So, here is third chapter. I changed little plan, so that here are only four small scenes showing Death and Hao's relationship through years, before Hao has gone insane, then we are back to present day. Next chapter action and plot start moving. Darker parts of first life will be scattered through story and shown later.

When Death is in human form, her power is compressed, and so it begins leaking out and affecting world. Temperatures drop, shadows grow, animals and plants rot, humans drop dead, shamans become mummies ( though they are alive). If she is touching something, that thing dissolves in ash.

Well, read and review! I hope you like it!

Thousand and thirteen years ago

'' Hello.''

It was his own voice. It wasn't echo, couldn't be echo. Exactly same strength, same resonance, same length, same timbre. But sound of it sent chills up his spine, made his gut turn, made his soul tremble.

Hao rose his eyes from man he was exorcising, not paying attention to his glowing body, his wide, white eyes. Man moaned and jerked, but Hao kept his hands over his chest. This was common tactic of possessing spirits, acting as if victim was in pain.

'' Shh, wait just a little. Soon this all will be over.'' No need to worry. He is Asakura Hao, grand omnyoji. Best in whole Japan. Something simple as petty, vengeful ghost wouldn't defeat him.

Shadows in corner seem to grow, to darken, as odor of fresh corpse spreads through air. He knows that humans wouldn't be able to notice it. Whatever it is. Not ghost, not demon, not youkai.

'' Who are you?'' Immediately something blasted through him, through his mind and heart. Deep, unwavering sense of confidence, straight as arrow and strong as steel, deeper than bones of world. Unshakable, eternal sense of identity, bare, raw truth, devoid of delusion, of any illusion, of doubt.

''I'm.'' His voice replies.

Ghost arises from body of man, frown on his face and foam in his mouth.

'' Hey, you! How dare you...'' Whispered word, hand sign, wave of beads and he is gone to Great Spirits. Good riddance.

He checks victim, sees that he is sleeping, and turns back towards spirit.

'' What are you?'' Much better question. Some nature spirits don't have names or forms. They simply define themselves by their powers, by their nature.

Images flood his mind. Man steps on bug. Lighting hits tree. Woman jumps from roof. War, soldiers stabbing each other. Nobles drink poisons. Child falls in lake and drowns. Hook catches fish. Dog tears fox apart. Birds eat mice. House collapses and crushes family. Girl slips and breaks neck. Arrow goes through neck of deer. Lines of old people, closing eyes for final time. Rows starved breathing last breath. Deaths all over planet, all over time.

Every time he feels life leave them, sees soul arise. Knows that organs stopped working. And then he snaps back to reality

'' You are death spirit?'' He sweats, breaths coming out raggedly.

Denial. Sense of teacher's disapproval, wrongness vibrating in his bones.

'' You aren't?''

'' Aren't death spirit. I'm death.'' It is odd to hear his own words joined in disharmony, each word different pitch, different tone.

But death! He spoke with death! Not with spirit or god, but death itself! He communicated with pure force of nature, with process, part of lifecycle! That... That was impossible!

So was commanding demons, and mastering more than one element. Yet he succeed. Of course he could do this.

Still... Death was sentient. Death was sentient and capable of communication. Well, it ( could he even use that word) couldn't speak on it's own ( he wondered if it could repeat all words it ever heard, or it was limited to recent ones). And had nothing against breaching securities of people's minds. But who knew what knowledge it could impart, what it could teach.

Curiosity. Sharp and small and stinging. Confusion, like flurry of snow.

'' What? You want to ask something?'' Another image, of his own face, moments ago, nose raised and eyes and mouth wide, sparkling with delight.

'' Oh.'' Were he bit more expressive, he would have blushed.

'' Sorry. I'm just amazed, you see. Chance to speak with, it is such honor.'' Pity he couldn't tell of this to anyone. They would think him mad... well, madder than now.

Deep, grumbling satisfaction. It seems that compliments work even on the nature. Not that it doesn't deserve them. Doesn't get enough of them. Death least of all.

Darkness stalks towards man, and he understands.

'' It seems that we will have to continue some other time. How much does he have left.'' He gets sense of ten minutes passing, then sees image of man, eyes closed and body limp.

'' Thank you.''

He comes out, accepts money, invites family. They cry and whisper praises and thanks, but their thoughts...

'' Fraud.''

'' What a scary man.''

'' He better help Masashiro.''

No doubt man's death would be blamed on him, accusations whispered to friends in court. Nothing new.

It seemed to Hao that he would be visiting dying more often.

