Terms and Conditions
Nobody ever said that being the son of Death would be easy. Its not just a job you apply for, you are born with it, and it doesn't come with a set of terms and conditions. That's why I am making one.
My powers manifested at the age of three, and Honorable Father was relieved to see them finally appearing. He told me to practice, and I made a game out of it.
"Don't play tricks on the neighbors, son. You are a Death God, not a poltergeist." I guess that's what I get for closing the door in Mr. Evans' face from my bedroom window.
1: Death powers are not to be used for stupid reasons, even for practice.
When I was six, I played tricks on Father instead.
"What year is it Kiddo?" I sighed, I really rued that nickname, annoyed that I had allowed my four-year-old self to propose the idea.
"1941" I had said, giving a spurious year just to mess with him.
"I suppose I had better prepare for more Jewish souls, then. Darn Nazis, why do they insist upon exuding their hate for the Jewish race in such a violent manner?" he spat, voice dripping with acrimony.
"No Father, its 2004, why are you such an anachronism?"
2: Deal with immortality, and annoying nicknames.
When I was eight, I discovered the beauty of symmetry, and because it could be in no way related to death, the reaping of souls, or any other grim theme that my life revolved around, I took an immediate interest in it. It became my obsession, because symmetry represents perfect balance. I was implacable, constantly rejoicing in the presence of symmetry or going into depression when it evaded me. The worst episode was when I realized, rather belatedly, that my hair was not, in fact, symmetrical. You see, when a Death god is born, three half rings form around his or her head. These are called the lines of Stanzu, and when they become complete, it means that a Death god has grown into their powers. Being only eight years old, my powers were still underdeveloped, and therefore, my head was terribly asymmetrical. The following conversation with Honorable Father was one to remember.
"Father, may I dye my hair?"
"What in the world for?"
"It's asymmetrical."
"This again? I'm pretty sure this fad of yours has gone on long enough."
"But Father-"
"Fine, try it, but don't come crying to me when it fails."
3:The Stanzu lines don't go away.
When I was twelve, I learned the origin of my name, and met my Father's best friend. Being the God of Death, I didn't have overly high expectations in the first place, but the man Father introduced me to was way below even those. He had bright red hair and aqua eyes, and seemed at first glance like a perfectly respectable man, until you give him alcohol. I learned that night that Spirit Albarn's favorite sport was, and still is, carousing. I also learned, that during one of these nights of intense drinking, laughing, dancing, and being generally drunkenly stupid, my name was created.
"Spirit, I am going to have a child."
"Pfft, REALLY? That's wonderful Lord Death, what are you going to name him?"
"I have no idea."
"Oh! I know, why don't you name him Death the Kid? Ahahahaa!"
"That's a stupendous idea!"
"Do you promise to name him that, then?"
"I swear, in the name of Death, I will name my son Death the Kid."
4: The promise of a Death God cannot be broken, even if made with a foggy mind.
When I was fourteen, I chose a Death weapon. As commonly known, Honorable father uses a large black scythe, but being the symmetry obsessed idiot I will probably always be, I couldn't stand the idea of using such an unbalanced weapon. So, under the aegis of the (bribed) death weapon royal guard, I managed to sneak into the vault. The walls were covered, floor to ceiling, with any and all weapons imaginable, but it only took me seconds to see the ones I would have. A pair of twin pistols, crafted to mirror one another perfectly, hung on the wall opposite me, some imaginary spotlight pointing them out in the crowd. I took a step forward, but stopped at the sound of a voice.
"Kid, what are you doing down here?"
"Oh, uh, I'm, ah... you see-"
"You want the pistols, yes?" I nodded. "All you had to do was ask."
5: Even Gods have to ask their parents.
When I was fifteen, I reaped my first soul. It wasn't a pleasant job, but I hadn't expected it to be. Honorable Father had told me there was a murderer on the brink of death, and it was my job to send his soul to eternal damnation. I cornered the man sub rosa, this was not a sight to be seen by the innocent. He cowered before me, quivering in the pale moonlight.
"Death God martial art: Stance of Sin." I followed Honorable Father's directions down to every detail, taking my stance with a perfectionist's precision, aiming one pistol to the crescent moon and the other to his chest, where his soul lives. "Your soul has become corrupted by the vile act of murder, and you have committed a sin. Now, on the night of your death, I will take your soul." and I shot the wavelength of my soul into the center of his chest, unveiling the vile red orb. My body sagged, the power used to draw the man's soul from his body debilitating me, pulling the strength from my limbs. The job was nearly finished. "Shadow Skulls, take him away."
6: Nobody ever said being a Death God would be easy.
Today, I am sixteen, and life hasn't gotten any easier. I suppose I had better get used to it. I have an eternity to live through, and maybe I'll get a chance to finish the Terms and Conditions along the way. It sure would have been nice to have some earlier.
Hope you liked! I've never done a one-shot before, but I had to write a 'lil short story with twelve big words (can you find them?) and this is what came out. It is, like I said, slightly AU, but I personally think its cute anyway. Until next time!
~Fish