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Beta(s) :

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It was a rare thing, to feel the old magic flowing through him, around him.

Rare… But not something he didn't recognize, pacing through broken halls of grey, marred by ash and dust, and chilled by tundra cold. Ice had crept in overnight, crawling across walls built with militant intent, bent and broken by that force most primal, most prime.

Gravity.

He moved forward, as ever. Tugged by the echoing pangs of a soul, swallowed up by pain. Lost, and yearning.

He entered the bent, broken ruin of a great room, awash in the old magic. Old power. The Vault lay, distended in its mounting. Broken and hanging, weak and loose. Still the magic held, however. Power flowing from it, into the open air. First had crept in here, too, ice crawling along the ceilings, walls, the floor… But all stopped short of the Vault, whose immense power warmed the air around it.

Invigorated even his ancient bones…

He turned from it to the broken man, leaning against the side of the short base the Vault rested on. Just beyond its warmth. His skin had hardened into flaking bits, exposing red to the world. And his eyes had frozen, staring at the empty cylinders of the gun in his hand. His uniform had been burnt and torn, in a fight or in the Fall Death couldn't tell.

"To die, so alone…" Death murmured, kneeling beside the corpse and reaching out with his free hand to cup the man's face. "You deserve warmth."

As he rose, he coaxed the soul free and brought it up with him. It was slumbering, aching so greatly it had receded, and merely floated, lifeless in an altogether wrong way. But Death knew how to help it. Had learned, so long ago, how to keep lost souls from drifting away. Gently, he reached out, touched its heart. Filled it with warmth, light, that bloomed across his ephemeral body and lit it from within. A promise. A vow, which made it twitch and grow listless, drifting down until its feet touched the ground. As the light faded, he sank to his knees and groaned.

"What…?" His eyes flicked open, and he winced at the light. His hand came up to rub at them and he groaned.

"Take your time." Death murmured, "You've been through much."

"Mhm." The man grunted and rose, stumbling back a bit before he caught himself. Standing above his own body, he murmured, eyes still shut, "Status?"

"At an end." Death said, "General."

The man flinched, and his eyes shot open. He turned to Death, and Death saw his eyes widen ever so slightly. Barely even perceivable. Then he turned and looked down, at his own bowed head. His jaw trembled, and then he grit his teeth. And then… Then he sighed, and collapsed to a seat on the base behind him.

He needed time, this Death could sense. And so he joined him, taking a seat with his scythe crooked in his elbow and against his shoulder. Finally, the man spoke, voice quiet. It cracked, fear and anger and sorrow layered under every word.

"So… I failed."

"You did." Death confirmed, "Atlas fell."

"I see…"

"You also succeeded."

"Succeeded?" He scoffed, shaking his head and buckling, head dropping into a metal hand that clenched it tight. "Atlas is gone… Broken! I destroyed it all!"

"You did not." Death said, "This was Salem's doing."

"My failure-"

"Was not your doing."

"What, you think I was right, then? That this is all… None of this is my fault?" Ironwood looked up, hard, desperate eyes meeting Death's dark voids, scant inches apart. Death's eyes flickered with embers at the question, and the emotions it poured into Death's heart.

He wanted exoneration…

But he needed truth.

Death dealt in needs, not wants.

"I said no such thing." Death said simply, "I said this was not your fault. But you were not in the right. You were in the wrong, in fact."

"How can both be true?"

"Desperation is an emotion common to every beast." Death answered simply, "And in us all, it drives us to destruction, to madness, and to excess. Fear made you desperate. Desperation made you lose yourself to the cold around us now. And that cold… It broke more than you. It lead to where you are."

"That cold," he said, "is to blame. Not you."

"But it was… In me."

"Indeed." Death said, rising and pacing out into the center of what remained of the room. Quietly, he asked, "Tell me, General… Is a mad man to blame for his crimes? Or is his madness?"

"What-"

"If a mad man's madness drives him to kill, what is guilty?" Death asked, turning to face him, "The man? Or the madness that has taken the man? Has twisted him, turned him into something he did not choose to be?"

