Death Arrival

...

It would be a lie if she said that she didn't dream of this day.

Even since she was a child.

Day after day, year after year, just hiding in her room, covering herself with the sheets, and praying to God to take her father away.

Night after night, she hides, joining her hands, doing that rite, that incessant supplication. Not even her fear of the darkness could overshadow the reason for her wakefulness. She wanted him to disappear.

But God never heard her, so she stopped believing.

She was suffering, yet no one came to her aid, and she was angry with the universe.

Why wasn't anyone taking him?

All that evil, why didn't anyone do anything?

When she stopped believing that someone would save her, she simply limited herself to cry, over and over again, no longer awake to pray, now she simply did it to cry.

At some point, all that sadness, all that fear, turned into hatred.

She waited for that moment for twenty years.

Yes, death.

She looked at her left hand, which was holding her weapon, which she used to train for years, and although she wanted to use that training to get away from her father, she never believed that it would be that same weapon that would end his life.

The tip of it dripped red, the drops slipping, one by one falling to the ground, as did his body.

She would have liked to release all that anger that she had stored for years, to use the few seconds of her father's conscience to tell him everything that she was keeping quiet for as long as she could remember, but she wasn't able.

She just felt relief, pure relief. As if a weight were slipping off her shoulders, and she had no doubt that it was exactly that. When the edge of her sword entered in his flesh, so easily, so quickly, her worries stopped. She had that impulse every time he locked himself in with her, when he spoke to her, when he yelled at her, when he hit her, but she didn't have the courage to do it.

She didn't let go of her sword, but she did relax her arms, standing limp, staring at the bloody body of her progenitor. She could feel his blood on her hands, on her clothes, and she almost looked like she had stabbed him many times, when she just stabbed him in the right place.

She even dreamed of that, of stabbing him, of releasing all that rage that she felt all those years, making him pay for each of the atrocities he did to her, but she didn't need to do it, there was no need, she wasn't like him.

She felt that she had done the right thing, even though it was clear that murdering someone was never right.

Or maybe it was right?

Clap, Clap, Clap.

She looked up, confused, not knowing where that slow and tortuous applause was coming from, and instinctively she looked at the door of her room, but there was no one there, and no one would enter, since his father, now dead, had closed it so they would speak alone.

Yes, it was his way of scaring her, cornering her, manipulating her.

The applause continued in the same rhythm, and she began to believe that she had lost her mind.

The two of them were there alone, there was no other entrance, or she herself would have fled when she had the chance.

She turned her face around the room, her eyes searching every corner, fearing that there was a witness there, someone who had seen her commit that crime. Although, even if no one saw her, it was obvious that she was going to be the first suspect, anyway, she was the only one in the family, under that roof, that had a weapon to do such harm.

Finally, her eyes reached the window, which showed the cloudy and sad landscape of that day. And in front of it, there was a hooded figure.

She was perplexed, looking carefully, trying to understand how that person had gotten there.

The figure, covered in red, stirred, and she could see the gloved hands still clapping, the sound causing various sensations in her body, especially anxiety. She could see a human face, or at least part of it, and the figure was smiling at her, its macabre white teeth. She didn't hesitate to wave her weapon, aiming the sharp side at the intruder. She felt restless, without understanding who that person was, what it was doing there or what its intentions were.

The figure stopped clapping, hiding its hands again in the red cloak. The intruder's mouth moved.

"I have waited for years to see who was going to be brave enough to assassinate Jacques Schnee."

The voice shook her completely. It sounded like a person's voice, but gloomy, trembling as if it came from the depths of the world. But she wasn't afraid. Everything that she went through with her father made her strong, she wasn't going to fear. If she could kill him, she could get rid of everything that terrified her.

"Who are you?"

Her own voice sounded strange, she didn't remember saying a word that day, she assumed that was the reason. Her throat forgetting how to function correctly.

She heard laughter echoing across the room, coming from all sides and nowhere at the same time. She found herself trapped in a cave with multiple exits, and from all of them came an echo. She felt her body tremble as a cold sweat ran down her back.

