Death is a Girl

Chapter 51 - Amalgamation

Morrigan’s screams pierced the air as the demon emerged from her body, abandoning its old host to consume a new one. Its torso tore her lower back to shreds as two misshapen legs emerged with a sick plopping sound that was like separating a wet suction cup. It ripped its arm from behind her shoulder blade, revealing a fleshy point at the end of the wrist where the hand hadn’t finished forming.

The demon’s face, still with beautiful fair skin, now had a ravenous quality to it as it greedily crawled over Emma. Its other hand was already burrowed deep into her back, but Hilda would not let it get any further.

She charged forward with the staff in her hands, feeling her power surge through it. It was nothing like using her own staff—the difference was like hitting the gas on a family sedan vs a sports car. All at once it felt exhilarating, overwhelming, and dangerous.

“Get off of her!” Hilda screamed.

The blue gem nestled in the tree knot smacked into the demon’s temple with a resounding crack, emitting a pulse of blue light that instantly melted half of the demon’s face. Its arm ripped from Emma’s back as it tumbled across the ground with its oddly shaped, fleshy limbs. Morrigan and Emma, now both free, collapsed on the ground together.

Hilda spun the staff and held it high in the air, preparing another strike. She did not want to give it a chance to recover.

The demon was naked, but covered in so much blood its form was obscured. Its deformed legs pushed at the ground with a bend as if their bones were made of rubber. It raised its hand defensively as Hilda prepared to swing her staff down. Since one-half of its face melted from her initial strike, its bony jaw was revealed with stringy flesh connecting it as it cried out in agony. “Emma! Emma! HELP!”

“SHUT UP!” Hilda screamed. There was a burst of light as her staff tore through its outstretched arm and sailed clean through to the top of its skull, crushing it like a bug. Its two legs and left arms wriggled like noodles, its torso bobbed up and down with its final death throws, and finally, it fell limp.

Hilda stood there panting, watching as the demon’s final, convulsive movements ceased. Its grotesque form finally laid still as the sun barely peaked over the horizon and would soon wink out completely.

Emma, still clinging to Morrigan, was trembling, her eyes wide with shock and pain. Hilda came over and kneeled beside her, the protective runes on her arm glowing as she focused her magic into the staff and took out her pocketbook. “Hold still, Emma. You’re going to be alright.”

“Morrigan…” Emma cried. “Help Morrigan first.”

Hilda looked at the other girl who was panting with uneven breaths. Her entire back had been torn to bits as if she’d rolled on top of a land mine. “Reapers are immortal, right? She’ll live no matter how bad of shape her body is in. You, on the other hand.”

“H-help her…” Emma whimpered, her consciousness fading.

“I will, don’t worry.”

Hilda poured out a mixture of Calendula and Yarrow into her palm, then rubbed her hands together as she channeled her energy into the herbs and let them slowly fall into Emma’s open wound. The staff, her mother’s staff, was nestled in the crook of her arm as she worked, the top glowing softly under the moonlight as it acted as her catalyst.

The herbs began to glow with a soft, ethereal light. She gently pressed the glowing mixture into Emma’s wound, murmuring an incantation under her breath. The bleeding slowed, then stopped, as the herbs encouraged the skin to knit together.

Luckily, it’s a full moon tonight, Hilda thought, briefly glancing up at the white orb in the sky.

Emma’s pained expressions eased, her trembling subsided, and her breathing calmed. Hilda watched over her, ensuring that the healing was progressing as it should. Once satisfied with Emma’s condition, she turned her attention to Morrigan.

“Your injuries are beyond severe,” Hilda said, flipping open her pocketbook. Indeed, ‘severe’ would be a huge understatement. The mixture she used on Emma couldn’t deal with something like this, Morrigan’s wounds were far too deep, and too much of her flesh was missing. Her spine was torn apart, its cracked end visible within the gaping hole in her back. Amongst her organs and torn muscles, a red bubble kept forming and popping as the girl who should be dead continued to breathe.

Morrigan gave no response, her lips quivering as she struggled to keep her eyes open.

“I don’t know much about reapers, but I know you’ve got deep wells of magic… You’ll have to do most of the work yourself, but I think I got something that can help.”

She slipped out a vial with clear liquid. “This is moon water I’ve charged through three cycles so far... That is, three full moons. It should act as a sort of conductor for your magic flow.” Hilda carefully uncorked the vial, the liquid inside shimmering with a faint luminescence.

Morrigan’s eyes flickered towards Hilda, a glimmer of understanding in her gaze despite her weakened state. With a steady hand, Hilda gently poured the moon water over Morrigan’s torn back, the girl wincing as it made contact. It cascaded over the exposed flesh, and a soft, silver glow began to emanate from the injuries.

Hilda placed her hands over the wounds, not touching them directly but hovering just above. She closed her eyes, channeling her own energy and muttering a spell under her breath.

