I'm... I'm just gonna leave this here because I actually kind of like it. Has this premise been done a million times already? Yes. Do I care? No, not really. I like to think this one will be a little different than any one you've seen. Hope you lovely people like it!
Death ripped the point of a scythe from the flesh of a fallen undead. The cry of a Suffering pierced the stagnant air and the remaining corpses of the Swarm fled from Death at the call of their master. He sighed heavily, hanging the duel scythes at his sides. The unending Swarm was slowing him down, the pieces of the Rod of Arafel still lost among the ruins of the Third Kingdom. Dust cawed to him from a distant streetlight and Death turned, fighting back his mounting frustration. The Rod first, he chided himself.
The clattering of loose stone was loud in the sudden silence. Nerves still on edge from the battle, the rider turned, weapons in hand, in time to see a small shape frozen among the debris. Though its details were hidden behind the city's perpetual haze, Death felt eyes locked with his own. A heartbeat passed before the figure bolted like a startled animal. Not wanting to risk what was potentially a scout escape to bring the horde down upon him again, Death bounded after it, moving fluidly over the debris covered streets, swiftly gaining. His own ease contrasted greatly with his prey who seemed to lack the alien animalistic grace of the fallen horde; in fact, it moved with ungainly desperation, tripping over cracks in the hot tarmac, just barely maintaining its footing. Strange.
Finally, with a shriek, it tumbled and hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop to lie still. Curious now more than cautious Death slowed his gait. The figure was a little blotch of black against the ground, curled in on itself as it recovered from its fall. Hearing the heavy tread of the rider, it flinched and stumbled, trying to regain its feet. The rider got there first, stooping down and wrapping bony fingers around a cloth collar. It let out a rough, though distinctly feminine scream as it was lifted effortlessly off the ground.
Death's eyes widened ever so slightly at the young human girl that squirmed in his grasp. She was small, probably just out of her teens, her feet dangling a good foot and a half above the ground. Eyes were wide with primal fear in a thin dirty face framed by short unkempt brown hair. Her fingers tugged at the front of her black jacket, desperately trying to keep the zipper from digging into her throat as she twisted in an attempt to break free. "Well, what have we here?" he pondered as the girl wriggled and kicked, breath heaving around a snarl.
The sound of moving metal made her freeze, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the wickedly curved blade being brought about, slowly and deliberately, and squeezed them shut as it came at her, offering a last silent curse. The pain of the blade ripping into her never came, but instead she heard the guttural screams of one of the Swarm and felt hot blood splash against her back. She peeked a lid open to see one of the muscled arms of her captor reaching behind her, the hand gripping the shaft of a short scythe whose blade protruded from the neck of the undead behind her.
Death yanked back, tearing the blade from undead flesh. He had just heard the click of a loaded gun when the head of yet another one of the Swarm exploded just behind his shoulder. The girl, still hanging from his grasp, held her collar back with one hand and held a smoking handgun in the other. They locked gazes. Her eyes, a light watery blue, were flinty just as much as they were frightened, tempered like steel. They were the eyes of a survivor.
"Put me down," it took the rider just a moment to realize that the quiet reedy voice came from the girl. She seemed to have recovered from her shock and was now staring with a rather annoyed expression.
"I hardly think you're in a position to be making demands," he replied, fighting back the temptation to give her a good shake. She gaze darted to the gap between the ground and her feet, then up and down the street, then back at him.
"Well, are you gonna kill me, or not?" she shifted uncomfortably, doing her best to keep the zipper at bay, "Cus if you're not, than I'd appreciate it if you put me down."
Huh, plucky. She yelped as she was unexpectedly dropped from his bony fingers and landed on her backside. Feeling his eyes on her, the girl rose and backed away slowly, cautiously, only turning her back on him long enough to pry an old hunting rifle from where it had become wedged beneath the debris from her tumble. She didn't stop moving away as she slung it over her shoulder, keeping the rider under a suspicious eye. Death watched her back but didn't make a move; it was obvious she was skittish and if her presence meant what he thought it did, he didn't want to make an enemy of her.
The air itself shook as a monstrous roar reverberated off the buildings. The girl froze, eyes sweeping the ruined landscape. She held her breath in the silence that followed, slowly fitting another clip into her handgun, her mouth moving as she silently counted. 1, 2, 3, 4- Again, the cry pierced the air; its source the enormous four-armed demon that leapt from rooftop to rooftop. "Shit," she cursed under her breath. Death saw her tense to flee again and moved first, grabbing hold of the back of her jacket. She tried and failed to shake off his hand and glowered at him, lip pulling into a snarl and fingers tightening around her weapon. "What do you want?! Just leave me alone already!" she spat. He was silent, analyzing her with intense eyes.
