As her speckled, cramping hand presses hard on the cracking glass, Genevieve desperately sifts through her thoughts. This is far too much for her. Far too many changes in such little time. Genevieve is literally staring Death in the face and she cannot get over that. This isn't the Grim Reaper she has come to know. Where are his black robes and hood? Why is he packed with muscles and not bones? Shouldn't she have seen Death when she passed and not the old man? Genevieve has so many questions. She could have gone for hours holding this "man," hostage. Instigating him on the questions that overflow her conscience. Though, through all the internal turmoil that clouds her judgment, only one sentence falls from her tongue much like word vomit.
"Huh, Death. . . Kinda just rolls off the tongue there, doesn't it? Hah. . ."
"Appears so." Death replies almost awkwardly, wisely choosing a time that is best to strike.
Stupid! She screams in her thoughts that shroud behind her uneasy smile. Of all the things she can ask or say, her mind only allows her to resort some sort of small talk with the Reaper. Among the silence in Genevieve's internal distraction, Death's right hand cautiously creeps behind his back. Genevieve fails to notice from being too preoccupied by fear and every other terrible emotion crushing her mind. His hand clenches tight making it glow a striking pink hue. Death takes the opening to make his move.
In one swift stride, a glowing hand reappears from his back and points at Genevieve's cracking cargo. A horrifying eyeless face emerges with it's mouth shrieking a silent cry. In the quick millisecond, the girl snaps out of her thoughts and sees the florescent ghost coming full speed to her hand. Her body jolts forward violently from the strength of the entity's pull. It feels like it could have ripped her arm out of it's socket. Holding her arm, the bruised human shrills curses into the air as she looks up to what causes her swearing to cease. There in Death's dominant hand rests her only tool for survival as well as the key to her unending questions. Only leaving Genevieve to believe that she is officially of no use to this great power. Becoming nothing more than a lone soul in need of a reaping long passed overdue.
"Now, no more games child," He says, entirely relieved from anymore interrogation. "You're coming with me."
Genevieve nods solemnly and recovers to her feet as she cradles her aggrieved arm. The defeated soul walks to her executioner, granting not one scowling look to the lout that condemns her fate. Damning her as any other proclaimed sinner that stood to challenge him before her. But a strange noise is heard before her feet could set another blood print unto the cobblestone. A noise that brightens her curious eyes and pulls her sights to the being standing in front of her.
A hissing groan of pain rolls out from behind the white mask. A smell foul with the odor of burning cloth and flesh penetrates the atmosphere. Death's growls are deep with agony as he holds himself over his wounded hand that finally drops the smoking amulet to his shaking feet. The blood on the glass-like skull quickly sizzles to a charring brown color on it's searing hot surface.
Genevieve also catches sight of the damage of Death's hand. The amulet burned a deep hole in his insufficiently toughened palm. Blood and flesh seared off so quickly, that it evaporated into a burnt brown crust around the holes between his structures. Leaving only naked bones laced with the remnant strings of burnt muscles that once clothed them. Whatever flesh or skin that is left in his hand are hanging loosely though and around his gash. It is a dreadful sight that has Genevieve fighting down the vomit aggressively crawling up her throat.
As she tastes the backwash souring the back of her tongue, she stares at the glass and golden skull on the floor. Burning so gravely hot, it sinks, smelting and boiling the stone. Immersing itself in the molten red lava it creates, which is probably why she found the piece in a wall in the first place. 3/4ths Of the charm is left above ground where only it's northern gold spike peers above the molten rock. She scrambles to the ground with left hand outstretched to the bloodstained necklace before it completely immerses itself underneath the floor. Though to no avail, for she becomes trapped, allowing the glass piece to sink deep into the mini molten lava pit.
A scythe bares down millimeters from Genevieve's bruised wrist. Locking her arm to the floor between the cutlass and the handle. "Don't. You. DARE." There is a painful rattle in Death's warning with teeth audibly baring behind his cover. He fumes with anger, agitation, and pain as he pins the featherweight arm with one hand and his bloody, incomplete palm pressing against his chest. Genevieve regards his hunching stance. This apparently great, immortal power is hurt and at a point of weakness. If Genevieve had an advantage, it would be now.