The figure moved, pulling the arms out from its hide out, swinging its hood in all directions, exposing the black suit the thing wore, and she could tell that it was evidently human, or at least physically. Because that moment was too unreal, so it was either a hallucination or it was an expression of her guilt. But human…She was sure that the thing wasn't like her.

She didn't know when a weapon appeared in the figure's hand, and it was not just any weapon, it was a peculiar scythe, sharp, made of a dark metal that gleam in the light that entered from the window. The bottom tip also had a blade, which buried itself in the ground when the figure pushed it, breaking the tiles immediately. Behind the main blade was a skull, apparently of an animal, and both the skull and part of the spine adorned the weapon.

The figure showed its face, standing tall enough that the hood no longer hid its features. It appeared to be a woman, the face was pale, rough, and its silver eyes seemed inhuman. The hair fell down the sides of its face, dark locks flashing red, almost as if they had been bathed in the blood.

It was smiling again, its teeth like fangs showing once again, and that was a clear reason to believe that it was no human.

"I have many names."

The figure took a step, then another, using its scythe like a cane, the blade at the bottom breaking the ground with every movement. She was stunned, staring at it, her own sword lowering, not having the strength to hold her position.

"Some used to call me Pesta."

It took another step, the sound of the clash of its scythe rumbling in the room. Its smile didn't disappear, in fact, every inch that it approached her, seemed more and more inhuman, more sadistic.

"Others call me the angel of light and darkness."

Again, one, two steps.

Her room was always cold, where she lived was a constant winter, but now the thermal sensation was much worse, she could see her own breath coming out of her mouth, but it was not cold at all, it was a strange heat. She didn't know how to describe it. She felt cold, yes, but at the same time she felt that the ground burned at her feet, so much that she felt her body sweat, more and more, as if out of nowhere she had stepped on hell itself.

She knew that she had to move, defend herself from that thing, but she couldn't move, her body attached into her position.

"Others call me Thanatos."

The figure was already only a few steps away from her, and she could feel the height of the figure rise above her, almost oppressively. She could smell putrefaction from there, sulfur, blood.

She already knew who that figure was, although she didn't want to take it for granted. Her brain didn't let her believe.

"For each person in the world, for each century, I have a special and different name. I show myself as the humans think I am, yet for you, today, I have only one name."

The last step.

Her sword fell to the ground as the scythe smashed the floor again and she felt the entire ground at her feet shake. The hood lowered, hiding the human image of that being, and when it looked at her again, it was no longer human.

"GRIM REAPER"

In front of her, the face changed. The figure, now with a human skull for a face, twisted her jaw, speaking to her, growling its name, the sound again echoing off the walls like a screeching echo. She froze, staring, petrified in her place. Fresh blood began to run down the bone, falling, soaking, dripping, and in the dark holes of the eyes, in the abyss of black, a light grew, a silver light that then turned red, as red as the blood that began to decorate the skull.

She was stunned, not believing what her eyes saw.

The death stayed there, staring at her, its piercing gaze looking at her, penetrating her, saying nothing more, simply showing its inhumanity, its abnormality, her peculiarity. And she herself couldn't say anything, not even panic. She knew it, she was sure that the figure in front of her was not a human being, it was something that she believed intangible, non-existent, or at least lacking personification. She didn't believe in a symbol for death, she never did, because for her, death, was her father, for her, death was seeing the man who did so much damage, lying on the ground, bleeding non-stop, his eyes dying faster than she intended, that was death to her.

She heard a laughter grow, echoing off the walls, intensifying, and thus, the personification of death began to move away, or at least to keep some distance from her.

When the laughter stopped, the woman she saw before appeared again. There was no skull, no blood, not even the damage that the scythe left on the floor. It was almost like that whole scene that slowly passed in front of her eyes had never existed.

The silver, inhuman eyes seemed more human now, more conciliatory, different just a few minutes ago.

"I must admit I underestimated you, Weiss Schnee. Who was going to say that the little girl who hid under the sheets and prayed to me every night, would be able to defy her deepest fear, and not only that, but to stand in front of the death itself and not take a step back. You are impressive without a doubt. "

She froze, listening, her mind trying to digest its words, as Death raised its scythe, aimed at the inert body of her father. Its voice came out human this time, without any echo, without any disturbing sound behind its voice, didn't even rumble. It was just a voice, nothing more, almost human.

