Name: Androgene (formerly known as Cyberoid13)

Website:

Email: androgene@lycos.com

Title: Scythe (side story 3)

Summary: The history and relationship between Death and his Scythe

Date of completion: 31st October 2001

Category: Drama

Rating: NC-17

Warning: Blood and violence

Author's notes:

This is my very first songfic, so please be gentle with the C&C. I had to write this side story halfway through the third instalment when I realised there's a whole lot of back-story that needed to be told, which would make the main story easier to understand. Also, this side story was necessary because I did not want to distract the reader from the main plot. I chose to make this a songfic because I was only writing snippets - scenes that are important. And frankly, it's a lot easier to do time-compression in this manner.

The song is 'Possession' by Sarah McLachlan, taken from her album 'Fumbling Towards Ecstasy'. It is one of my all-time favourite songs because of the meanings in the lyrics. Which is perfect for the odd relationship between Death and Scythe. In a very real sense of the word, Death does own Scythe almost like one would keep a pet or a tool. Scythe's obsessive love for Death is a kind of possession too.

*pause*

Complicated enough? I think so too. Took me a long while to sort out the dynamics of their relationship.

I always planned to introduce Death's closest comrade in the third instalment but I never really knew how to characterise him. Only one thing was very clear to me from the beginning – he must be absolutely loyal to Death (it borders on worshipful love) and there must be a very special bond between them. This character must act as the temptation to lure Saber back to the Outriders. I tossed the second-in-command idea quite quickly. It just doesn't fit in with the other elements.

Then it hit me. In medieval times, Death was always portrayed carrying a large sickle or scythe. But since my Death already carried an energy blade, why not make this scythe a living person instead? Literally a living weapon loyal only to Death.

Being a living weapon, Scythe must give the impression of a sharp blade. So I make Scythe small, sleek, inhuman in appearance and predator-like (I think the closest description would be a cross between feline grace and reptilian sinuosity full of razor sharpness). I took a step further and make Scythe a neuter - my reasoning being a weapon has no gender whatsoever. As if that's not enough, I gave Scythe a childlike simple nature to contrast against the efficient killer role. There is no right or wrong for Scythe, no morals and no qualms. As long as it was for Death, Scythe would do it without hesitation.

Some of the readers might find their relationship uncomfortable or even offensive, being that it's an owner-pet relationship. I apologise in advance if it offends anyone. 

Disclaimer:

All 'Saber Rider and Star Sheriffs' characters belonged to World Event Production. I make no money from them and I do not own them.


~ Scythe ~

(side story 3)


Listen as the wind blow from across the great divide

Voices trapped in yearning, memories trapped in time

       Its first memory was of a small cage, a cold barren box of clear walls that gave It no way to hide. Time was of no meaning here; time has no meaning to a weapon. There were others beside It, all cowering in their clear boxes; all fearing the black man who wore his taint like a second skin. But It did not fear him; It loathed him, hated him and wanted badly to kill him and celebrate It's victory with his blood.  

The night is my companion and solitude my guide

Would I spend forever here and not be satisfied

       The cold man who stood before Its cage frightened It. It could practically taste the power and the sheer overwhelming dominance radiating off the cold man. Frightening power, so cold to Its senses. It curled into a foetal huddle as far away from the cold man as It could manage, peering through the protective shield of Its arms.

"Zhu'cov," the man uttered.

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Ready it for Death."

"At once, my Lord."

It didn't understand what they were talking about, but It knew it had something to do with It. The cold man suddenly leaned close to the clear wall, sending It cringing backward with a hissing snarl. It hated the cold man, as much as It hated the black one. 

The cold man smiled a cold smile. "Perfect little spitfire. You will keep him under my control."

And I would be the one to hold you down

Kiss you so hard I'll take your breath away

And after I'd wipe away the tears, just close your eyes dear

Despite the watchful eyes on It, It fidgeted, trying to see as much of the chamber as It could. It liked the chamber It was brought to, a cavernous space, dank and dark. Ragged drapes hung everywhere and pieces of furniture were scattered about. It could not take Its eyes off the chandelier; It had never seen a chandelier built completely out of human bones. 

