Death is a Girl

Chapter 12: Hell's Comin’ With Me

Time caught up to her as she screamed, “Stop! STOP!”

She abandoned the boy. Reaping his soul could wait. This man was a murderer! He killed a child for no reason, and if she didn’t stop him, maybe he would do it again.

He looked over his shoulder just long enough to verify Morrigan was chasing him, and then he disappeared into an ally between two buildings.

Nobody else saw what happened, and everyone who was nearby had their attention on the accident.

“Morrigan!” Noir’s voice echoed in her mind. “The boy! Reap his soul!”

But she was beyond listening. The words did not even register. Adrenaline coursed through her veins with her focus solely on the man in the trench coat. She sprinted, pouring all her newfound energy into her legs. Each step was deliberate and powerful, her shoes pounding against the ground as she turned into the alleyway.

The man had a head start, but she could see him. His black coat flapped like the wings of a dark raven, a bird of prey, making him all the more menacing, yet an easy target to follow. But, he was fast, unnaturally so, especially considering the hot day and heavy clothing.

He took a sharp right, then a left, maneuvering through the maze of the city’s back streets and alleys, seemingly knowing each twist and turn.

Morrigan kept pushing herself forward. Every once in a while, he would glance back, his eyes shadowed under the brim of his hat, and she’d see a flash of something—fear? amusement? It was hard to tell.

He threw obstacles in her way: a trash can, some wooden crates. Each time she either vaulted over them or crashed through without slowing down.

“Morrigan!” Noir’s voice echoed in her ears again, but it was growing distant, faint. “Come back! Come back now! You can not—”

Noir’s voice became nothing more than a whisper, then it was gone.

The man suddenly halted at a dead end.

That’s it, I got you now! Morrigan thought as she slipped off the glove on her right hand, walking slowly.

He was alive—living, breathing flesh and blood, and the power to kill was in the palm of her hand. He had a crazy look in his eyes, an impossibly square jaw, and he smiled with teeth that were like tombstones. She just had to grab him with her ungloved hand and he would die. He wore gloves, and long sleeves. His throat was exposed—just needed to grab his throat.

He suddenly jumped up, hand reaching skyward as he grabbed a fire escape ladder. It pulled down with him, screaming with rusty hinges. Morrigan dove at him just as he jumped again, pivoting his momentum as his foot shot up.

He kicked her square in the stomach, stopping her advance, sending her sprawling onto her back, stars coming over her eyes.

Somewhere far into the back of her mind, she heard Noir’s voice. But it was so faint, she couldn’t understand him.

She forced herself to stand, stumbling towards the ladder as the man swiftly made his way up. The metal creaked and groaned under his weight.

As she climbed after him, a strangeness crept over her. The muted sounds of traffic and distant conversations began to warp. The rhythm of the city was replaced by an echoing drone, a vibrating muffle, distorted as though she were underwater.

Then, the grimy brick wall of the alleyway, observed through the rungs of the ladder, took on a new hue. Vibrant colors forced their way free from every crack and blemish on the brick surface—purples, blues, bright emerald greens—oozing out like plasma.

She looked up, saw the tail of his trenchcoat disappearing at the top of the ladder. The sky above was shifting too, darkening.

What the hell!?

She looked around, never failing to continue to climb despite the vertigo that gripped her heart, but the city below her had transformed. The once solid ground seemed to melt away, replaced by a sea of shimmering lights and indistinct shadows. Buildings floated, detached from their foundations, and the people below appeared as ghostly, translucent figures, moving in a slow, rhythmic dance, seemingly unaware of the changes around them.

Suddenly, her hand reached for a rung but found nothing. Startled, she looked up and realized that the ladder had ended. She pulled herself up, getting her feet on solid ground, but finding she was now standing on the edge of a vast, floating platform.

The man in the trench coat stood at the far end, behind him, shooting stars streaked a purple sky, and orbs of fire hung in the depths of space.

Morrigan breathed heavily, taking everything in, wondering just what she had gotten herself into.

“Reapers are getting quite young these days, aren't they?” said the man, rolling his shoulder as he removed one arm from the sleeve of the trenchcoat, letting the garment hang from the other shoulder and blow in the wind.

Morrigan’s gaze shifted from the mesmerizing cosmos to the man, now revealing a muscled, tattooed arm, covered only to the bicep by a white undershirt.

“You killed that boy,” she spat out, her voice shaking.

He tilted his head. “I merely nudged him toward a new path, just as I’ve done with so many others.”

Morrigan clenched her fists and screamed, “Why! He was just a child! Why would you do that?!”

He chuckled, and began stepping forward. Morrigan tensed. “You don’t know what I am, do you?” He chuckled again, shrugging his other shoulder and letting his coat fall to the ground. He was wearing a simple white undershirt, tucked under the belt of his slacks. She realized he was dressed like some kind of 50’s gangster or detective. “Oh, I get it. You are quite new, aren't you?”

Morrigan reached to the side, her fingertips finding the touch of her scythe. She squeezed her fist, summoning it into existence, then held it in front of herself. The ornate pole firm in her hands, the shimmering blade pointing at the man threateningly, this time with a red glow.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he tilted his head, stretching his neck and smiling with those grainy tombstone teeth. “The younger the better. That’s why I chose him.”