Garden. Big, vibrant, bursting with it's opposite. So many trees and flowers and animals. So many future jobs. But it was here only for one small butterfly, dying of old ( well for bug) age currently standing in front of man in red robes.

'' Hello.'' Piercing gaze and it immediately knows who man is. Memories return- infant running from burning house, child holding broken katana, boy fighting demon, man exorcising ghost when dozens have failed before him while talking ( quite nicely) with it.

'' Do you remember me? I understand if you don't- you surely have much work to do.'' Smart and polite. Thanks Great Spirits for that. Death couldn't stand if only person capable of seeing was one of those entitled, angry humans, that always ranted about injustice and stealing loved ones and what not.

'' Who are you here for? Me?'' He says, tone light and playful, small smile on his face, which remains cheerful and relaxed. But there is something deep and serious in his black eyes, something dark. Not dark as winter night, but rather as a shade in summer, calm and welcoming. Acceptance. Great Spirits, thank you, death thinks. At least this one won't struggle when his time comes.

It speaks to him in only way it can, repeating feelings and actions of world around it. Image of butterfly from multiple angles, feeling of it's small legs upon branch, it's long, colorful wings upon wind.

'' Of course. I should have realized that. You, after all, come to all things, not only to my people.'' Of course! Such foolish thought, that death is treating humans as special. That death is treating anybody as special.

Still, he is young and learns fast. Death can't be angered at him. Not much.

'' What a pity.'' Death turns to him, smile gone from his face, and questions. Why would he treasure life of some unknown bug over his own?

First image, crushed butterfly, similar to this one. His unsmiling face, and pity. Second image, his from moments ago, calmly accepting possible fate, reek of patience and acceptance. Intrigue, confusion and above all, consuming need to know.

It takes him some time to understand ( for humans like to complicate everything, speaking not with truth of matter, but with meaningless sounds and signs that are symbols to convey it).

'' You are asking why I pitied butterfly but not myself, if I understand you.''

Death takes those symbols, those words, picks what it needs, and reflects them back.

'' You understand.''

Man sighs and closes eyes, remains so for minute. But when he opens them, they are wide and sparkling.

'' I know that you aren't end, aren't destruction, aren't oblivion. You are just change, another beginning, another form of existence. You don't kill, you just come after life leaves. I know that souls exist, know that I won't truly be gone, that there is something after you. But butterfly doesn't. It just has drive to survive. It is scared and cannot help it, has no idea what will happen to it.''

Death stays silent and inert, absorbing words, absorbing meaning. It is truth, of course it is. It is perfectly logical-but still strange. There are hundreds of thousands of people like him, those spiritually aware, shamans as they call themselves, yet all of them would fight, all would demand that it leaves. And there are even more humans, who thought not capable of seeing spirits, who wholeheartedly believe in the afterlife.

There is suspicion in death, coiled, seething and serpentine, something that hisses those are only words, remember child with broken sword, boy who killed demon, but it can taste sincerity, clear and golden, and it chooses to believe, for those words make it feel heavy and tingly though it has no body, and as strange feeling is, it likes it.

Besides, people can change. Children are never same as what they will become as adults. And well, it was completely reasonable that man had nothing against death but everything against murderers.

'' And it is such a pity that pretty ones always meet you first.''

Pretty? Why is butterfly pretty? And of what use is prettiness? And why would people appreciate it if prettiness truly brings people closer to it?

Time comes and death claims butterfly, it's spirit left free to fly forever. It's duty finished, it goes away. It will ask for explanation some next time.

Wait. Some next time?

Thousand and ten years ago

''You must have seen some very interesting places.''

Death is here for fly on other side of house, one chased by his servant. He can hear servant's mind, shouting even stronger than his voice. And what profane thoughts! Hao is sure that at least half aren't physically possible.

Death has stretched itself, long shadow upon house in his sight, chill felt even by humans in order to speak with him, for which, as he had said to it, he is very grateful and honored.

'' I should have some poetry or philosophical material on hand for next time. It seems very fond of them.'' '' Wait. Next time?''

He can't help but let chuckle escape. So many prayed that they never see death, so many hoped for immortality, and he awaited next time.

Death turns toward him, but ''says'' nothing about chuckle. It doesn't seem particularly aware, or interested in, emotions of living. Too complicated for it to grasp, it explained. Instead, it '' answers'' his question, and he awaits familiar feeling of icicles opening his mind and shadow slithering in as his nose fills with stale, dusty air. At this point, it is almost pleasant.

Confirmation, silvery vibration in his ribs. Quiet and cold, covered by disinterest. Images of foreign nations, of deep seas and tunnels, foreign planets and galaxies cross through his kind, all pale and frayed with disinterest.

