March 24, 2015
Wake Me Up
Justin Law, the youngest Death Scythe at only 17 years of age, or rather what was left of him, cowered deep in the recesses of his madness clouded mind. It was never supposed to have been this way, he was loyal to Lord Death! He worshipped the very ground that the Reaper walked on, and had devoted every breath to him for years! So why was he now searching, and failing to find, a way to bring himself back to sanity?
He had watched, in horror, as the madness took over his body, and turned on one of his former colleagues. Watched as his own hands, his own blades, had killed him. Yet he hadn't a single ounce of control over his own body. Now, he was buried away in his mind, hiding in a small room that appeared to be from his own home; a small church that was somewhere along the border of Wales and England. It was a peaceful place for him, and that was why this was the room he had barricaded the last of his sanity in.
Justin raised his necklace pendant to his lips, and kissed the cool silver cross. He whispered a prayer for help, and clutched the small cross tightly. He felt so lost, and terrified really. Justin had never been terrified before. He needed someone to reach into the darkness, take his hand, and lead him back to the light. But no one had, and probably no one would. He had never had a meister, he hadn't needed one, but how he wished for it now. Lord Death had written him off as a traitor, and he had no more allies. He was alone…
A sudden banging on the door alerted him to how wrong his assumption of being alone had been, and a terrible voice called out to him, in a whisper. A whisper?! He could hear it, and it chilled him to the bone. The voice was his, only masked by the horrible madness, and he shivered, clutching his necklace tighter. He backed against the far wall, as far from the door as possible. The door held strong, despite the constant banging on the surface. Justin closed his eyes, and he began whispering one prayer after another, feeling the stinging in his eyes as tears began to fall down his cheeks. He tried to calm himself, to slow his breathing down from the rapid, shuddering gasps, but he couldn't.
The banging stopped, but the whispering remained, in that terrible version of his own voice, shredding the last of his sanity until all he could do was gasp for breath and sob into the sleeve of his robes. A flash of pain shot through him, and he could tell that his body was in a fight, but with who? A new voice entered his mind, a voice he had longed to hear for so long. The young Reaper, Lord Death's son! Another flash of pain, and then there was the warmth of a soft light filling the church.
Justin looked up and felt more tears fill his eyes. Death the Kid hovered over him, holding a hand out to him, a soft smile on his face. "I finally found you, Justin. I've been looking for you for so long," the young Reaper said. Justin blinked up at him, not able to believe that this could be real. He tentatively reached out and took Kid's hand, letting the younger man pull him to his feet, and into his arms. "This is real, I'm here. I've come to bring you home." Justin clung to the young Reaper, burying his face in Kid's shirt. He shook weakly in Kid's arms, sobbing pathetically. "Please help me…," he whispered, his grip on Kid's shirt tightening. He tensed as he felt fingers combing through his hair, attempting to soothe him, and slowly, ever so slowly, began to relax in the other's arms. Kid held him closer, protectively, and his eyes fell closed. "It's time to wake up, Justin."
And so, he did.