She was really rather tiny, short enough to only just crest his elbow and skinny as a stray dog. She was covered in dust and grime and appeared gaunt and sleep deprived, if the thin face and shadowed eyes were any evidence. She resembled a frightened animal, a deer caught in the headlights. Death could hardly believe it, was certain he should not believe it given the circumstances, but here it was: true evidence of his brother's innocence. She fidgeted beneath his gaze, casting glances over her shoulder for potential threats. How long has she been here? Death could not help but ponder. "You are truly human…" he said in a slow voice, more a confirmation that a question. Her face twisted into a disgruntled expression.
"Of course I am," she snapped, voice tight as a steel wire, "do I look like one of those walking meat puppets to you?"
"I was led to believe that humans were annihilated."
"Well, hate to disappoint you, but here I am," she twitched again, ready to bolt at the slightest shadow, already hearing the screams of the Swarm ringing in her ears, "but I'm not going to be for much longer if you don't let me go!"
But he couldn't just let her go, could he? This one girl could potentially help to prove his brother's innocence, but already her life, and his hope, was in danger. Another roar rent the air, much closer than before, startling Death from his contemplations and allowing her to break free. Already the girl had bolted past him as the screams of the Swarm quickly escalated. Making a split-second decision, Death took off after her, easily catching up and matching her pace. She gave him an irritated glance and looked over her shoulder to see the Swarm rapidly gaining. She swore sharply, ripped open a pouch on her hip. She hooked her finger into the ring of a grenade, yanked it out and threw it over her shoulder. Death continued to follow her as she skidded across the pavement and took a turn into an alley and hopped the chain link fence. An explosion shook the street behind them and the Swarm screamed in pain and frustration, no doubt having lost their quarry in the ensuing dust cloud.
Death looked back and found the girl gone. Walking out into the street, he kept his senses open for the small human. His ears caught a long stream of cursing coming from nearby and followed it until he spotted the girl sitting against a wall inside of an abandoned storefront. She was rifling through her bag with angry movements, muttering something about wasted ammunition and worthless undead. Her head snapped up at the sound of breaking glass. "Goddammit!" she seethed as Death stepped through the shattered window, "Why are you following me?!"
"I have a proposition to make," he said, un-phased by the feral snarl from the girl as he stepped further into the shop, "you seem to know this city rather well and I am looking for something. Assist me and I can protect you from the Swarm." The girl snorted, swiftly returning the supplies to her bag, and rose swinging the rifle back over her shoulder.
"Sorry, but I'm not quite desperate enough to start making deals with demons," she spat as she swept past him and vaulted through the broken window. Death hadn't been expecting her to comply that easily.
"And if I were to tell you I'm not a demon?" she looked him up and down, taking in the skull shaped mask and the large blades at his sides.
"Really?" she said blandly. "All this," she gestured vaguely at him, "isn't doing a lot to convince me otherwise.
"Besides," she shrugged, "even if you weren't, it doesn't mean you won't try to kill me. You may not have the first time, but I'm not pushing my luck." She huffed and turned her back on him. "Now quit bothering me. I don't need your help."
"You say that now," he said even as she continued at an even pace away from him. "But what about when the Swarm eventually catches you and strips the flesh from your bones."
She tried to hold back a wince, but Death saw the minute twitch of her shoulders. Still, she recovered soon enough and kept walking. The Horseman followed behind, determined not to lose her.
"If they catch me, they catch me," she replied, though the shake in her voice was easy to catch. "And if they do, Hell, I think I've had a pretty good run."
"You'd let the last of Humanity die like vermin in a bloody gutter?" he after her. "Will this be the legacy of your people, hunted like animals to the very last?"
She stopped, whipping her head around to pin him with fury in her eyes, face red with rage.
"What do you care?" she asked sharply. "Isn't that all we are to you anyway? We didn't ask for this but it happened anyway and now there's nothing left! What would be the point in me living when everyone else is already dead?"
"Because this doesn't have to be the end," he told her, taking a cautious step. "This war, this Apocalypse happened because someone got impatient and broke the rules. Mankind just got caught in the crossfire. It wasn't their time."
The girl's eyes narrowed, saying nothing, but neither had she moved. He had her attention now. He took a few more steps, arms crossing over his chest as he met her gaze. "Things need to be set right, and I just to happen to have a personal stake in making sure that happens."
Her jaw worked for a moment, chewing on his words. "What are you saying?" she said, clearly skeptical.
"I'm saying that Humanity isn't going to stay dead. Not if I have anything to say about it."
She started, taking a step back, naked astonishment on her face before she reined it in. "You're lying," she growled, but a tentative hope had already taken root in her eyes.
"Don't believe me if that makes you feel better," he shot back, beginning to feel his patience wane. "But a method exists and I'm close to finding it. Only a few tasks stand in my way, one of which will probably go a lot faster if you accept my offer."