"Fuck you." She sneers and her free hand dives elbow-deep into the molten red.
Genevieve didn't exactly think through what she has done but there was something that pushed her to do it. That she needed to have that gem if even the Grim Reaper himself sought after it. Both their heads look down to the arm that disappeared into the molten rock between them. The sounds of sizzling and singeing shot from the bubbling hole in the ground. Smoke and embers bloom as the fabric from her jacket evaporate into ash and fire on contact.
Though, there was no screaming, no hissing in pain or smell of burning blood coming from the seemingly breakable woman and Death takes serious note of that. For all she does is remain frozen, grimly afraid of what mutilations will remain of her right dominant arm. Genevieve's eyelids lock down tautly, preparing herself for what is on her appendage to greet her as it warily ascends from the hole.
The soul's arm completely emerges from what had felt similar to a warm vat of mud or loose putty. She still feels the wet, sizzling goo that trails down her forearm. The drops of lava quickly hardening as they trail further down her contrastingly cool skin. Making her movements a bit difficult to act upon. Genevieve doesn't dare to open her eyes.
"Oh my God, I don't have an arm anymore." She begins hysterically. "My arm is gone! Myarmisgonemyarmisgonemyarmisgone-" Death's annoyed, level- headed voice causes her to finally silence and brings her eyes to gape open.
"Your arm isn't gone you lucky little idiot."
Even though layered with the thick, steaming blackness of hot ash and smelting rock, her arm is entirely in tact. The sleeve of her jacket had incinerated, only left with the black smoking fringes that small flames still resonate on her shoulder, utterly failing to singe off her strawberry blonde locks. Numb to the pain, Genevieve fails to notice. Considering that at the the end of her arm, was the charm that was almost a foot in a seething vat of liquid fire. Now dangling from her dirtied fist, clenching the chain tight. Its glow lightly visible through the dripping hot magma.
Genevieve's heart descends down from her throat to her chest. The feeling of relief so heavy in her breast, she does not choose to escape again, having been so emotionally and physically distraught in what must have been shy of a half hour, she slumps onto her back with the deepest rasp of an exhale her lungs could bestow to the air. A sound of kissed metal pierces her ears and her pinned arm's pressure lightens.
"Hm . . . you can withstand fire." Death remarks, "Interesting."
"Yeah, just a little." She sighs scornfully back but doesn't shoot a look over to him. She is too busy marveling at the hot red mud on her hand and the amulet it braces. Steaming mud dripping onto the middle of her jacket, burning holes through the cotton and zipper. The girl points that hand to the onyx haired, angel of death with an index finger withdrawn. "And if you try to make another swing at me again," She threatens, "I WILL drive this fucker up your ass."
A small jeer escapes from his deep voice. "Said by the mortal who bruises from mere taps."
"What do you mean I'm-" She hisses mid sentence when she looks down her frame. "Owww..." The adrenaline has finally worn off and her body recalls all of the damage she has taken in the mere half hour since her awakening. The light frame is coated with black and blues focusing on her legs. Her once pure jacket burned to shreds and is sputtered with dirt and blood. The the right side of the dead girl's torso is coated with mud. Her eyes follow a frantic trail of fresh blood that leads to her raw feet. Genevieve thought her looks weren't much different from when she died, except this time she was covered in something else'es blood and her left sight wasn't gone.
A tear of fabric pricks up her left ear and her head shifts to the source. Death began ripping the purple fabric below his large, life like bone belt buckle. Getting a long enough piece, he begins to wrap around the burnt hole in his hand. The low sizzling in his flesh becomes muffled by the cloth.
"I don't understand," He says, fussing with each tightening wraparound on his palm, "I have touched that amulet before, why did it mark me the second time?"
Genevieve stays silent, searching for a reply as she stares at the jewel dripping almost clean. As if she could find the answer on the skull's glass surface. Noticing the cracks she inflicted unto it have disappeared. She stands up warily to keep from aggravating her pained lower body.
"Maybe a really, really small part of me. . . .Wanted you to touch it."