For a long time, Ironwood was quiet. And then he rose and asked, his voice quiet and firm, unafraid even as terror sang through the air between them, "Are you here to take me to hell?"

"No." Death said, "Because you know the answer to my question. So, answer. Which is to blame?"

"The madness…"

"Terror and desperation took you. Madness, to its base. Driven by your desperate, heroic virtue." Death said, pacing across the room and laying a gentle hand on the man's shoulder. He bowed his head and Death cupped his cheek, forced him to meet his gaze. "You are a hero, Ironwood. But a hero who took far too much, for far too long, onto shoulders far too weak to shoulder the burden borne."

"Atlas was…" He grit his teeth, eyes scrunching up and watering. Finally, he choked, "All I wanted was for Atlas to survive."

"And it did." Death said, bowing his head ever so slightly when Ironwood's gaze snapped up to meet his. "Atlas' people survived. Escaped. The children who vexed you? They rescued them. As many as they could. And took them. Atlas fell… But it did not take her people. You failed a place."

"But you honoured those who called it home, as best you were able." Death finished, "And who called you their guardian."

Finally, the tears came. The man sank to his knees, hands clutching his head, and heaved a great sob at Death's feet. Moments passed, while Death waited for the man. But, finally, the room grew quiet.

Death stepped away and offered his hand, "Come, General. You have earned peace at last, I should think."

"Yes…" Ironwood sighed, "That sounds…. Nice."

The man reached up with his right hand, flesh and blood breaking past iron and steel and manifesting in pure, soul-given form, and took Death's. As Death tugged him upright, light coursed through him. The man faded as he rose, smiled, and murmured a single word.

"Finally…"

In the quiet that came after, Death stood, peering at the Vault with his embery gaze. Quietly, he murmured, "So much, for this place…"

He turned away and shook his head, "More's the pity."

He marched, reaching out in front of him and parting the world, which came apart in a flicker of white, roiling fire, and then slammed closed. Humming, he stepped back and turned, bringing his scythe, so rarely used, out and to the side. It came up with a whistle of fury and carved through the veil, trailing white fire that coalesced into a gate for him. As he stepped into the void of darkness, a place between worlds that even Death found new, he paused and cocked his head. Reaching out, he beckoned to the next lost soul, trapped in this place.

It came to him, a bundle of sparking light that coalesced contentedly in his hand and he sighed, "Ah, poor thing… Fate did not keep us apart long, did it?"

It did not - could not - answer, but the Spark of Life flickered and flared. Emotion washed through him. Joy, happiness, contentedness - all accented by the flavor of worry. Of anxiety. But not for her. No, never for her. She was not the type to worry for herself. He knew that of her, better than even she did.

"They will be well." He said, "In the lands betwixt, where even I do not but rarely tread. You needn't fear. What you need is rest."

Contentedness washed through him, along with gratitude, and Death closed his hand. The sparkling fire scattered, fading into dust as it was carried along. To the next place, perhaps, or…

No.

Hers was a fire unending.

It would renew, he was sure of it. Into something beautiful, in a place far, far from even his reach. A place of another Death. Another Life. Another God, or Gods. Another journey for a soul that was simply too full of life to die.

Content, he turned away and returned to the world proper, his passage sealing behind him.

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I hath decided these won't be in chronological order, for the most part.

I dunno what I wanna do next. I am THINKING Adam. But I dunno.

I also wanted to do one for Penny, but… Well, she died well. And I don't think she'd want to linger. She'd be eager for whatever came next for her. So I included her at the end, but focused on Irondaddy instead.

To be clear, Death didn't exonerate him. He impugned him, but explained why he became what he did. Fear, desperation, a need to protect- It broke him, deep down. Death saw it. And forgave it.

I won't touch on the subject beyond that.

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Kyrim the Slayer :

Good news! There's more, lol.

Heart of Chaos :

Thank you! To be clear, though, this is more a drabble series than a story.

Cool Dude :

EVENTUALLY. I started on his but couldn't quite ever get one I liked. This one flowed far more naturally, though, for good or bad, lol.

Lord Goliath the Od :

XD