Then he lifted his head, looking around—Death had not prepared a tombstone for itself, and there were no materials around that could serve as one.
Duncan then forcefully stuck the shovel, which had been used to dig the soil, in front of the mound, and used his hands to gather some soil around it to reinforce it, thus making it a makeshift tombstone.