Death cocks an eyebrow. Genevieve continues to the pale horseman, "Not in a nasty kind of way, more like a, 'hey look what I got and you don't,' kinda way." She mimics in a monotone voice as she raises the amulet to his arm. It touches his skin but does not deal any damage. The Grim Reaper is ambivalent on what to feel, shuddering slightly from it's touch. Her hands lower to her sides as she shrugs, "You know what I mean?"
"To be honest, you haven't made any sort of sense since you decided to start talking." He grumbles.
Genevieve scowls. "And then you started being even more of nob and took this thing away from me." She swipes the spikes across his forearm, leaving hissing trails of blood below his scar tattoo. Death grunts at the sudden shock of the burns.
"What the hell are you gaining from trifling with me?!" He thunders getting in the girl's face. She pulls back being cautious on how far she treads. A situation much like a small, courageous kitten clawing at a giant, snarling dog. But she however, holds her offensive stance.
"Well you're big, scary Death right?"
"Yes."
"And I assume that nobody fucks with you considering your standing?"
"I wish that were right in all cases. Especially yours." Death huffs irately.
"So yeah, you do. And you being said Death, you must know all the ways to heaven and hell right?"
"I know of most of them."
"You're taking me there."
"Where?"
"Heaven." Genevieve's says without any sort of stutter, "Take me there where its safe, and you can have this." She holds the trinket up above her head about ten inches from the tall man's face. Pinching opposite ends of the chain with her delicate, callus-less fingers. He is aware that she knows exactly what she wants by her tone of voice. He likes it, quietly finding it arousing in to be more specific. However Death pauses, thinking hard of what he's about to get into with this foolhardy human. If they do get to Heaven, (If this little mortal even lasts that long,) Death could just dump her, take his prize and be on his merry way. Or whatever the Reaper of Souls considers to be merry.
"Very well." He finally agrees. "Just be careful of where you tread, mortal, there will be danger at nearly every turn on our way, especially in the Kingdom of The Dead." The girl smiles, and returns the Amulet to it's rightful place around her neck. His unharmed palm touches the dirtied fur lined sleeve in her tattered jacket. Ripping the sleeve off as easy as tearing a piece tissue paper. Genevieve jolts with a startled yelp. Looking back at Death with her eyes flaring hot. "Be ready for everything, you're not going to last long if you keep jumping like that." He adds. Genevieve could have sworn she heard a small snicker from her response. Making her look grow meaner. "And don't give me that look," The Kinslayer orders darkly. "We cannot have you bleeding all over the place. (Though I wish your profuse bleeding would just kill you.) I must tend to your wounds." The bruised red head recalls the blood trail to her feet and she complies, resting her end on the cold floor. Both hands holding down the bottom of her now sleeveless jacket between her legs to avoid him catching sight of her intimates. Death kneels to her feet, ripping off a couple pieces of the plum cloth from the sides of his outfit. His wounded hand gently raises Genevieve's left foot, still bleeding profusely from all of the jagged rocks that punctured it, "I don't have any potions left, so I'm going to have to bandage you." Placing one piece of the white fleece under the sole of her foot, he wraps it with the purple cloth to keep it in place. "Nephilim heal quickly, humans however, clearly do not." Death affirms, raising her right leg, repeating what he had done on the other foot. "So I'm going to be forced to care for you until we find a potion." He glares at the bruises on her legs from all the useless kicking and screaming from earlier, ignoring the stripped panties nestling between them. "Perhaps we will have to find some armor for you as well."
When he finishes, Genevieve resumes to standing, lightly patting the ground, feeling like she's walking on clouds compared to the pins and needles she had to step on before. She couldn't help but smile sweetly at him, like a child just getting a Christmas present. Death wasn't very sure how to take it. "Aww would you look at that." Genevieve coos as her innocent smile fades to a smug grin, cloaking her gratitude. "Big bad Death made me feetsies."
The pale Nephilim groans, rubbing his temple, "Come, we must go." The smiling young woman nods and trots to Death's side as he once again calls upon the neon- purple bones to open the double doors for them.
"This is it, Genna," She thinks with a smile that plasters over her fear for the future. "You're on your way now."
They walk together down the dungeon hall, the double doors closing behind them.