It had been a year. For the most part, things were going for the best in Death City. Some would even say that they were back to normal, even though most would not agree. It was a blatant lie, but who was going to say so out loud? Who knew who was listening behind the locked door, the closed window, the solid rock wall?
Rumours had never really been a thing in Death City, the metropolis being somewhat large enough to dispel information hotspots in its vastness. At most they were localised and died down within a few months. However, it was now difficult to ignore the ex-students of the DWMA marching the streets all night long. They would have remained unremarkable, were it not for the handful of hot-headed and constantly bickering Meisters and Weapons that kept some of the inhabitants sleepless.
Black*Star had soon been taken off the team when the words had reached Death's ears, but it was too late by then. There were whispers of Witch-hunts between random citizens, people who had always shown disinterest towards the god and his affairs, but who now started to question his methods. Meisters would usually retire or be sent out to other parts of the world once their Weapon ascended, however this was not the case under the new ruler. Death's list was important, yes, but not as much as Witch-hunts. Criminals could get away so much easier, while Witches, sometimes innocent of crimes, would be killed on sight.
It wasn't the usual 99 human souls to one witch soul proportion. New students in particular, the ones that were supposed to become Death Scythes this year or the next, had problems finding any witches in the area to hunt. They were affected far and wide, but as far as it went, there were usually already Death Scythes and more experienced Meisters already on their tracks, as they were privy to better information and better techniques.
All this was heard by Death, but he didn't take any actions to help out his students. Everyone, including himself, could tell that he was hellbent on exterminating witches once and for all. A personal vendetta was more than imaginable to any human, and absolutely certain for the people closest to the God.
For now he was in the Death Room, the walls personalised to his own wishes: tall, symmetrically aligned stripes crossed the room from wall to wall, whilst the ceiling was open on the grinning Sun and Moon. They were both uncannily reflected in the vast mirror that was the floor. It was dizzying to step into the Death Room these days: it was too bright and too dark at the same time, as well as hot as an oven during the daytime and chilled to the bone at night.
Death sat at his desk, immaculate and polished to a mirror finish, on his modest throne. Where papers should have been laying for his consideration was nothing but his hands. They were quite well taken care of, despite the emaciated look they had taken on recently: dark and perfectly manicured fingernails, rings that would have burned a human in the midday heat… and perfectly symmetrical.
The one who had once been a child stared back at the God he had become. A man, by what most would have judged, but infinitely more and so much less, as was in his nature. A God taken over, controlled by his history, as he was well aware. He didn't want to stop the rage and freeze that had brought him to kill the ones he could not control, the ones he saw as vermin. No matter how hard he tried though, they still were. Witches crawled the earth like so many ants, hiding in their tunnels and secret lairs.
Death did not see things as the ones around him did: the Witches' numbers were dwindling, but that was not a reality that he wanted to face. It was like an itch. He could scratch, but it would move to somewhere else on his body just as his nails would rake his skin.
A knock was barely heard from the door before it was smashed open, bouncing off the door right back into the face of the one that had handled it so poorly. Death snickered. His anti-Black*Star measures had paid off.
"It's over now, Kid!" screamed the blue-haired demon. Tsubaki trotted in behind him, as meek as ever. Black*Star thrust his hand towards his trusted weapon.
That was all the warning Death got before he was lunged at. Tsubaki's chain slammed into the desk, scratching the surface.
Death coughed, bringing the Meister's attention back to him. He had somehow teleported just behind the man. Again, the Weapon slammed into an empty spot against the floor, this time a fraction of a second after Death leapt.
He didn't have a Weapon at hand, Liz and Patty on a mission that he had entrusted them. Black*Star had rested these last few days while still keeping up his training, and he… Well, Death was out of shape, as weird as it was to admit to himself. Paperwork and silent contemplation had taken over his life, and as mortal as the human fighting him was, he might be at odds with him.
A blade whizzed past the god's cheek. It would have taken a notch out of his hair if he had not kept it shorter these days. The thought was fleeting, but a rough realisation of where he had landed.
"Hah! Your guard is low, bastard! I'll get you this time, Kid!"
Death had thought that he had hid his lack of practice well enough, but that visibly wasn't enough to fool Black*Star. He attempted a high kick with his polished dress shoes, but the Meister avoided it with a disconcerting ease.
"If I win, I get to be a god in your place. You've got no reason to refuse, everyone would agree I would do a better job than you anyway, right Tsu?"
"Don't get too ahead of yourself," Tsubaki's mirror voice answered.
So they were plotting against him? Who else was on their side?
Death kick-jumped off one of the walls, hoping to get enough momentum behind his punch to knock the annoying Meister out in one hit. It didn't work, as he was intercepted by the chain-scythe. He could feel the duo resonating, and he knew that it was over.
The god was flung into space through the open roof with the force of his own jump. As he shot off towards the Moon, he shouted and cursed at the rapidly retreating DWMA, cursing at the blue-haired Meister who would forever be the bane of his existence.