Author's Note: Written for round 6 of QLFC. Pick a genre and write a fanfiction with that genre. My genre was fantasy. I sort of fell in love with Death while writing "A Touch of Death," so I've decided to introduce his counterpart and partner-in-crime Life, which was about as fantasy as I figured I could get for a fanfic about a fantasy book. A note about my headcanon. Life and Death, as entities, are bound to Earth, but they were created by Chaos and Order, which are larger beings. Thanks a lot to Sociially-Diisoriiented for beta-ing! Best beta ever. :3


It was always meant to be this way. Where there is Life, there must also be Death.

.

There was no spark of brilliance, no a-ha moment, no light in the darkness. As far as Death was concerned, he wasn't, and then he was. When he opened his eyes for the very first time, never knowing they were shut in the first place, he knew his name, and he had a mild grasp of the languages of a world that he understood existed but had never seen.

The first thing he saw was her, as her golden eyes slowly opened for the first time. And he hated her. He couldn't stand the way she was swathed in warm light, looking like an opalescent pearl in the tarnished crown of the world. He loathed her skin, though he admired its darkness, because nothing could compare to the pure, pristine nature of his bones. He detested her curly poof of hair that sprouted like a bush off her head because it masked the beautiful angles and sharp, jutting bones and perfect, concave features of her skull. When she clothed herself in white, in light, in beauty, he dressed himself in black, fashioning a robe out of shadows.

Even so, he understood her necessity. Death could not exist without Life.

...o0o...

The air shifted, bending to her will, and from it she extracted colors of every variety. Life gathered the colors in her palms, weaving a tapestry of sorts with them. Pink and green made a lovely backdrop, sewed together with silver threads, a dash of red, a pinch of blue, and just a little yellow. Everything carefully measured out, just the right amounts. Never once did she falter from her vision. The colors swirled and coalesced, responding to her like strings to a puppeteer. She could control the world if she wanted, but he doubted the thought ever crossed her mind.

"Another unicorn, I presume?"

Death grunted as the colors started to take shape, branching down into four legs. The world was already filled with too many of the damned pests, who lived bloody near forever and thought themselves too perfect, too pure, too innocent to interact with most other species. And they werejust like the woman they were modeled after. They inherited every bit of her essence and grace, and he hated every last one of them.

"I considered that. One can never have too many pets, after all. But no. I had something else in mind. This one's for you."

"For...me?"

"This way, maybe you'll quit skulking after my lovelies. It unnerves them."

Death wanted to argue for his dignity—he most certainly did not skulk—but his objections were quelled as Life stepped back from her newest masterpiece. It was more than he could have ever hoped for, the very antithesis of the unicorns that she held so dear. Sleek, black hide stretched taut over its frame, thin enough to accentuate the beautiful protrusions and contours of its skeleton. From its lethal teeth, meant for tearing flesh, to its leathery wings, every ounce of it was perfection, and he loved it so. This was a creature worthy of Death.

Though it pained him to admit that she had done well, especially given the smug look that not even the hood of her robe could disguise, he had to concede this one.

"It's incredible."

"Well, of course it is. I'm good at what I do."

Despite her shortcomings, Life was the most amazing being that ever existed, he was convinced of it, and Death both loved and hated her in equal measure.

...o0o...

"What's wrong with it?"

Death sunk deeper into his hood so she wouldn't see him frown. He had wondered from the start why Life had bothered with these creatures, but she refused to reveal any of her secrets. They were pathetic and weak, with nary a bit of intrigue going for them. What they lacked in wit, they made up for in impulse. Worse yet, they were horribly fragile, both in body and spirit. Humans, they were called.

Death had followed this particular one for what seemed like mere minutes, but in that time it had aged considerably. As its life had unraveled, Death had realized that he could read its thoughts like a book, neatly splayed out in the brilliant array of colors it had been fashioned from. First, there was the soft orange innocence of childhood, which had washed into a purple rage and red envy of adolescence, and, eventually, a soft green of love. Lately, all the colors had settled into dark brown pools of unrest and the pale blue that accompanied a lifetime of lessons learned the hard way.

"It's suffering, the poor thing. Nothing should be forced to suffer so."

He could end the suffering; some part of him knew this. Wherever he had come from, Death had been born with this much instinct. This was his reason for being. Tentatively, he reached out, laying a hand on the man's shoulder.

The response was immediate. Like a fractured mirror, the colors shattered into hairline cracks of black that emanated from his palm. He stepped back as the darkness took on a life of its own, writhing against the colors and devouring them bit by bit.

