Angel of Death: (Reaper Series Book 1), Page 6

  NO FEAR THE REAPER

  Azrael. If there was ever one that could be called 'The Grim Reaper,' it was he. Older than the world itself, Azrael was an angel sent from Heaven, deigned to help the souls of humanity pass from their world into the next. He was the father of all Reapers, having created them all to assist him in his cause as the human population grew. Once, he was the only Reaper required, but now... Now there were thousands of Reapers. And Azrael was their commander, offering guidance where he could to those who needed it.

  Azrael did not Reap much from the normal world anymore, leaving the fates of those who died because of old age, illness, accidents and other such causes to Reapers such as Darius, choosing to take the responsibility of Reaping those who fell during battle in wars. A hard task that no Reaper took pleasure in, given the vastness of the death, pain and horror that the poor souls endured in their final moments. He was never in one place for long, traveling the globe as more and more people waged war every day. He was impossible to find, but there was a way to contact him.

  Darius was back in the mortal realm. He had appeared inside a church, now standing beneath the alter, gazing up at the large crucifix before him. The church had been locked for the night, so Darius knew he was alone, the clergy having gone home hours ago.

  Darius moved from the alter and stepped closer to a bowl that had been placed on a pedestal. The bowl was full of water. Holy water. To wash away one's sins. Darius reached behind his back and pulled out a hooked blade; similar to a scythe, only much smaller for single-handed use. He held his free hand out over the holy water and pressed the blade against his palm. With a quick slash, he let his blood flow from his hand and into the holy water, where it swirled thickly around the bowl. Darius then placed the tip of his blade into the water and slowly stirred clockwise, mixing his blood with the water, murmuring quietly under his breath as he did so.

  "Ostendo sum vestri, angelus nex, quod dedi mihi regimen turbatus vicis."

  Darius removed the blade from the holy water and watched as the liquid continued to swirl. It began to swirl faster and faster, red and black blurring together in the darkened church. Darius heard a gush of wind surge through the church, rattling the candelabras and rapidly flipping the pages of a bible that someone had left behind on one of the pew seats. The church was already dark, but it seemed as though whatever light remained was then extinguished, the stars vanishing from sight through the windows and the moon seemingly having blinked out of existence.

  Suddenly, the wind stopped and the church was left in almost-darkness. Under the crucifix at the front of the church, a shadowy figure suddenly loomed. The silhouette stood at a little more than six feet tall and was shaped like a man standing in shadows that were only slightly lighter than he was. Also, there were additional shadows stretching out from the man's back, spanning so far they almost touched each opposing wall of the church. They looked exactly like wings.

  Darius took a knee in the church aisle between the pews, bowing his head in respect of the creature that had appeared before him.

  "Azrael," Darius said in greeting.

  "Hello, Darius," Azrael said pleasantly. "Please, rise. There is no need to kneel. Are you well? Why have you summoned me?"

  "I wish to speak to you about a matter that has concerned me greatly," Darius said, slowly rising from his knee, but keeping his head bowed in respect. "A Reaper has gone rogue. This rogue has taken the soul of a young woman, before her time. I thought you should know."

  Azrael was silent for a few moments, the shadows of his giant wings flexing as he thought. Glancing up, Darius could see Azrael, half shrouded in darkness, rubbing his chin in consideration.

  "Did you see this rogue?" Azrael asked softly.

  "No," Darius replied. "I Reaped the soul of a mortal who witnessed the attack, the ordeal resulting in his death. I consulted Charon, who looked through the eyes of the mortal soul, but was unable to identify the rogue."

  "I see..." Azrael said, his voice nothing more than a whisper, but still perfectly audible and resonating. "That is disappointing. But I am glad you brought this to my attention, my friend." Azrael then seemed to look around in surprise and chuckled. "But look at us, discussing these matters in such a grim setting. Perhaps less darkness will lighten the mood? Please, forgive the pun." And as Azrael barked a short laugh, all the candles suddenly came alight, chasing the darkness back to the corners of the church where they were held at bay by the light of the flickering flames.

  Darius looked up at Azrael and saw a glimpse of movement by his shoulders as Azrael drew his wings in out of sight. In the light, and with his wings hidden from view, Azrael looked like a normal man. Although, 'normal' may not be the most apt term. Breathtaking, was more accurate. He had long hair that reached his shoulders and was such a light shade of brown, it almost seemed yellow. His face was beyond words for description. Everything from his bright-green eyes to his perfectly formed jaw structure was captivating. He had a constant smile on his full lips, as though he knew something that no one else did. As though he alone held the secrets of the universe. He looked no older than 30, but his eyes held untold years of wisdom.

  While Darius wore a black suit and white shirt with no tie, Azrael wore the more 'traditional' attire that one might expect of the Grim Reaper. The long black cloak reached the floor and swished softly whenever he moved. The sleeves hung loosely from his arms, leaving room for arms far thicker than Azrael's. The cloak also had a hood that Azrael could pull up and shield his face in darkness, but he had left it down now. There was no need for him to hide from Darius. They were comrades, brothers, brethren. They shared a cause.

