Immortality, it seems is unattainable, even to He who created the world, even to his children, the ones he loved even more than Himself, however far they have fallen from grace.
It is a Grim job, the Grim Reaper muses with a smile, a Grim smile. A low chuckle escapes his skeletal lips as he looks down upon the corpse that lay at his feet, pity she was not better at chess, it would have been nice to debate with her, that mind of hers was remarkably witty, and her tongue was sharper than the scythe he carried.
"Another game, another win, huh, Grimmy?"
"For me, I suppose, yes," The Grim Reaper replied to the voice that echoed from the darkness, "but for the world, I fear that they may have lost."
"Getting sentimental in your old age? You never used to care about the dead once they lost your petty little game."
"…and you are becoming quite the petulant child, Lucifer, what would your Father think?"
The speaker revealed himself then, though the Reaper knew his identity long before he chose to show it, "You have no right to speak of my Father," the corners of Grim's mouth twitched up a bit at the tone the young man used, "He threw me out. He wasn't there when I needed Him most."
"He has-" The Grim Reaper started.
"A great responsibility-yeah I've heard. He is God after all." He looked so angry then, his grace bleeding out from his skin causing even the shadows to doubt themselves, as the Light caused the darkness to flicker and fade, so bright that the room around them started to flake away, and then it was gone. Taking the fallen angel with it, I wish there was a game I could play to bring the morning star back, we all miss him, but death waits for nobody, and I seem to be called away from my musings again, I suppose that is a good thing, nothing good ever comes from me thinking too much.
On the other side of the world, in a nondescript house, in a nondescript neighborhood, a man who did not at all fit in with his surroundings sat at his desk, wishing he wasn't psychic, as a tall, pale man with golden hair that seemed to form a halo around his head and silvery eyes that matched the swirling of a storm cloud before a hurricane strode in with such a look on his seemingly angelic face that the not at all nondescript man in the nondescript house, in the nondescript neighborhood felt goose bumps rise on his arms and a shiver run up his spine. "A-ah, hello? Wh-what do y-you want?" he stuttered out as the man taller man walked closer.
A small glare was sent his way as the man opened his mouth to speak, "I am the Devil, and you are going to do something for me. Have you seen me in any of your dreams?"
Now that he mentioned it he did seem familiar, "Ah, yes, you were in a room with a skeleton wrapped in a black cloak, i-it looked like you were playing chess…"
"Chess? Was I winning?"
"I-I don't really know chess…but you looked angry, and the skeleton-"
"The Grim Reaper" Lucifer interrupted.
"Yeah, sure-wait, the Grim Reaper?"
A sigh, "Yes, you useless mortal, continue, please."
"Well, he…he looked sad, almost broken, I guess."
That's one more for the broken, then, I suppose. He thought as he slipped away, leaving the man behind in the house where the walls were painted with the owner's blood and a note was written where it was sure to be seen, "I'll see you again at the end of the world, my friend."
If the Reaper had a heart, it would have stopped when he arrived at the house he had been called to, the walls were covered in blood, the body was nearly unrecognizable, and the note proved the murderer, "I'll see you again at the end of the world, my friend." Friend, indeed. I wonder what your Father would say, if he knew the things you have done, lucky for you, I will never tell.
Many years later…
"And so we meet again, Lucifer, at the end of the world, just as you promised." The Grim Reaper had not changed in appearance, but perhaps he had changed his view of the world, he had seen so many fall to greed and hatred, so many innocent caught in the crossfire, to many to save, and yet, there were still some willing to die for the right reasons, and he gave them a chance, just as he gave every soul he had to reap, if they were willing to play a game of chess.
"Mm, it seems I did promise that huh, Grimmy?" The once angry angel said, accompanied with a wry grin.
"A game, then? One last for the road? High-stakes, winner takes all?"
"I'm always up for a game, you know that. You have a board I presume?"
"I am never without one. White or black?"
"Must you ask, Grimmy? I always play black."
"My move then."
And so, the game began, both played well, but neither was scared, as the outcome was based on skill, yet luck always had a bit of influence, so they wished for luck and bet their lives. Time seemed as if it did not exist as they played, until one final word was uttered, two syllables, nine letters, their lives hanging in the balance.
"Checkmate."
As the black king fell to the white knight, neither could help but realize the irony, Lucifer's king, the one thing he could never be, and the Grim Reapers knight, the one piece he had never won with before, had decided their fates.
"It seems you have won, my friend, my congratulations."
"Do not congratulate me. I may have won the game, but I feel as if I have lost."
"…I am just like that girl you played with so many years ago, the one you regretted winning against, you said the world had lost."
"Indeed. Though I believe I shall miss you more."
"One last wish?"
"As is tradition."
"Would you give this letter to my Father? It…it explains everything."
"Of course. Perhaps you will see Him again."
"I hope not. I fear I will be going somewhere I don't want Him to go, Grimmy."
"I wish it had not happened this way."
"You can't take it back now, so you might as well get it over with."
"Goodbye morning star. Please remember I am truly sorry. NOALN I PLAPLI OL NIISO."
May they take you away.
Those were the last words the Devil ever heard.
The first words to make the Grim Reaper cry.
Even if his tears were made of blood.
How was he going to explain this one?