"I've destroyed it!"

This was not the response he had expected. Until then, he had only watched from the shadows, never interfering, unseen and unheard. He lurked on a different plane from the living. That was how things were always meant to be. He was content to be an observer, watching the beautiful stories that unfolded in flashes of fervent color. But now...he had ripped out the pages and set the book ablaze. Silently, he mourned for the colors.

"No, you freed it."

Death whirled to face her, intent on lashing out at her foolish naivety, but his anger wavered when confronted with her soft smile. Without a word, she pointed behind him. When he turned, he was met with a glorious array of colors—pinks, silver, gold. It was a delicate buffet of emotion, brighter than before now that it had shed its shell, and, for a moment, he simply drank it all in.

"A soul. They have souls."

The word rolled off his tongue naturally, even though he was just discovering it. It was like a repressed memory, tucked somewhere in the recesses of his mind that somehow his subconscious could access.

"Of course they do. You didn't think I'd put all that work in to have them simply waste away to nothing, did you?"

The motions came to him as if they were remnants from a past life. Death raised his hand, causing the sleeve of his robe to slip away and reveal his bones. With his index finger, he drew runes in the air, leaving behind a silver fire in the spaces his phalanx passed over. He dropped his hand when it was done, and the rune disappeared, leaving behind it a portal. It was invisible, except for the obvious way that reality bent and distorted when one looked directly at it.

The soul stepped forward cautiously, and Death motioned for it to pass through. Once it did, he closed the portal with a swipe of his hand, wiping away all evidence it had ever existed.

Death glanced over to where Life was still standing, beaming proudly at him. The normal emotions surged in his chest—annoyance, hatred, indignation, a sudden urge to kick a unicorn just to see her scowl. But, he supposed, if she could forgive him for ruining her creations, he might just be able to tolerate a few of her foibles, as well.

...o0o...

They had found their own slice of heaven where the world couldn't touch them. Not yet, at least. On an island in the middle of an ocean somewhere, they would sometimes rendezvous, when Death had nothing better to do.

The sun was hot, when it dared peek out from behind the overbearing clouds, and he let his hood down. He liked the feeling of it bleaching his skull as he closed his eyes and stretched out on the hot sand. Life, of course, remained fully cloaked. Said it was cooler that way. The insufferable woman had no appreciation for heat.

"What would you do if you were a human?" she asked all of a sudden as she sat up, pulling her knees to her chest.

"Die, I suppose. It seems like that's what they're good for."

"Eventually, yes, but what about before that?"

"What would I want to be a human for? I'd die of boredom, out of sheer spite."

"I think I'd like to have a family. Children, even."

"You already have children. Billions of them. I can barely get a moment away from them. Or have you forgotten?"

"I do, I suppose. But we don't."

Death's eyes flew open, and he dug his hands into the sand to prop himself up. Obviously he'd heard wrong. He must have heard wrong. Chaos, please let him have heard wrong.

"I'm sorry, run that one by me again?"

"Relax. I'm not actually suggesting we have a child. It'd never survive. But what if I make one? A human child who is a little bit of both of us. I can plant a seed, and we can watch it grow."

"Just to be clear, I don't actually have to do anything for this, right?"

"No, I suppose not."

Death looked into her golden eyes, shaded by her hood—so large and full of visions of the future. If it would make her happy, if it was what she wanted, it would be a small sacrifice on his part. He supposed he held enough love for her to grant this one request.

"Fine. Let's make a child."

...o0o...

The child grew in the blink of an eye.

They made bets on what gender the baby would be. Death won, but only because Life let him. Herpo, he was named, but Death hated the moniker with a passion. A misnomer at best, it lacked the finesse that the child surely deserved. It lacked dignity and power, and it sounded more like a disease than anything. But there was nothing to be done but to watch.

Life doted on him, in her own way. Always unseen, as they were meant to be. Sometimes she would sing, in an ancient tongue that humans could neither hear nor fathom, at his bedside. The lullaby was for the baby, but Death listened anyway. She protected the child from harm, and he defied the odds time and again. The humans thought he was blessed, and he was, in a way.

The boy discovered magic at a young age and learned how to control it. As it burgeoned in him, he became quite the interesting plaything. He was no longer the drooling dolt that he had been in his childhood. He developed into an adult adorned by color, wearing the remnants of his ancestry. His soul was unlike other humans, decorated in swirling black-and-gold undertones that became most vibrant when he was performing magic.