The door swung open, distracting It from Its exploration. Its silver eyes widened when It saw the shrouded form approaching It. From hood to boots, he wore the ashen colour of corpse. The cloak was tattered at the edges, parting slightly to reveal body armour of the same ashen hue. It could not see the face shrouded by the hood, but It need not to.  

Death has finally come for It.

"Leave us." Death told the guards.

It bowed low as the Pale Rider came towards It, prostrating Itself on the cold stone floor. The booted feet finally stopped before It.

"Rise your head," came the command.

Shivering at the flatness of that voice, It timidly obeyed – and gaped at the vision standing before It.

Through this world I've stumbled, so many times betrayed

Trying to find that honest word, to find the truth enslaved

The hood was pushed back, allowing It to finally see the pale face of Its master. The man was human and handsome despite his face obscured from view. Blond hair fell in dishevelled bangs, held back by a skeletal crest of bone – Death's badge of office. The smoothness of his flat blue eyes reminded It of the clear walls that had imprisoned It once and he carried himself with an air of dignity.   

Death was simply the most beautiful person It had ever seen.

"Do you know what you are?"

"Master's weapon." It bowed Its head again. "Master's to do as pleases."

Long fingers gripped Its pointed chin, tilting Its head up again. "Do you want to be my weapon?"

It blinked, surprised. No one had ever asked It that question before. Always, Its fate was decided by those who controlled It.

"Is Master not pleased?" It asked in a small voice.

The fingers tightened their grip on Its chin. It winced, sensing the anger coursing through Its Master. "Sorry! Sorry!"

"Do I frighten you?"

It tried to shake Its head, but Death's grip on him would not loosen. So It answered instead. "Master's weapon adores Master. Master is not like cold man or black man. Master's weapon will only be his."

Death smiled a thin cynical smile. "Do you? Or is that what the White Horseman brainwashed you into thinking?"

It stared blankly at Its Master, not understanding his words.

The Pale Rider released It, crossing the room to sit on the couch. Death studied his kneeling weapon a moment longer. "What is your name?"

"Name?" By now, It was beginning to feel horribly out of Its depth. It had never been spoken to this much in Its life before. It almost couldn't cope.

Death sighed and beckoned to It. "Come here, little one."

Gracefully, It rose and padded over to Death's side, kneeling obediently by his knees. It peeked timidly up at Its Master, flushing when It saw Death smiled.

"Your name is Scythe," Death uttered. "You are Death's weapon. You will obey only me and no one else. You will kill for me and you will die at my hands."

"Yes," Scythe said happily. "Yes!"

Without thinking, Scythe tore open the vein in a wrist with Scythe's claws and offered the bleeding limb to Death. "Make Scythe Master's, please."

Death glanced from the bleeding wrist to Scythe's eager happy face. "Do you know why you do this?"

"Scythe wants to belong to Master," Scythe replied simply.

"He told you nothing about your blood?"

Scythe did not understand his words, nor did Scythe understand the look in Death's eyes. Scythe was beginning to think that Death did not want Scythe after all when he grasped Scythe's wrist and brought it to his lips. Death's smile was thin and cynical.

"What a double-edged gift you've given me, brother."

Scythe watched, enraptured, as Death lowered his head and sucked painfully at Scythe's bleeding wrist, drinking Scythe's blood. 

Oh, you speak to me in riddles and you speak to me in rhymes

My body aches to breathe your breath, your words keep me alive

Though Scythe had no concept of time, Scythe knew the days spent with Death was the happiest Scythe ever had. They went to many places, In-Zone and Out-Zone – Scythe could not understand the concept of dimensions even though Death had tried to explain to Scythe – and did many things.

There were countless battles. Scythe loved every one of them - the terror and killing, the spilling of blood and life. Scythe would be there at every battle, cutting a swath through Master's enemies with joy and glee. Scythe loved it all, especially when Scythe saw how their enemies quaked and wilted before the cold savage glory of Death. Scythe loved how Master crushed his opponents, giving them the ruthless love Death has for everyone. Scythe hoped that would be Scythe's reward one day. 