The girl didn't answer, but the red had faded from her face and her eyes fixed on a point somewhere over his shoulder. She seemed to be weighing her options, between running on her until the Swarm inevitably caught up to her, or teaming up with a complete stranger who promised an impossible miracle. When enough time had passed and Death was about to speak again her gaze snapped back to him, narrowed with distrust and distaste. She took a breath.
"…Fine," she conceded with reluctance. "Don't think that this means I trust you. First sign that your lying to me and I'm gone, you got that?"
"Loud and clear," he told her. "If I'm being honest I'd be suspicious if you didn't distrust me. At least I know your survival instincts are still intact."
She snorted. "What is it that you're looking for exactly?"
"I'm looking for an artifact of angelic origin. It's been shattered into three pieces, being used as power sources for the demons. Know of them?" The girl listened carefully, raising a hand to bite on ruined nails as she thought.
"Yeah," she began slowly, "I think I might know what you're talking about." She turned her back on him to walk to the middle of the street. Bringing her hands to her eyes to shield them from the intense sunlight, she turned in a circle trying to get her bearings. With a curt nod she gestured him over. "If I remember correctly, there was one tucked away in a back alley on the Lower East Side," she stretched out an arm and pointed to a gap in the buildings that offered a view of the blackened ocean, "the Brooklyn Bridge is over there which means we need to head east toward the water. I'll take a guess and say that there will be more demons the closer we get."
Death nodded. "Most likely they will be heavily guarded. However, lucky for us, demons are not known for their tactfulness. It should be easy enough to clear them out."
He could feel her watching him as she took the lead, ensuring that there was a good five feet of space between them, running eyes across piece meal armor and the jagged edges of the twin scythes. Her apprehension was palpable. Death wondered how long it would take for her to trust him enough to stop staring
It was awkwardly silent for a long time as they began their trek across the city, until a loud squawk announced Dust's return, dropping from the sky to settle on Death's shoulder. "And where have you been?" Death shot at him. The enormous crow ignored him to preen the feathers of his wing. His sudden appearance had made the girl jump, and she surveyed the new arrival with a mix of alarm and anxiety.
"…Who's your friend?" she asked nervously as the bird stopped his grooming and fixed her with a beady black stare. Death noted her expression with a degree of amusement.
"This is Dust," he answered, "don't mind him, he's really quite harmless."
"…I think he's glaring at me."
Indeed, the big black bird almost appeared to glower at the girl, beady eyes narrowed. Death gave a hollow laugh.
"I think he's afraid that you're going to shoot him," he replied and Dust gave a raspy croak as if in confirmation.
"I won't… unless he gives me a reason to," she said as she readjusted the rifle on her shoulder. Dust puffed up at the gestured and flapped to Death's other shoulder, putting his master's head between his own and the barrel of the girl's gun. "Coward," she mumbled under her breath.
"So who are you anyway?" she asked loud enough for him to hear, "You say you're not a demon, not that I'm convinced, but if you're not than what am I supposed to call you?"
Death hesitated. He knew that eventually she would have to know the most of the story if he wished to elicit her help. Finally he spoke; "I am Death," the girl nearly tripped, only to regain her footing and keep walking, if not a little further away from him than before. "And I am something far older and world-weary than you. Not angel nor demon, but some combination of the two. Nephilim is what we were called, though the name isn't favored much these days," he added, tone dry as age-old bones.
When the girl was silent, he spoke again, "You know, when people introduce themselves, it's polite to do the same." She merely scoffed and gave him a humorless grin.
"Yeah right," she said, "sorry, but I've heard the stories about what happens when you give your name to demons" Death shrugged, the motion earning him a squawk from Dust.
"As I just said, I'm not really a demon, but I suppose that's a wise notion," he answered, "It seems you humans are quick enough on the uptake to learn a thing or two." He saw the way the jibe made the girl's face pinch in anger, but cut her off before she could make a biting retort, "You asked a question, now let me ask you one. Are you truly alone? Surely in a city this large there are more of you."
She bit her lip before answering, "There were others. Groups of people, who organized, tried to fight back. You can probably guess how long they lasted. It was really every man for himself. I learned not to trust anyone. People were desperate. You made a deal with someone hoping that it would keep you safe, and then as soon as your back is turned you get a knife in the ribs. I didn't survive this long by trusting people." Her eyes turned dark, her voice bitter. Clearly she had experience in the matter.
"And how did you survive this long?" he prodded. She was silent for a moment, as reluctant as he had been to reveal anything.
"Luck," she answered simply, "and a lot of bullets. But mostly luck. Made sure I knew how to defend myself. A good thing too. The ones who didn't were the first to die. It's been, what, two years now? As far as I know, everyone else is gone."
For the rider, two years didn't seem very long, but for a girl who was only human it must have seemed very long indeed. A long time to be alone.