That being, had heard her? But she prayed to God ...

No, she was asking for death, so Death itself must have heard her. Now, she realized.

Immediately, the human figure in front of her nodded, reading her mind, or at least she imagined that was the case. She had just seen a woman appear out of nowhere and transform its body at its whim. That said Death could know what was going through her mind did not surprise her so much in comparison.

"Believe me, one of the problems with this job is not being able to murder whoever we want. We must not get involved in the circumstances that lead to perishing. I wanted this man dead as much as you did. Every day I was hoping to see who accomplished this feat of all the enemies who wanted to assassinate him. And I'm proud that it was you."

Death's smile widened as its eyes stared at her parent's body.

It really was watching her, it knew her. She felt strange, even overwhelmed, that there was something beyond her sight, her existence, that had full knowledge of her own existence, and who knows, perhaps of the existence of all humanity. And now, what was the reason for it to be there? She barely remembered stories of Death, was the soul what it was looking for?

The silver ones looked at her, whose eyes seemed to see beyond her face, inside her, she felt mortified with the simple gesture. She felt exposed. Violated. The death saw beyond her, inquired into her mind, it was clear to her.

"Yes, that's my job. Not all souls leave, some remain, but I must cut the bond that unites them with their physical body. And to be honest, I like the idea of taking this soul deep into the abyss."

The free hand of the death moved, the leather gleaming, settling on the corpse that lay there, and out of nowhere, it seemed that it was stirring, almost as if he were coming back to life. She didn't know if that was yet another illusion that the so-called Grim Reaper created for her, or maybe it was simply showing her the reality that her human eyes couldn't see.

The corpse twisted, practically leaving the ground, noticing the pool of blood under it, and thus, moving its languid limbs in different directions, but he got quiet really soon. Something seemed to emerge from her father's physical body, something pale, scattered, like a shadow, like smoke, and the putrid smell grew. She covered her ears as a heartrending scream echoed through her room. It was the voice of her father, she had no doubt, only distant, lost, yet another echo.

Death raised the scythe with impressive ease at the greatness of the weapon, and pointed the long blade at her father, or whatever that was. It moves its scythe, the blade breaking the air, yet the metal never reached the target.

The Grim Reaper stopped short, and turned its face, looking at her.

"If I finish with him, I will have no more reason to be present in front of you. In fact, I must not appear in front of the living, but today I made an exception. "

Its voice echoed again, strong, intense, but simply human. She frowned, not understanding. Why? What was special about her? Why did Death appear in front of her? Was it a sign of her soon death?

Was she going to die?

She found herself snorting, roaring laughter, then a low sigh.

How did she not think about it before?

She looked at the corpse of her progenitor, clearly seeing how that ethereal mass moved over his body, twisting, trying to free itself, to flee. In the end, her father was a coward, and she, she was brave. She was so different from him.

And after this, she was going to have to pay for her sin, for committing murder. The sentence she deserved was death itself, and now she knew who was going to go for her, who was going to cut the bond of her soul with her body, who was going to free her from that disgusting world she born on.

She was brave, and that's why she didn't fear death, not now, and she wouldn't fear later when it knocked on her door. She was ready to pay for her sins, unlike that disgusting screaming man who fled when his tower of cards fell.

She looked back at the death, as it dropped the edge of its weapon to the ground, the weight of the massive scythe smashing the floor once more. The soul of her father was still in his place, so apparently her companion had no intention of leaving for the time being. The red hood covered its face, and there she noticed that it seemed to have been stained by blood, but perhaps it was a mere sensation of it.

"You are wrong, but not entirely. You can consider me an infinite being, but I was also human in the past. Death had been human, and while the universe needs someone to guide souls, Death will appear."

At first, she didn't understand what question was the Death answering but she forgot about it really quickly, suddenly interested. She frowned immediately. So, that being, that human figure, did exist in the past? The woman looked at her, turning its face, moving its body, facing her again, the weapon was forgotten, still in the place it was smashed a moments ago.

"It's funny that you prayed for Death to come, and now that I'm here, you just ask yourself questions without saying them to my face. But I get it, it's easier for you, right?"