But Scythe loved the quiet nights best, when they were alone and Death partook in Scythe's blood. Scythe loved the sensation of Master's mouth upon Scythe's flesh, drinking Scythe's blood until sometimes Scythe became dizzy and light-headed. Scythe would be contented and purred at Master's gentle touch binding Scythe's wound. Scythe loved the strong arms that held Scythe close as Scythe recovered from the blood loss.

Death was everything Scythe dreamt of in a Master.

At nights, Scythe would spend a long time gazing upon the slumbering face of Master. Sometimes, Scythe saw tears on Master's cheeks and gently, worriedly licked the salty moisture away. Master did not seem to know about his tears, so Scythe never says anything.

And I would be the one to hold you down

Kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away

And after I'd wipe away the tears, just close your eyes dear

       Scythe had never known true fear. Scythe's nature was that of a killer; fear was anathema to a weapon. But Scythe felt it now, surging painfully through Scythe's chest and throat.

It was an ambush.

Death had received the Lord Conqueror's summon from Luwashanka and together with Scythe, he left his troops and encampment for the palace. Death had taken no Renegade-Hounds on this trip and Scythe was beginning to think that was a bad idea. They were barely halfway to their destination when their enemies attacked their private ship, sending it crashing down onto a planet. While trying to escape the burning interiors, they had been separated.

Scythe bounded through the burning wreckage, searching frantically for Master. The acrid smoke burned Scythe's throat and lungs, made Scythe's eyes tear but Scythe took no notice. Master's safety comes first; Master's well being was all that matters to Scythe.

Scythe burst onto the bridge and the fear exploded. Through the thick smoke, Scythe saw Death trapped in the coils of capture-cables. Looming above him were five Renegade-Hounds of design Scythe did not recognise. Death struggled fiercely to free himself but the cables were unbreakable.

"Master!" Scythe shrieked. 

Death jerked upright. "Get out of here!" he roared.

Scythe hovered indecisively, torn between obeying Scythe's Master and rescuing him.

"Get out of here! Now! Or I'll be angry!"

The massive explosion solved Scythe's indecision. The force of it flung Scythe across the bridge, out of a broken port window – and over the cliff edge.

"Mmaastterr!

Into this night I wander, it's morning that I dread

Another day of knowing of the path I fear to tread

       "Wake up." The cold voice reached Scythe from a very far place.

Despite the awful pain, Scythe fought the darkness to consciousness. Scythe froze when Scythe saw the cold man. Ignoring the pain shooting through Scythe's body with each move, Scythe shrank back from the cold man, eyes darting about the bare room.

"Master! Where's Master?"

"Taken from us," the cold man said. Scythe flinched back from that icy hardness. The cold man was angry. "Did you see who took him?"

"Like Renegade-Hounds but different."

The cold man held out a small holo-projector and switched it on. "Do they look something like this?"

Scythe nodded.

The cold man's expression turned stony.

All of a sudden, Scythe realised just how terribly afraid and lonely Scythe was. It was awful; Scythe didn't want to be alone again.

Scythe couldn't help it. Scythe started crying. "Scythe wants Master back."

The cold man allowed Scythe cry for a while as he regarded Scythe thoughtfully.

"Will you kill to get him back?"

Sniffling, Scythe gazed at him warily, not trusting the cold man.

"Will you kill to get him back?" the cold man pressed.

Scythe nodded hesitatingly.

The cold man smiled, a smile that didn't reassured Scythe at all. "Rest, perfect little spitfire. When the time comes, you will bring Death back to me."

Scythe brightened. "Scythe will bring Master home?!"

"Yes."

Scythe clapped happily.

"Wait for Scythe, Master. Scythe is coming to bring Master home, Scythe promised."  

Oh, into the sea of waking dreams I follow without pride

'Cause nothing stands between us here and I won't be denied

And I would be the one to hold you down

Kiss you so hard, I'll take your breath away

And after I'd wipe away the tears, just close your eyes...

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