If I Should Die
Summary: "There are other entities larger than Fate, Harry, it's true, but they all have their Masters to answer to. Fate doesn't, and maybe that's what makes her so… tricky." Slash.
Disclaimer: All rights reserved belong to J.K. Rowling (for the Harry Potter characters), Yana Toboso (for Kuroshitsuji characters), and to Mitch Albom (for borrowing Dor). The plot, however, is mine. I am not making money off of this. This is just fun.
Author's Note: I'll make this as short as possible. This fic is slash. I need a beta, (so excuse the grammatical errors), and plot suggestions, predictions, and constructive criticisms are always welcome. Updates are AT LEAST once every two weeks.
Prologue:
"There are far too many of them," a low voice snarled, "If ever you decide to do your job, do let us know, so that we may adequately do ours."
Had it not been for the fact that they could not see his face, he would have rolled his eyes. As it was, he let out a mental snort at the barb thrown his way; his sole contribution to the current proceedings, during the eve of the occurring new moon.
"I find it humorous, that you hate them so much, when you have them to thank for your existence," another voice quipped.
Each of them spoke in a different tongue. Each, simultaneously, belonged to all the timelines, and to none of them.
As far as Harry knew, there were only four Masters in existence, himself included. Their monthly meetings, both mandatory and out of his control, happened while he slept. This served as the only time they could communicate to one another, which Harry was quite thankful for.
Individually, his fellow Masters could possibly be described as bearable, even in large quantities, but together, they were exhausting. Mind you, Harry had yet to see any of them, but by listening in, he acquired a taste of each of their personalities, knowing them in a way that simply meeting them through physical means could not.
Although all of them held such a unique power in their palm that none other, not even their fellow Masters, could ever dream to acquire or duplicate, it was quite obvious that some were more powerful than others. Dor, for example, was above them all as the Clock Master, or, as humans commonly knew him as, Father Time.
He'd been one of the first Masters to ever exist, before even time itself. Someone, who the other Masters dubbed as "The Great Master", (or God; but that was just Harry's speculation), had gifted all who existed with opportunities to do as they wished.
Dor, being the fool that he was, decided that he could use it to his greatest advantage if he found a way to count how many opportunities he had used, and how many he had left. The Great Master, in his fury upon finding Dor trying to measure God's greatest gift, punished him by intertwining his existence with the very element that he tried to exploit. It was decreed, "So long as ungrateful beings like you exist – those who measure my greatest gift, so shall you serve them during their… Time."
Dor mumbled the last line he's heard with his human ears as often as Harry remembered all his short comings. So quite often, Harry conceded, and that was what made them so alike. There were some, like Harry, whose whole position as Master depended upon their hatred of acquiring their seat of power. Dor was one of them. And Chaos was another.
Unlike the other Masters, Chaos was an entity within himself, dual in his Mastery; he served as his own Master. Save for God, Chaos didn't answer to anyone. Contrary to his name, other than being Master of Chaos, he was also Master of Control. It made some odd sort of sense to Harry. It wouldn't do anyone any good, now would it, if he didn't have any control at all. If anything, Harry thought to himself, Chaos needed the most amount of control out of the four, seeing as he could wreak the most amount of havoc.
And then, there were those that were handpicked, due to the beauty in their joy, to proceed to their position. Master of Life, or more commonly known as, Mother Nature. Harry grew warm, just thinking of her. Although she was seen woven into every detail of one's lifespan, (obviously), she didn't act as a control like Dor, or a force like Chaos. Mother Nature, in this aspect, resembled Harry the most; both were silent companions of everyone, touching their lives every so often, so as not to forget they were present, altogether. They both induced tears, whether sad or happy ones, and they both served a very solid purpose that had everything to do with human kind.
But even with the four Masters present, there was one force that refused to bend its knee to The Great Father. It stood against the very endowment He bestowed; free will. It didn't have a gender, but if Harry was pressed to decide on what it could be, he knew that it would most definitely be a she.
This force resembled a slighted young woman. It was too malicious to be called a lady, and it held the long memory of a grudge which accompanied that of a woman scorned. If anyone special were to be birthed in the existing dimensions, it grew jealous of the beauty in humanity's brilliance, and sank its claws into them. The new weight that attached itself to the person, more often than not, ended in the human's elaborately repulsive and tragic demise.
Harry would know. He was the subject of her fury, once.
And maybe, with the way that things played out, he couldn't bring himself to feel a smidgen of remorse towards hating this particular entity. Because who could blame him, really? He didn't have a choice in the matter. All he did to receive her ire was exist. And although he understood the depth of jealousy, he couldn't quite bring himself to excuse her actions in trying to snuff him out of his life.
Harry always did have a very potent disapproval of Fate. Harry smirked. But the joke's on her now, isn't it. Harry was immortal; The Master of Death.
He sighed. Ironic, wasn't it, to find the only thing he's wanted, to be the sole thing he can't have.
Master of Death. Harry scoffed. Master of No-Eternal-Rest was more like it.