'' Well, I suppose it makes sense that it would be all same to you. You aren't there for sight seeing. Though you must admit it is impressive.'' Crackle, smoke in throat, shadow raises of floor , sticking upper part in air like nose as it has seen so many nobles do. Death is death, and it only has to fulfill it's purpose. Rating beauty has nothing to do with it.

'' Are there places where you have never been?' 'Again confirmation, but this one is stronger, louder, not filled with disinterest.

'' Could you describe them?'' What would be such place, where even death cannot travel? Death goes wherever there is life, and even in most hostile places, there are small, unseen things that survive and thrive.

Darkness. Absolute, complete darkness, no air, no earth, just pure black. Cold, cold that cannot exist on Earth, cold that destroy all heat and stops atoms from moving. Image shrinks and there are two stars, golden and bright, their warmth spreading over distance that would take centuries to cross. And between them is that void, it's center seat of cold that even their fires cannot reach. There, where no life exists, there alone death cannot tread.

'' Would you like to visit those places?'' Hao asks, lips tugged into smirk. Death tries to answer, but then annoying servant kills fly, and it is gone. Not a pity, though, for he already knows answer.

If there is one thing he noticed about death, it is that it is curious beyond measure, it's thirst for knowledge insatiable. No matter how much it pretends to be disinterested in living, it still talks with him, notices behavior of people surrounding them, peers to look at books, demands explanations for human terms and behaviors.

It wants freedom, wants rest.

'' And one day, it will have it.'' He thinks. He will work it all out.

Thousand and six years ago

'' If you aren't sure...'' Death immediately reaches out with tendrils of darkness, stops him with force of it's desire, it's hope.

Years have come and gone, though not a second seems to have passed for death. But much has changed indeed. Now it knows so many languages, so many words, knows what pretty and fun and vacation mean, knows names and emotions and math and poetry. It can dream and conjure images of it's own, images it has never seen. It can imagine and communicate and stretch halfway across city to talk with Hao.

And now, now it will be able to touch, to speak. To laugh and scream and curse and spit. It may even it, may taste sweet and bitter, may know warmth of fire. It will choose and work of it's own design, walk where it couldn't walk before. It will carry and turn pages and paint.

It won't be a thing. it will be a person.

Hao nodded and took white needle, crafted from fish's bone. With a wave towards branch, flames erupted and consumed it, leaving nothing but grey ash and black embers. One ember was put on top of needle, while rest was coated in ash. Finally, Hao pricked his index finger and let drop of blood, bright and red like ruby slide.

His furyoku erupted, river of raw, pure power coiling around needle.

'' Spirit of Death, in talisman. Oversoul!'' And death flew, dark shroud mighty enough to conceal the skies, flew into the small item and vortex of power produced by Hao.

Death felt, felt as it's soul nestled deep inside talisman, as Hao's power formed around it. It was unlike anything it ever felt, but death knew what it was. That which coursed through it, mad and determined, brimming with energy, with power, that demanded death to move and run and scream, that made it feel safe though it was complete antithesis of everything death ever knew. Thing that filled it completely, leaving no room for anything else. That made it heavy and bound yet free, so free.

It was warmth. It was light. It was life.

Hao watched, watched as Death- no, not death, Death- shaped it's ( her, her) body. A woman, tall and graceful, skin as gray as corpse, long hair as dark as night living saw when they closed for final time, white eyes wide and pale as winter moons, lips stained and red as blood of newborn, scarlet tears running down her ashy cheeks. Simple white garment, bleached like bone, shining like newly fallen frost covered her legs ( she had legs! She had legs!) and torso.

Death felt caress of sibling wind, soft touch of light, felt grass tingling her feet, earth staining her toes. And she turned, laughing like gale as all plants on hill turned brown and dry, as grass beneath her became black ash.

Hao smiled, pride and amazement coursing through him, for once again he had done impossible, once again had he gone where no other shaman dreamed of treading. He gazed upon her and opened mouth to say something, to boast or congratulate...And fainted, dried of furyoku as plants beneath him have been drained of life.

But smile remained.

Shaman Fight in Tokyo, present day

Goldva should have been honored, she knew that. Standing in front of her ( on safe distance) was one of Grand Elemental Spirits, being that was raw essence of universe itself. Formed from Great Spirits themselves, collective of souls whose power was second only to Shaman King. It's peers were under care of their tribe for thousands of years, and now this being, this god asked for permission to speak with chief, as if it couldn't walk in and consume all of their souls.