And he performed beautifully, with the prowess of an accomplished artist. He was able to concoct beautiful, wondrous things, every bit his mother's son. Magical beasts were attracted to him, and he learned to tame them one by one—a phoenix, a unicorn, a dragon.

There was nothing there to disappoint even the most austere parent.

Most of all, Life was happy. Death loved her best that way.

...o0o...

Little by little, Death recognized the signs. How could he not? The colors began to dull under the heavy hand of time. Herpo was getting old. Life must have noticed, too, with the way she fawned over him, made sure he wanted for nothing. She had already begun mourning.

What if she blamed him? This was his job. He had no choice but to take souls when they were ready...or did he?

Death waited until his ward entered the woods, slipping between the shadows, before he revealed himself. The human looked surprised—they always were when they saw Death for the first time—but there was something else. Something missing. There was no fear in those pale eyes, no sense of dread, no horror. Curiosity shifted his aura to a sort of maroon.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes. Have you come for me?"

"Not yet. If you do as I say, there will be no need for me to seek you out. Ever."

"Do you mean..."

"Freedom from Death. Immortality."

"Why? Why me?"

"I owe you no explanations."

Was this the right thing to do, or was he making a huge mistake? Sparing someone the heartache of loss, sacrificing for love, these were noble things, weren't they? How could an act of love be wrong?

"What would you have me do?"

"Where Death is meant to occur, Death will always occur. Therefore, you will have to kill another. If you do so, you can break off a piece of your soul and place it in an object. I can't collect a soul that's not whole."

"And the consequences of that?"

"Could be vast. No one's done it before. I'm here only to present the option. The decision is yours."

Death described the technique, and then sank back into invisibility to leave the man to ponder his mortality. Whatever decision was made, he would accept it for what it was. Even if it meant heartache. Even if it meant losing her.

...o0o...

He should have seen it sooner. Chaos, how could Death be so stupid? He was so caught up in the elation of having Herpo choose immortality—their child, truly, in every way now—that he failed to see the warning signs. He successfully sheared off a bit of his soul, yes, but once the ritual was complete, the gold that had always laced his aura was nowhere to be seen.

"What has he done?" Life whispered as they watched. The horror in her voice shredded Death's emotions; this was all his fault.

There was nothing they could do as the darkness, now unfettered, slowly invaded the rest of his aura, gobbling up the remnants of the other colors. There was nothing left except a wispy, swirling mass that tortured his mind.

With the golden elements of Life banished from his soul, all that was left was Death, and so Herpo did the only thing Death was capable of: he destroyed.

Life regarded him with soft eyes, but Death knew the truth behind them. Even if she could forgive his foibles, he would never forgive himself for what he had done to her...what he had done to them.

...o0o...

"He's become a danger."

Death knew it was true, but the words somehow sounded accusatory. Everything had gone so horribly wrong.

"He's started preying on the other creatures." There was no emotion in her voice, and he hated that the most. "He doesn't know happiness anymore, so he seeks to take it from others. He'll destroy them, if he's allowed to."

It was true. That was the Death in him. It always sought to destroy. Even without intention; even with the best of intentions. That was all it was good for. It had eaten him away, worn holes in his soul. No human was meant to harbor that sort of darkness; Death was never meant to exist without Life. It gnawed away at what was left of his soul, leaving him tattered, and broken, and unable to die.

"I'll handle it," Death said.

"Where will you take him?"

"Somewhere he'll be safe. Somewhere that can be his forever."

He pulled a chain out of the confines of his robe—a circular amulet with an hourglass encased in a free-spinning circle. With one hand on Herpo's shoulder and one on the chain, he thought of a lone island nestled in the bosom of some ocean somewhere at some point in the future.

As his destination whirred through his mind, the hourglass followed suite, spinning slowly and then ever faster until it was a blur. Time shifted in a nauseating distortion of reality, launching them into the future.

...o0o...

Dementor. That's what humans would come to call him. Death knew because he had checked. The island would be discovered, eventually, in the future. Nothing could stay hidden forever.

The man would deteriorate further, losing everything that ever made him human, until he was little more than a child of Death. He would always be broken.

She would always be broken, too, even if she never said as much. There was no forgiving the things he'd done. Even if she could move on, he harbored enough regret for both of them.

After all this time, he became painfully aware of one fact that he had overlooked.

.

It was never meant to be this way. Where there is Death, there can never be Life.


Cover Art: (c) noiaillustration on DeviantArt. Go check them out; they're amazing.