The Scythe of a Slayer

Disclaimer: I do not own Artemis Fowl. Although this is pretty much my own thing by now, Arty, Butler, Holly, Juliet, and the rest of the gang are all there. Therefore…what Eion Colfer does not claim, I do! Ha ha! I laugh at you! Ha!

Info: Fourth and final installation to the Sisters of Doom Series. Finally! Feel free to read and review, or just read. Doesn't matter to me, honestly (although reviews are nice). Thank you for your time!

Setting: hm…

Chapter 1: The Creation

The road to saving the world is one not many people travel down eagerly. When I was first created, I had no intention of taking such an aggravatingly long time down this topsy-turvy trail, but it is no longer in my hands to decide that fate. I sometimes wonder if it ever was in my hands…

No doubt you wonder who I am. I have introduced myself to the world in this generation many times over and will at least once more. But I cannot dive into that now, for I have my callings. Perhaps a story of my past, but not now. My meeting calls.

Dimly lit halls lightly echoed the voices that argued inside them. A score of figures were gathered about a marble table, each seated in a chair fit for a king. They all dressed alike in infinitely boring, coarse, gray robes that hung from them and gave to them no shape whatsoever. The hoods were down, but it mattered not as the lights were too little to see faces by.

A heated argument spewed forth from four of the fifteen figures that were seated. Those involved had leaned forward in their seats, elbows propped upon the stone table, jaws flapping incessantly as they attempted to make their points.

"It won't matter now. We're too late. I say we deploy our last ditch effort and hope for the best," spoke the deep, reasonable voice of a man just into his prime.

"Too late?" a feminine, youthful voice spoke up. "We still have a chance! There is still a time slot in which we can-"

"But the time we have is so minimal! Even if we could manage to get It into place, by the time It was ready, we'd be too late! The boy would win."

"I suppose there is a slim chance," came the defeated murmur of an elderly man. There was silence for but a moment. Then-

"Have you no faith in him? We've relied upon him since he was first created," retorted a clam, knowing young man's voice.

"It is not a he, do you forget?" seethed the first man. "The Creation has no gender, and although It may appear to have one, It does not. You are not to refer to It with one. Need I remind you of that, Audric?"

The knowledgeable man known to his colleagues as Audric smiled. "Do you think it bothers It that you refuse to refer to It without a gender, let alone a name? Calling him 'The Creation' and 'It' all the time must be aggravating, especially when he does officially have a name."

"His name was not given by us, and we are the ones that made him. Whatever he answers to in that ridiculous realm does not apply here," the initial male said.

"Caedmon, surely you do not believe in that?" questioned the single female.

"Ah, Sennett, but I do. We created it; therefore, we name it. No child's play names given to him by humans should affect what we call him- I mean It. Damn, you see? All this talk is getting to me and driving me mad. Ariabod, can we not come to a conclusion on this?"

The old man started at his name, but shook his head. "It would appear not. I personally think The Creation should be sent in now. This time…I don't know." He halted there, feeling his emotions and gut instincts deeps down. "It just feels right to let The Creation go on Its own this time. Do you not feel it, my fellows?"

Audric looked down, slightly turning his head to and fro as he went. "I know what you mean, Ariabod. I feel that as well, and I wish the others would pay attention. But at the same time, something I have never felt before lingers beyond. I do not fear this human boy, but what kind of man- no, child- could have come so far, so easily? He defeats the deterrents set up by the wise elderly elves of long ago like they are childish puzzles worth no more than a glance and a good jest."

"It is the way humans are now," Sennett shot in carefully. "This is why I say we shoot for a chance with The Creation now. If It fails, then we will resort to our final effort. It has, of course, been agreed upon that this is the last generation of the Sisters of Doom, yes?" Unanimous nods all around the table. "Good. Then it is our time to strike!" Her hands accompanied the last word of her speech, pounding forcibly down to the table.

"You two children don't know what you are speaking of," interjected Caedmon, the starter of this argument. "To say that It will work this time around is like saying that It would work the first time- you have no way of knowing! The odds are against our Creation as they always have been. I wish there was a way of doing this peacefully, but this is our last resort. We must launch the Final Weapon before it is too late and we no longer have the chance."

An uproar accompanied Caedmon's speech, everyone trying at once to get their opinions in. Several of the uninvolved members from around the table jutted in as well. Many stood, hoping to be better heard this way; others spoke quietly with the neighbors before voicing their thoughts aloud to the court. No one noticed as the doors at the end of the long, stone hall opened silently.

No one saw the single figure who stood there, stalk-still in the room, whispering so quietly that the still air would have lost were it a competition.

"Still bickering amongst yourselves, I see," It said, coming to a halt at the unoccupied end of the fancy table. Silence came slowly as the members of the council began to acknowledge his presence. They all stared in disbelief, others turning their heads to him and letting their mouths stand agape before they found a way to control their muscles again and snap them shut.

"You're not supposed to-" Sennett started.

"Yes, I know. I'm not supposed to be here. Unfortunately, my rooms were rather drab, and the outer hall to this room wasn't any more entertaining. You called for me- I'm here."

