The Fourth Brother
"And what about you, Hidden One?" Death's grating voice resounded through the banks of the river, moments after the third brother had fled under the Cloak of Invisibility.
The fourth brother stepped out of the shadows where he had been lurking. A mere squib, he knew that he didn't deserve any prize because he hadn't joined his brothers in their defeat over the looming spectre. However, the idea of a gift from Death itself was too generous to pass. He didn't seek a magical wand for it would be a mere stick in his hand. Unloved and certainly not bereaved, he had no use for bringing a dead to life. And he didn't want to follow his brother in a life spent hidden under a small cloak.
But the fourth brother wasn't without flaws. Decades spent staring longingly at feats of magic had deepened his thirst for power; decades spent flinching at his brothers' callous pranks had hardened his heart against magical arts. So he asked for a tool mightier than magic, a tool that could take life through a mere scratch, a tool that governed the laws of life and death where the magical didn't even dare step. He asked for Death's Scythe.
Armed with the spectre's ultimate weapon, the fourth brother walked away, separate from his three brothers. Everyday he would hold the sturdy black staff and polish the glinting blade. Everyday he would stop every hour to admire his prize and preen at the power resting on his palm. After a few weeks, he heard and immediately ignored the rumours of his eldest brother's death. But he couldn't ignore the powerful thrum of power calling him to use the Scythe. After a few months, he controlled his tears at the sight of his second brother's corpse. But he couldn't control the shivers as he finally drove the Scythe into his first victim, the bloody curved blade half-grinning at him in the dark. By the time came to collect his third brother, he had spent not even one moment without his weapon. He absolutely refused to relinquish the Scythe and more importantly, the Scythe refused to give up its hold on him. He became the God slaved to his Servant.
For Death had taken the fourth brother the moment the latter had touched the Scythe.
Written for The Daily Weird Prompt Thing: Halloween Special [Competition]
Prompt: Scythe
