(Pili/Heavenly Yama) The End of Time

The scenery of the Land of Death is woven from black and white.

The towering peak bears the weathered marks of age. Its rock has been worn uneven and pitted by wind and rain, and fragments occasionally break off and fall. Like a colossal pillar reaching straight to the heavens, it stands in a mingling of black and white, faintly silver-gray, blocking the entrance to the gate, unfallen for a thousand years.

He raised his head to gaze at the magnificent yet solitary mountain. The scenery for miles around seemed veiled, shrouded in a vast white haze that made the surroundings impossible to see.

The scenery of the Land of Death was just like its inhabitants, tinged with an elusive hue, like the death they held in their hands: both illusory and real.

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