"Thank you, Creation, for coming," Audric replied. "We were just discussing our plans for this troublesome boy. Honestly, I don't think anyone has thought to ask you. Might I have your say on it?"

"It's say?" Caedmon sputtered. "Surely you jest? The Creation has no say in what we do, Audric, and to even think of asking It for It's opinion is...well, well, it's idiotic," he finished lamely.

"I think we should be open to new things, Caedmon. Please, Creation, what do you think our plan of action should be for destroying the Sisters of Doom and the human boy, Artemis Fowl?" Ariabod questioned.

The Creation looked on quietly during their conversation and slowly responded. "I feel that you should deploy me, just this one last time. But as you send me out, prepare the Weapon. I will contact you on my travels to inform you of whether or not I am successful or will be, and you may proceed from there. That is what I would do, were you to listen to my opinion." He fell silent, bowing his head and hiding in his shrouds.

"I feel," Ariabod said, "that we should give his plan a try."

"But-" Caedmon cut in."

"Excuse me, I do believe I wasn't quite finished talking. The Creation has never before been asked of what he thinks, and this generation is one we cannot deal with on our own. It may be time to try something new. I may be an old elf, but do not think that makes me unwise or out of touch with reality in any way, manor, or form. This is something we would have never considered, but it does touch upon both sides of this issue we debate so rashly, and does so equally, do you agree?" Nods all about, save for Caedmon who scowled angrily in his seat. "Good. A vote, then, on the Creation's idea. All in favor? Hands please, council members, hands! That's five, seven, eight…eleven for. And against? Three? I suppose you are undecided as always, Obelix? Yes? Right then. The plan is passed. Creation, when you wish to leave for the trip you may.

"Now, as to why we've called you here. This boy, Artemis, no matter what the outcome of this event, the boy must not be sent to the Afterlife. If he is reincarnated, there will be no stopping him in the next generation, I fear. Even if we launch the Final Weapon, you must take the boy from Frond's Castle and bring him to us so we may seal him away for all time. Can you guarantee us that much, Creation?"

It bowed, sweeping It's arm out gracefully to the court.

"I'll do my best." He halted awkwardly.

"Was there something you wished to say?" Audric asked.

"I was hoping to request a- a name. I know it to be stupid, as I'm just a Creation…"

"I do not think it stupid, dear, that you wish to be called something other than The Creation or "It"," Sennett said compassionately. "Have you any idea as to what it would be?"

"Now wait just a moment!" Caedmon flew to his feet, his seat teetering dangerously before settling on all fours. "First we give It leeway to give forth an opinion- now a name? Next I suppose you'll want to make It a member of the Council? Let us not forget, comrades, that It is not one of us! It is not elf, nor human. No blood runs in his veins. The only thing that makes him- It up is magic; pure, clean, good magic. It needs no name. In a few hours, It will most likely be dead!"

"Still, it is something the lad has always wanted. I know this for fact. I will allow it, as I'm the senior councilor here today," Ariabod threw in. "Now, my boy, what will it be?"

"This is ridiculous," Caedmon mumbled as he took his seat in a pout.

"Hashim, sir, from the olden language. It means 'destroyer'. I found it to be fitting, as that is my role in this game."

"A fitting name, lad. I'll accept your request. Hashim, make us proud. Do your job, Hashim the Destroyer, so we may save the Castle of Old from our Final Weapon." Hashim nodded and bowed again.

Caedmon jumped to his feet, face red. "I refuse to It by anything other than what we agreed upon when we created It! To suggest otherwise is idiocy in a pathetic disguise. I hope you fail, Creation, so we may finally do what you've always failed at. The Sisters will fall this generation, or so help me…" he stormed from the room in a fury, pushing past Hashim in his anger. The younger stood his ground, looking Caedmon in his eyes as he corrected his path, unsurprisingly forgot to apologize, and continued on his way.

"Well, his temper has never been under control. I apologize, Hashim." He shook his head.

"It matters not. I take my leave, Council, for I have a long road ahead of me. Good day to you all." Another bow, and he turned about face leaving the dark figures to their important matters. The doors closed swiftly behind him.

As you have seen, I am a major role in this ending. If I do not kill the boy, they will send out the Final Weapon- a bomb, which destroys not only life, but structure. Any souls caught in its wake do not pass to Heaven. A small drop of magic connected to the Weapon immediately sends all souls to the realm of lost souls, Limbo. They are there for eternity where I will rest as well when this ends. Once there, I will ensure they regret their transactions in this realm. Forever.

My sole reasoning to avoid that Weapon is my love. Though the Council does not know it, one of the Sisters has my heart and has since the first generation. So beautiful…my Bringer.

By now, you are no doubt certain of who I am. I've given you many a clue, reader, as to my identity. I am the Mercenary, Hashim the Destroyer, and I am the end of the Sisters of Doom.

Author's Note:

Well, off to a nice start, yeah? Hope you all enjoyed, and the meaning I gave for Hashim's name was correct. Of course, I'll say the typical saying...read, review, whatever floats your boat. Thanks for reading, and much Luv to ya'll!

Finelley