The silver ones went to the corpse of her father for a moment, and then continued looking at her.

Yes, it was her father's fault, she had no doubt. She never speaks out loud, no matter what. She couldn't. Her father decided when she should speak, what she should say, she couldn't open her mouth unless he commands her to do it. She just nodded to the death. What would happen to her in those four walls if she disobeyed was disgusting.

She cleared her throat, she had already spoken a little, and she didn't want her voice to sound weird again.

"How did you become ... into this?"

Death nodded, almost proud to hear her speaking. She noticed how the figure arranged its suit before sitting on her bed, crossing the legs comfortably.

"I'm glad you wanted to talk, just as I expected from you. I supposed I have been born about five hundred years ago, I don't remember much of my past, but I do remember the last years I lived. At that point in history, there were mafias all over the city, some bad and some, the less ones, good. I was in the last, trying to stop several criminals. One day there was a big party, I dressed incognito and we started the big attack. I took my rifle and attacked. I'm not proud to say so, but that night I killed three of the biggest gangsters, but I didn't get away with it. I was in that room, with the three bodies around me, bathed in blood. My coat was red, but much of that blood was mine. They had managed to shoot me, that's when death came for me. "

She was puzzled, more than by the story, but because the physical body of the death changed. She saw a different version of the same person. By chance or on purpose, she didn't know, but it was really contrasting the human version from the new version she saw. She looked younger, her eyes more vivid and large, her body more vulnerable, human, but her outfit remained the same, except for the hood, which was now a bloody coat.

She nodded when the silver ones looked at her, believing that it needed a positive reinforcement to keep talking, or maybe it was looking at her to know what was going through her mind, either way, Death returned to focus at some point in her room.

"Death was a man wrapped in a red cape, and it was funny, because for me, death was something different, even colorful, but that person wanted to show himself more genuinely. He told me that I reminded him of the woman who gave him the job. Then, he was offering me a deal. I wouldn't die that day, and could continue to see the world with his eyes, with his power. I was willing to die for the greater good, but Death showed me his lonely human eyes, and I realized that he needed me. So, I agreed to rule the souls with him, until he retired and I would become Death."

Death rose from the bed, now looking as before, simply the new version of it, the personification of death, its own existence modified by immortality. And it came closer. The silver eyes watched her without blinking, entering her mind, her being.

"Did you come here to offer me a deal?"

Death stopped in its tracks, she noticed how charred veins rose up its neck, over its shirt, and then they disappeared. It was a dead body at the end of the day, right?

She apparently was right, as death gave her a slight smile, also looking more human.

"I must have been predictable, I'm sorry. But yes, you are right. Someone calling me, crying out for me, you just got my attention. I won't tell you to accept, and I don't know fate like the Norns, but I do know something clearly."

Its long, gloved hand went to the door.

She noticed feelings on the face of death, and that fact caught her attention. There were emotions after death, after be an infinite being. That left her another question. Did the old death retreat, and where? She needed to know more about that, her curiosity intensifying, but she said nothing, intrigued by the words the person was going to say.

Her eyes went to the direction the gloved hand was pointing, and while she knew what she was going to find, having seen that door all her life, she looked anyway.

She was surprised not to see the door, looking directly at the hallway, as if it had become invisible from one second to another, transparent. She didn't see anyone on the other side, but she had the feeling that someone was going to appear at any moment, but it didn't happen.

"Time and Death are very close. When I appear in the world of the living, time stops, the only beings moving at this moment are the souls trapped in a dead body and I, and clearly this time, you."

She turned to look at Death, which was still in the same position, but now the silver ones were watching her, intensely. It moved, to stand next to her, their bodies pointing to the transparent door. Its hand was no longer pointing anywhere, in fact, it hid it behind its cloak, but she could tell that it had both hands behind its body, in a resting position.

She looked back at the door, only to follow Death's gaze.

"It won't take too long for your dear brother to search for your father, and is evident that he won't find him, at least not alive. Even if it was an accident, I know that he will do everything possible to make you the villain, since he did it before, it is likely that he will do it again. After that, there are only two possible ways, that you fall in prison or that they sentence you to death. If you die, you will be seen as a martyr, even a heroine, or maybe not, and the world will treat you like the same scum that your father was and spit on your grave, on both yours and his. And if you go to prison, all those people who are there, that your father put there, will try to take revenge on you, regardless of the reason why you entered there."