“STOP SMILING!” Morrigan yelled.

“Does it upset you?” He seemed to smile wider to mock her.

The anger welled up inside her, eyes burning with tears of rage. “Would that boy have died anyway?” she asked. She had to know. “Without you, would he have appeared on my list?”

“No, I don’t believe so.”

“Are you a fate?”

He instantly started laughing.

“STOP LAUGHING!”

“You really don’t know anything after all. Fates don’t decide on deaths. They just document what has already been set into motion.”

“Then what are you?”

“I suppose I’m what you would call a demon.”

“A demon!?”

He proffered his hands in a divine shrugging gesture. His eyes and those grainy teeth offering Morrigan a challenge. “Am I on your list, little reaper?”

Her hands tightened on the scythe; her gloved hand gripped it firmly, while her ungloved hand felt slick against the polished wood. “No,” she said.

“Then, I don’t suppose I’ll be dying today.”

With those words, he suddenly lunged toward her, and in the back of her mind, she had a flashback to that day in the graveyard. The much larger, faster boy chasing her when she knew she could not outrun him.

She tried to defend herself with the scythe, swinging it forward. His hand shot up, and grabbed it under the blade. He towered over her as she tried to rip it free from his grasp. His other hand came forward and she had to let the scythe go as she ducked and rolled away. She scrambled across the ground as she tried to get her feet under herself, feeling him upon her, anticipating him grabbing her.

As she stood up and turned towards him, she saw he did not pursue her. He merely stood there, grinning as her scythe disappeared into blue flames that dripped through his fingers. “Go on, summon it again,” he said.

Morrigan felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins, her breath hitching. She stared at him in terror, finally realizing the mistake she made by chasing him.

“Come on now, little reaper,” he chuckled and slowly began stepping forward. “This won’t be any fun if you don’t fight back.”

Morrigan gulped, reaching for her scythe. Her fingers slipped past its ethereal form at first, until she steadied herself and grabbed on. She clenched her fist and summoned it back into existence.

He suddenly broke into a sprint, arms wide as if he either wanted to tackle her or pull her into a bear hug. She stepped back and swung her scythe at his throat, but he pivoted on his back foot, the blade barely missing his chin. Before Morrigan could redirect the momentum of her swing, he was coming forward again. She jumped back as he closed a fist. She felt the wind from its momentum as the punch came just short of breaking her nose, but she avoided the hit.

She swung her scythe in a short arc. His hand came up in a quick motion, grabbing the pole once again. He pulled, causing her to stumble in his direction. Then, his body leaned back and his foot came up. Again, the air was knocked clear from her lungs as she was kicked backwards, the scythe slipping from her grasp for a second time.

As she hit the ground, she rolled, the cosmic world spinning around her in a dizzying clash of colors. As her body turned for the third or fourth time, her elbow found nothing but air where there should have been ground.

She was at the edge of the platform, gasping for breath, holding her stomach. She got a brief glance over the edge, to the haunted city far below before turning her focus back to the demon.

He casually strode towards her, shaking his head, his big teeth smiling. “You’ve never once used that scythe as a weapon, have you?” He spoke slowly, savoring each word as he moved closer.

Morrigan tried to get up, but he swiftly reached down and grabbed her by the ankle. Her hand slipped and her back hit the ground. She lashed her other foot at him, kicking him multiple times, but it was like striking solid stone.

His other hand came down, grabbing her other foot, adjusting his grip and then grabbing her by the waist, then the arms, his hands pulling her in as she tried to scramble away until finally, a hand gripped around her throat.

She could kill with a touch—she kept this fact at the front of her mind as she struggled.

Her ungloved hand made a grab for his forearm as he lifted her, but he grabbed her wrist while his other hand held her suspended by her throat.

I just have to touch him! she thought, trying her hardest to grab hold of him for just one second, but he was far too strong.

She was dangling by her neck, breathing was impossible, and her vision began to blur. The vastness of the cosmic void stretched below her as the demon held her over the edge, delight evident in his eyes. “I’ve never seen a reaper with skin so fresh. Just how new are you?” He laughed, the sound echoing in the vast expanse.

Tears welled up in Morrigan's eyes as she tried to draw in a ragged breath. She struggled, her body instinctively fighting against the confinement. Desperation filled her, and she reached deep within herself for any remaining strength.

“You see, watching your kind squirm, it's a pastime for me. But it's so fleeting. Why rush things when I can see the terror in your eyes, knowing you're powerless?” He grinned, those large tombstone-like teeth glinting. “It’s so much more satisfying.”

She wished she had taken both gloves off. She tried to slip the other one off as she wrestled with his arm, but even the smallest movements were becoming too hard for her.

“Sadly, I don’t have time to play with you all day. So you're a toy I’m just going to have to break.”

Her ungloved hand made one more feeble grab at his arm, but he held her off, and then she felt her limbs going limp. Vision fading. The last thing she remembered was the vauge feeling of her legs dangling over the endless abyss.

She couldn’t die from being choked—she didn’t think so anyway—but if she was dropped into that void? What was this place anyway? Hell? Or would she just spend an eternity trapped in this strange cosmic space?

Finally, the ringing in her ear consumed everything, as her body lost consciousness and everything turned black.