Yet Goldva didn't dare to look at spirit in eyes ( those pale, white eyes that held nothing but cold and boredom), almost said no but then accepted, memories of old tales and what she has witnessed of Spirit of Fire's power with her own eyes forcing her to say yes.

Spirit of Death. Only of Godaiseirei that wasn't entrusted to Patch for safe keeping, only of Godaiserei that has never been granted to shaman. For who could resist controlling death? Nobody. And so death was left to wander world, uncontrollable, impartial.

But centuries ago something happened. Somehow, death began to feel, to have plans and designs of it's own. It managed to form Oversoul without shaman, traveling through wide world, thinking and behaving almost like human. Sometimes it came to Patch, to visit it's ''siblings'', and sometimes it hunted down shamans that performed revivals and weren't protected by god class spirits.

And now, it stood in front of Goldva, in form of a human woman, young and beautiful. But no matter how graceful form was, it couldn't mask stench, couldn't mask unnatural bearing it had, couldn't stop plants from withering and stone from turning to ash with slightest touch.

Goldva would have preferred if it choose to look like rest of Spirits. Tall and imposing and bestial, without face that could be read, and not like this, twisted parody of humanity.

'' You honor us with Your presence, Spirit of Death. We are most grateful for your presence. For what reason does Your Excellence demand meeting with Shaman Council?'' It wasn't best speech Goldva made, but how does one address death itself?

Head rose, frozen eyes looking at Goldva as if she was worm before it spoke, bright lips parting, revealing nothing but darkness inside.

'' Curious title, chief of Great Spirit's guardians. Your Excellence? I'm not queen of anything yet.''

Something twisted in Goldva's gut. Spirits were known to be capricious, divine ones especially so. Older the spirit more the danger. And save for Great Spirits, no creature was older or more divine then Godaiserei.

It wouldn't kill them for wrong title, would it? It demanded talk. Surely it wouldn't allow itself to be distracted from it's task by something so trivial.

'' But I am judge. Sometimes. And mercy and punishment also. Hmmm... Just call me lady please? ''

'' Of course, Lady.'' Was it ever going to get into heart of matter?

'' I've came to ask for favor. Or give warning, if you want to interpret it that way.'' Oh Great Spirits, what was going to happen.

'' I'm on a journey. You see, shaman that joined me centuries ago once again walks Earth, defying my laws. I don't like that one bit, so I'm planning to stop that.'' Shaman... that died centuries ago but is now alive... Hao! Death came for Hao! It had to be!

Few councilmen couldn't help but reveal smiles – or frowns. Some were ready to burst with joy, others with rage. Others just looked on, afraid and confused. Only Goldva remained calm and stone faced. What a brave creature, Death thought.

'' In order for my journey to be completed, I need to pass through your village. So i would ask you to evacuate all those people- you know how unhealthy my presence is for them.'' And they knew. Legends were spoken, when sun was highest ( for none dared tell them in dark of deep night), of fertile fields turned into deserts by death's passing, of vital and healthy shamans turned into withering, sick husks by it's mere presence. Of humans who simply dropped dead whenever it walked near.

'' I really wouldn't want to harm them if possible. But if they choose to remain, well,'' and there it shrugged, hundreds of bone necklaces and bracelets jiggling '' then I won't stop them from destroying their bodies. So will you send message.''

'' Yes!'' Goldva said, quick as lighting.

Break in Shaman Fight... It happened only once or twice. It was almost sacrilege. But better that than hundreds of shamans reduced to mummies.

'' Better that,'' Silva thought,'' than Hao as Shaman King.'' And in the end, who were they to go against will of Great Spirits?

Oracle bells rang. Goldva's voice boomed from announcers, carried by cold wind. Ten priests run, spreading news to confused shamans, who looked up to suddenly darkened sky and closed their noses to protect themselves from foul stench.

Some were delighted for break ( '' Finally some rest, Amidamaru!''). Others were furious ('' Did I hear you well?'' '' Miss Anna we...'' Slap!). Third were scared and fourth were everything.

And beyond hotels, in abandoned ruins, Hao Asakura stared at campfire that hissed and grumbled ( and if it could speak, it would use very colorful, very vulgar language that would cause demons to blush), arms folded beneath head, sharp smirk on him.

'' Always so needlessly dramatic... What trickery are you up to now, darling wife?''

But there was no answer. Only slight chuckle in darkness.

Hao collapsed when he made Death's first oversoul because she is extremely powerful god class spirit, and not really meant to be used in Oversoul. Remember that this was his first life. Now, just as with Spirit of Fire, he could create Oversoul four times a day.

Hope you enjoyed it! So, read and review! Next I will update Reach for Lights of North, then this.