She felt her brow furrow more and more.

She had thought about dying, but she never evaluated the enemies her family had in prison, and they were too many to count. That would be worse than death. They would do horrible things to her, and she wouldn't have any way of defending herself in front of so many people, even if she was in a special place for fear that they would harm her, they would be bothered even more by her privileges. Dying was clearly her best option, but at this point, who would assure her that it would be her destiny?

She was still a Schnee, she would still have benefits, even if they didn't benefit her.

Dying in the chair was fast, in fact, there were even quicker and painless ways to euthanize a criminal, but the idea that that would be her sentence seemed less and less feasible, especially considering that her lawyers could claim self-defense, the scar in her eye enough evidence of the pain he caused to her. Not just that, it will count as murder in the second degree, and there the penalty would no longer exceed enough for them to end her existence.

She looked at Death, and it was already observing her, again, the words weren't necessary, or at least oral ones, for the infinite being to know everything that was going through her mind. The silver eyes closed, it seemed to be meditating in its resting position, and she noticed another pair of dark veins creeping up its neck, even past its jaw, and then they hid under the shirt again.

"I don't want that ending for you, that slow ending. There are countless people who hated your father, who hate him today, even for things that happened many years ago, as hated as dictators of other times. They are so thirsty for revenge, so blinded by hate, that is really difficult that they think of you as their heroine. They are going to harass you, beat you, besmirch you, who knows how many atrocities, and I will not be able to do anything to end your suffering."

She looked down at the tiles. She could see her own shadow on the floor, and next to her, there was nothing, there was no shadow that such a being cast. She felt alone in that instant, although she always was, from the beginning. She was trapped in a box, all her life, where the only person who opened the door for her was her father, who held her steady, without letting go of the rope that was pulling her around the neck. It was a metaphor, but that's how she felt. Every time she spoke without permission, she felt him pulling her collar, and then later she felt his hands on her face, making her pay for her disobedience.

In the past, she was frightened of the dark, because it was her father who locked her in the closet of her room, for hours, in total darkness, without food or water, while he trained her. Not now, she was strong, all that damage made her strong, made her able to withstand whatever.

But pay for her father's sins?

Was she the one receiving the hatred that her father had generated in people?

She didn't want that.

She didn't want to continue dealing with his stigma, much less now that she had finally killed him, after the long wait.

No, she wasn't going to pay for his sins, she wasn't going to prolong her own suffering.

"What do you offer me?"

She asked Death, still looking at her own shadow. Maybe if she looked at the human face, she was going to lose her conviction or something similar, but she couldn't doubt, not now that she had analyzed her future, and she was sure it wasn't the future she wanted, and, in fact, she didn't want to die either. Probably her soul will go to the same place where her fathers was, and she would have to be with him once more, who knows for how long. An infinity, she assumed.

She looked at The Grim Reaper, now joining her gaze with the silver ones.

It seemed serious, and she felt it was due to her latest thought. She maybe she was right. Her soul would wander deep in the earth, at the mercy of his father.

She feared even more dying, because it meant that her martyrdom wasn't over.

"What do you offer me?"

She asked again, and apparently Death came out of its stupor, blinking slowly in an unnatural way, and she shouldn't be surprised by that. The being moved, pulling one of its hands out of its hiding place and waving it in front of the door, which reappeared. She stared at it while the long figure turned and began to walk to the window, the sky just as inert as a few minutes ago, the clouds completely intact. Time really stopped.

The shoes of Death echoed, and she found herself staring at its feet, which cast no shadows. Was it even corporeal?

"I offer you an escape."

Death stopped, staring at the landscape, and then it turned to look into her eyes once more. This time, it didn't seem convinced, the silver eyes didn't seem convinced of what its offering. After all, it was a job that not everyone would agree to do. Separate souls from their bodies, redirecting them towards their destiny, without being able to do anything to avoid the death of people, but knowing them, having an omnipotent look on humanity.

Eyes that see, but hands that can't touch.