  Azrael stepped down from the altar and approached Darius, still smiling at him. Darius kept his head bowed, even when Azrael was only a foot in front of him.

  Azrael sighed and said, "Darius, if we are to speak, the least you can do is look at me. I've never been one for this 'respect of servitude' thing. Please, treat me as an equal and not as the being who granted you immortality."

  Darius cautiously lifted his head, the life he had endured as a mortal, before becoming a Reaper, screaming at him to remain respectful and to bow his head. It had been hundreds of years since he became a Reaper and left his life behind, but some things were just harder to let go of. Especially when they had been taught by the lash of a whip. Even now, Darius could hear the crack of the whip and his own screams echoing far and wide.

  Azrael was considering him, smiling like a caring father, despite his apparent age suggesting that he would more likely be Darius' brother. He reached out and laid a hand on Darius' shoulder.

  "There's something else, isn't there?" he asked. "Something more than the rogue?"

  "Yes," Darius nodded. "But please don't concern yourself with it, Charon has already explained it to me. Is there any way I can help you with the rogue?"

  "Ah, don't worry about the rogue," Azrael grinned. "As the father of all Reapers, I am quite confident I will be able to find him soon enough. It should be over quickly. Rest assured, his punishment will be just and severe."

  "What will you do?" Darius asked, then quickly added, "If I may ask?"

  Azrael patted him on the shoulder, then proceeded to wander among the pews, his hands clasped together inside his robe sleeves. "The most fitting punishment would be to strip him of his immortality and cast his soul to Eve and Tartarus for eternal judgement. But don't worry, my friend. I'll make sure they understand the gravity of their actions and give them a chance to repent. Perhaps then the punishment will be less severe. But believe me when I say that they will deserve whatever they get in return for what they have done."

  Azrael turned from his position between the pews. He had picked up the forgotten Bible and was turning through the pages. Darius could see the inscription on the cover read New Testament.

  "But enough about that, Darius," Azrael said, without looking up from the Bible he was now aimlessly flipping through. "I want to hear about whatever else is tro
ubling you. I'd hate for such a loyal and talented Reaper to be distracted by some concern eating away at him. Please, if you don't mind..." He finally looked back up and Darius found himself almost hypnotized by Azrael's green eyes. He found himself calmer and allowed himself to tell Azrael what was bothering him.

  "It doesn't matter, it's not a great concern. I've simply never encountered the situation before and I was confused, maybe a little troubled. But Charon explained that because of the rogue changing Fate's Design, many fates must now be rewritten."

  Azrael nodded. "Of course. Please, go on."

  "When I was Reaping the witness, I saw a nurse. But she had no fate. Her entire future was blank. I expect by now she may have a future written for her, but it was disturbing at the time, as I have never been unable to see someone's fate."

  Azrael slowly closed the Bible in his hands. "Yes, I imagine it would have been quite troubling for you. This nurse, where did you see her?"

  "She works at Mercy Heart Hospital. Her name is Peyton. Peyton Paradisa."

  Azrael nodded. "Is this close to where the rogue was last known to have operated?"

  "Yes. In the very same city."

  Azrael smiled. "There you have it. Charon... Sometimes I wonder if he is wiser in the dance of life and death than I am. He has told you true, Darius. This Peyton woman simply required a new fate. And yet... you are still troubled?"

  Darius looked down at his feet, confused and a little embarrassed. "Yes, Azrael. I don't know why, though. For some reason, I can't help but feel like there is something very wrong. And that this woman has something to do with it."

  Azrael stepped closer and placed a hand on each of Darius' shoulders, looking him in the eyes. "It is natural to be concerned. We are charged with not only assisting those who have passed into the afterlife, but we must also ensure that the balance of life and death is left in check. What you are feeling is the same sensation I have been feeling, but until now was unable to identify. We are sensing a great unbalance in life and death. This rogue has damaged more than the pattern of Fate. He has damaged our very being. So yes, I understand your concerns, as I also share them. But leave the rogue to me. I will take care of it and all will be right once more. Thank you for telling me all of this, my friend."

  "It was my duty and an honor to speak with you once more, Azrael," Darius said, inclining his head in respect.

  Azrael stepped back from Darius and barked another short laugh. "You and your respect. You could live to be 10,000 years old and you will still maintain that charm and decorum. Farewell, Darius. We shall speak again soon, I expect."

  In the blink of an eye, a loud rush of wind and what sounded like the rustling of feathers, all the candles in the church were suddenly extinguished and Azrael was gone.

  Darius turned to leave, but his attention was caught by the Bible that Azrael had placed back on the pew seat. Stepping closer, he saw that, in the rush of wind, the pages had blown open to a particular section. The very first passage that Darius saw read;

  Peter 4:17

  For it is time for judgement to begin with the family of God.