Death. He always thought he knew what that was, always assumed that he knew exactly what that was. After all, who in the world would know Death better than the one who worked hand in hand with it? To many, Death was evil, always something dark, something menacing. Something to be absolutely terrified of, like shadows creeping out from dark corners to pull you into their doomed embrace, darkness crawling through holes in life's shield to attack and devour. Even some of the bravest men feared Death. It was something completely unknown and yet, everyone somehow knew it was a horrible, dreadful thing. Most yearned to run away from those black little creatures, crouching around at the back of their minds, threatening them with possible escape and the gouging of their souls. But he thought differently.

To him, Death had always been a friend.

"Lord, listen to me," She cried, voice layered with desperation, "The Fates have already spoken. Doom is wrapped tightly around this mad plan."

"And you claim this would kill me?" He asked.

"Yes. Indeed it will."

His loud laugh was a stab through the silence.

Death was a force of nature, a swirling black cloud ready to pick up the lost, old souls and guide them over to their next destination. It wasn't cruel, really. It was just doing its job, keeping things in track. He, of all people, should have understood how Death was required, how Death wasn't something to be feared and wasn't something to be hated upon. And he'd never once blamed it for what it did, since that would very much be like cursing himself. Death had always been part of his life and he readily dealt with it. It had caused him many troubled moments and difficult problems he was forced to solve but he had never hated Death, nor had he ever feared it. After all, to a certain extent, he was Death's owner. If Death was a dark cloud, scattering the people as they ran away from the black, heavy raindrops and terrifying strikes of lightning, he would be the wind, the strong wind that pushed that cloud and told it where to go.

And as he stared at her, he just felt betrayed.

"I know not how it will happen but it has been weaved into Destiny's cloth. Continue with the plan and you will die." She muttered.

"Die? Really, out of all people, out of all gods…me? Killed?" He chuckled again though his eyes were darker than ever.

"It will happen." She spoke solemnly. "And you will lose all you ever had."

It was wrong, simply wrong. The thoughts, the feelings, the emotions…just wrong. Out of place. As if they had been stolen from a pathetic little mortal and forced into him as reality twisted like a tornado about to destroy. He knew hatred very well, had felt it numerous times throughout his immortal life but this sort of hatred…towards such a thing he thought he knew so well…

This was simply meant for the weak and ignorant.

Looking at her, a cold feeling crept up his spine and he gave an involuntary shudder. He tore his gaze away from the limp figure and took a glance at his own crumpled black robe, his unsteady limbs and his pale fingers, which he clenched and unclenched, his nerves failing to register anything. He always felt cold, it came with his position in the Greek world…but this was an entirely different sensation. He was freezing. Burning. Numb.

Dead. Just dead.

"Fool," He exclaimed, "I do not need a deluder's hallucinations, not when I am the one holding the key to unlocking Death."

"Lord-"

"And I don't require your siding with my brother either!" He roared and with a quick movement of his arm, flung her several meters away.

"You," She stood up, slowly wiping the blood of her cut arm, speaking with contempt, "You are mad. I will never side with anyone and I only speak the truth. You are crazed, stubborn and you show malice towards all those who attempt to help you. Those are your fatal flaws and the Fates would make you pay for them. May you enjoy your suffering."

She spat at his feet and disappeared as he sent a dark blast of energy flying towards her.

It had happened so quickly.

He had been downstairs with the children, two pale-skinned, dark-eyed kids who still looked more like their mother than him. They had been running and fooling around, absolutely oblivious to what was happening, oblivious to his brother's plan to have them sent to camp and oblivious to his own plan to refuse. They had been playing and giggling, joyful smiles lighting up their young faces. Their dad had visited again. Their mom was upstairs getting her purse. They were going out. Everything was great.

And he had just been so slow in sensing it.

The attack was unexpected and fast. The blast had arrived just three seconds after he had felt it coming, felt that tingling sensation that signaled when Death was near. He knew that his brother had been outraged at his defiance but he had never thought he would be cruel enough to kill. They were children, not even ten years of age and she was a mere mortal, innocent and the most loving there had ever been. The most caring, the most kind and the only one who had been able to crawl past the fire and ice to squeeze into the small portion of his heart made available.

But she had meant nothing to his brother, nothing to Death, had she?

The oracle had mentioned to him his fatal flaws countless times before, always warning him of how malicious, crazed and stubborn he was. She had told him to stop the plan, to stop the visits and to let his brother have what he wanted. She had spoke of visions of his fatal flaws finally leading to his death. He had laughed.

Gods didn't die.

No.

He had rushed towards her but he hadn't made it in time. The attack had been too fast and his reactions too slow, making him wonder what the use of sensing when Death was near when you could do nothing to stop it. Absolutely and hopelessly nothing.

The blast had destroyed it all. Death had destroyed it all.

His children stood next to him, dazed and shocked and he dashed towards her last position, flinging pieces of the wreckage away and incinerating them into ashes as he searched frantically for her broken body. This was the woman he loved and the only woman who had ever truly loved him, the only one who had ever understood him, the only one who had looked at him and hadn't seen the darkness, only seeing and ever only being able to see the bright rays. He had lived for decades, centuries, millennia… but she had been the only one and he had loved her more than anything.

He was a part of Death and Death a part of him but at that moment, he hated Death so much it hurt and burned to know that he would forever still be the Lord of the Dead. He hated the Fates, he hated Zeus and he hated himself. He hated everything there was to hate because what was there left to do when the only one you loved was lost and the key to unlock Death laid nicely in your pocket but you were unable to use it? When love was gone, what was there left but hate?

He crumpled onto the ground, kneeling beside the limp body and a single tear streaked down his cheek, as invisible as it was supposed to be. He'd opened up everything to her and she knew how malicious a person he was, she knew how many deaths he had treated as comedic entertainment, she knew how many souls he had sentenced to eternal torture…and she had loved him regardless. His own brothers, his own immortal wife…none of them had ever come close to caring for and loving him as much and he had never even stepped anywhere near those feelings when with them. She was the only one.

And she was dead.

Maria, Maria di Angelo.

He wasn't sure how much his fatal flaws had to do with it but he found out that day, that gods could die too.

Written for Not Just Words challenge, prompt 3.

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