"However, this job comes with a price. And that price ... is loneliness. "

She could notice reluctance in the death, like if it was not able to say those words. It took her a moment to understand why.

She lived her entire life in isolation, without even being able to see people in the eye because his father denied it, without being able to interact with someone because his father denied it, and she couldn't even have a conversation with his abuser because he didn't allow it.

Death was terrified, saying it in some way, to offer her something that was going to leave her alone, something that was going to prevent her from feeling the warmth of having someone at her side. If she accepted the deal, she was going to seal her fate. Every opportunity to live a normal life, to be someone normal, to feel like someone normal would disappear, and yes, that idea was quite sad, however, what assured her that she would have that opportunity? She was going to die, she had to remind herself of that fact, and if not, who would befriend an outcast of society? Who would accept her being a privileged person who murdered her own father? It was ridiculous to even think about it.

It was clearly impossible.

She took a deep breath, and she approached Death, at a hurried pace, and lifted one of her hands, intending one of the gloved ones to shake it.

"I agree."

Death seemed surprised, even if it had read her mind and caught every thought she had.

This time, Death finally smiled, but not in the ways it smiled previously. It was still an intimidating smile, but it wasn't sadistic or inhuman, she just looked impressed. It was easy to read that person, that being, and if she had considered that death itself would be like that, she wouldn't believe it.

There she noticed that the being really was human at some point, and thinking about it, five hundred years were not as long for someone like Death, something unlimited and immortal.

Death switches its body, freeing one hand to shake hers, but it stopped a few inches before she managed to clasp it.

The silvers kept watching her, and she noticed a certain tinge of seriousness on its semi-human face. It looked at her, and then looked at its own hand, and she had the feeling that it believed that she would regret it, but she wasn't that kind of person, if she made a decision, she should stand firm in it. Her conviction was something her father didn't destroyed and would never destroy.

She felt the gloved hand on hers, the texture of the leather tickling her skin. The grip was firm, not ethereal at all as she believed. It was a person just as it appeared, flesh and blood, or at least its hand was.

She heard a drip, but she was so focused on the face of Death that she was slow to catch the sound.

She looked around, searching, where that sound could come from? Then she heard a bubbling, or rather, she felt it. She looked at their hands, in that firm grip, and from between them, blood began to flow. First it was just a few drops, then a torrent, and so it began to flow, more and more, staining both of their hands. The red fell to the ground, creating a pool of viscous liquid, which seemed increasingly unreal.

The blood began to rust at her feet, turning darker as the seconds passed, the darkness spreading under her, around her body, then she wasn't even able to see the floor, the tiles, not even the body of the being in front of her, however, she still felt the grip on her hand.

Then the walls were consumed, the blood rushing over the furniture, climbing the wall, the window, even her bed. She looked up at the ceiling, which was disappearing little by little in that black sea, until there was nothing around her, nothing of the place where she was standing a minute ago. Where she was imprisoned all her life, now there was only black.

She was terrified of the darkness in the past, she was terrified of that closet and she was also terrified of that feeling that she used to had inside that place, where the space became indecipherable, where she didn't know where her body ended and where the rest was. It was small, but the very darkness and the fear of it, made her feel lost in the abyss, in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to hold on to.

However, she wasn't afraid.

She was literally in an abyss of darkness, listening to how the blood bubbled, feeling her hand still clutched by that entity, and she didn't fear. In fact, she felt calm, as if she had freed herself from what made her human, fear, rage, which was the only thing she felt when she was alive.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the feeling of freedom, of knowing that, in there, in that abyss, her father would never find her.

At that moment, she heard the sound of that scythe move, the blade cutting the air, moving with an incredible speed, and then she heard something that made her abdomen tickle, and it was the piercing scream of her father. She felt pure exhilaration.

His soul had been collected, and he would now be on his way to a place way far from hers.

She was standing in the dark, with an unknown future. The dark and the unknown, two things she used to hate, but she was happy.

Finally, she was happy.

I hope you liked this story, its a quick traslation from my original version, because I write mainly in Spanish, and English its not my first language, so please forget the mistakes, its still better than the one Google traslated for me. Im glad that my followers on Instagram liked this Au, and its good to give them a story after some drawings with no context.

Well, Happy Halloween to everyone!