Chapter 8
The afternoon clouds broke through, letting the sun shine the rest of the day. Strife was at camp while Death was off exploring. He thought now was a good time to chop the branches he gathered for the fire. He walked to Despair and pulled out a crown on accident. His eyes widened in surprise.
He knew about this crown, and there was another one in the knapsack. Only one person carried these crowns- the lord and queen of heaven. But that was just War now, not Death. It finally hit Strife. Death was the Death that was once the lord... but he had died of an illness. He sighed. The more Strife knew now, the less actually really knew. He was going to deal with this matter and learn everything when Death came back, especially if he was going to be apart of it.
He saw a folded scythe and put the crown back, grabbing the scythe. He snapped it out, nearly dropping it with its full weight. It was heavy. He lifted it up with one hand, ready for the weight this time. He took the handle of it and slammed it down on the sticks, breaking them all in half. He gather some more branches and was going to bring it down again, but a pair of hands snatched it from him.
"This scythe isn't for chopping wood. It's for fighting battles and coming out victorious." Death growled. He sighed, passing Strife to sit on a long log. It was time to tell Strife what he would need of him.
"I need your help me break into the capital." Strife raised an eyebrow incredulously.
"You've got to be kidding me. I just escaped from that damned dungeon. There is no way I'm going back there, and incidentally, to carry those crowns one must be the Lord and you resemble the previous one, Death."
"I resemble him because I am him." Death corrected.
"Then where have you been? It's been said that you died of a mysterious illness and your second in command, War, took over."
"As you can see, I am very well alive."
"Then go back to the white city and reclaim your throne." Strife told him. Death wasn't going to get him to do his work for him.
"It's not that easy. I must break in to catch them off guard. You can help me. You are the only one to have escaped the dungeons."
"But you are the Lord of heaven! Well... previous Lord." Strife pointed out.
"It wouldn't be good if I show myself before it's time."
"Before it's time? Uriel saw you and I bet she's telling Lord War all about you now! And incidentally, it's pure luck I escaped in the first place!" Strife argued, adamant of disagreeing with Death.
"There are strange, magical forces surrounding you, I don't want to be apart of it anymore. Find someone else to help you."
"I've waited three years for a sign, and when the bell alarms sounded at the capital, I knew the sign I was waiting for was you."
"I don't live by signs. I live by wits and guts and they are both telling me to get out of here before I get sunk in to far! I thank you for saving my life, but I have no honor, no loyalty. I don't help anyone but myself. I doubt if you'd kill me for looking out for myself." A half-smile crept the corner of Death's face as if agreeing with him. Strife continued.
"I'm sorry for your troubles but you can't make me apart of them. He walked away and flinched when a scythe slammed into a tree next to him. He was about past startled. He looked back. Death looked rather smug; pleased with the direction his scythe took. Strife put his hand on the handle, pulling it out. A sheepish smile crossed his face.
"One more night couldn't hurt."