“Is Emma… going to be… okay…” Morrigan whispered with what little strength remained.

“Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Focus on yourself right now. Focus your magic on healing your flesh.”

“I don’t… know how…”

“Sure you do. Magic’s the most natural thing in the world.”

“S-stop…”

Hilda canted her head. “I’m helping as much as I can, but as I said, I can’t heal you on my own.”

“Let… me die…” Morrigan whispered.

“What?” Hilda glanced at Emma, whose eyes were now shut, and she seemed absorbed in an uncomfortable sleep. She then returned her gaze to the reaper, who had silent tears rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m… already… dead…”

“Hey, quit talking for now. Focus on your magic; look for the feeling of it in—”

“No…” Morrigan moved her arm under herself and propped herself up as best she could. An agonized look came across her face as the movement disturbed her wounds.

“Just stay down,” Hilda said.

“I killed Noir… I hurt Death, and Emma…”

“You didn’t do a damn thing, kid. That was a demon.”

“Correction…” someone spoke, and Hilda’s head shot up. “That IS a demon… We are not done here.”

Under the dim moonlight, Death emerged from amongst the headstones. The shattered half of his skull had been patched with stringy black flesh that wriggled as if an infestation of maggots were crawling just beneath the surface. There was a yellow eye with a black slit like a cat’s eye set in the socket, and red veins crawled along its edges as if it were infected.

Death’s form, now an unsettling amalgamation of his skeletal structure and Noir’s dark, fleshly material, moved with an eerie fluidity as he approached them. The yellow eye moved unnervingly as it scanned the scene.

Hilda reflexively stood, positioning herself protectively in front of Emma and Morrigan. “W-what has happened to you?”

Death tilted his head, the movement causing the black flesh to shift unsettlingly. “An unfortunate necessity,” he responded, his voice a strange echo of his former self, laced with an underlying hiss.

Morrigan’s gaze shifted to him, “N-Noir?”

“Worry not, my dear. Noir still lives. He merely requires a new vessel. For the time being, I shall share my bones.” Death reached his hand out, and black tendrils erupted from under his sleeve, tearing apart the fabric and spiraling up the length of his arm. Bare bone could be seen through the fleshy mess until the tendrils snapped together and formed makeshift muscle, then a beam of light shot from between his fingers as his scythe formed.

The flesh upon his fingers lifted, revealing the skeletal fingers beneath as the flesh began to crawl up the scythe. “Noir!” Death growled as he tightened his grip, and the flesh seemed to be pulled back as it twisted back around his fingers and returned to its proper place. “That’s it. Don’t be greedy now.”

Noir’s voice then came with a response, though where exactly he was speaking from was unclear. “My apologies… master.” His voice seemed to echo from the core of Death’s body.

“Quite alright… Now then, witch. Please take care of the girls. I’ll finish with our changeling friend.”

Hilda glanced back to the pile of gore that was once the changeling, sitting not too far from them. “But I already…”

“Tis’ merely playing possum, my dear,” he said as he walked past them. “Their kind don’t die so easily.”

Then, almost as if it were watching and listening, the pile of gore shot upward with a spire of flesh that twisted and began to take shape, morphing and contorting into a human form. Not unexpectedly, as the head came into place and the spine formed to support it, it once again looked like Morrigan. It wore no clothes, but short of its neck, it was nothing more than a silhouette with the most detail put into replicating her face.

It stared at Death, turning its head with a look of fear and confusion. “I’m sorry I wasn’t a better reaper. Please don’t kill me. I’ll do better!”

“Is that what you think I want to hear?” Death asked, stepping forward, scythe at the ready. “Or, is it that even with Morrigan’s memories and your ability to mirror her body, it is simply not possible for you to shape her personality?”

The changeling’s face scrunched up fearfully. It looked to be on the verge of tears. “I don’t understand.”

“You see, Morrigan wouldn’t say something like that. She simply isn’t the type to beg for forgiveness.”

The changeling seemed to understand well enough that it would get no pitty, so its choices were fight or flight, and it chose to fight. Its arm shot forward, elongating like a spear which Death’s scythe passed cleanly through as he dodged. As he moved in for the finishing blow, the changing somersaulted backward fluidly, landing on top of a headstone. It crouched and hissed like a wild animal.

Death took another swing which the changeling jumped over, but it was a movement Death had anticipated.

Dozens of Noir tendrils shot forth from Death’s body, piercing the changing with an array of black spikes that held it in the air. Death stood, the bearer of those spikes, and held the scythe high above his head with both hands. The blade took on a red glow that Morrigan had only seen once before when Death reaped a hollow.

It gave up on words as it wriggled, screaming furiously as it tried to break free from the spikes. Several more shot forth from Death’s stomach, impaling its legs and arms to hold it still.

“Now, abomination of the underworld! Time to return to where you came!”

The scythe caught the moonlight, glistening as it descended like a guillotine.

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Chapter 52 - Drowning