Mother and Daughter - Part 6
"Maria"
Slice. Screaming. Another slice. His soul being torn apart. The memory was burned into my mind, vivid and relentless, like I was still there, trapped in that horrifying moment.
"Maria…"
I didn't even do anything. Just existing nearly got me killed—by Death herself, no less—or kidnapped by my criminal piece-of-shit dad. Just for being alive, for being me.
"Maria?"
My fists clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palms. I was scared, so scared I felt like curling into a ball and disappearing. But underneath the fear was something burning—anger. So much anger. This fucking universe tried to kill me and my mom twice in one night. Twice!
Something soft brushed against my leg, and I screamed, yanking myself out of my spiraling thoughts. I jumped back, and the chair tipped over beneath me. With a loud thud, I hit the floor, the impact knocking the breath out of me.
"Maria!" Matilda's voice rang out, sharp with concern. She rushed to my side, kneeling down as I lay there, shaking uncontrollably. My chest heaved, and my vision blurred as I looked up at her, struggling to ground myself.
For a fleeting moment, I saw it—Death's face, flickering like a shadow over Matilda's. My breath caught, and my eyes widened in fear. But then something soft brushed against my cheek, pulling me back. I turned my head and saw Garfield, his tiny orange paw reaching out as if to comfort me.
Wait… Garfield? I blinked and looked around, reality grounding me again. Right. I was at school. Mom was meeting with the principal, and Matilda was supposed to check in on me.
"Hey… it's okay. You're safe here," Matilda said gently, helping me back to my feet. Her voice was steady, but her concern was clear. If I wasn't absolutely shaken, I might have questioned her definition of "safe," given Garfield's usual chaos. But even now, the fuzzy little gremlin was… cuddly? Affectionate?
Yeah, this universe is messing with me. Hard.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible as I bent down to help set the chair upright. Pain flared in my ribs, and I winced, my body stiff and bruised from Carlos' assault. My hands trembled as I eased back into the seat, the rough fabric of the chair brushing against the welts on my arms. I gripped the edge tightly, my knuckles white, trying to steady myself despite the sharp sting radiating from my bruised side.
Matilda's gaze softened as she watched me, her expression a mixture of… pity? Concern? I wasn't sure. I didn't care. I just hurt—physically, emotionally, in every possible way.
"There's nothing to be sorry about, Maria," she said gently, settling back into her chair. Her tone was calm, steady. "What you went through… no child should ever have to face that."
Images flashed in my mind, unbidden. Carlos shoving my mom against the wall. His grip bruising my arm as he yanked me by the hair. Death's cold tendrils pinning me in place, stealing the air from my lungs. My chest tightened, and my breathing grew shallow, panic bubbling beneath the surface—until Garfield suddenly jumped into my lap.
I flinched at the unexpected weight, a sharp pang shooting through my ribs. But then his soft purring filled the silence, and his warmth began to seep through the layers of pain. It wasn't like him to sit anywhere but his usual perch on the cabinet, yet now, his steady presence was oddly comforting. Grounding. I ran my hand over his fur, the motion slow and careful, focusing on the rhythm of his breath. Despite the ache in my chest and the bruises throbbing beneath his weight, Garfield's purring anchored me, and the memories slowly faded into the background.
"Do you… want to talk about what happened?" Matilda asked carefully, her voice gentle but probing. I hesitated, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sweater. Did I? Did I even know how to start? If she knew the truth—that I had faced Death both literally and figuratively—she'd probably think I was crazy.
"Not really…" I mumbled, avoiding her gaze.
Matilda hummed thoughtfully, the sound nonjudgmental. She nodded, leaning back slightly in her chair. "That's okay," she said after a moment. "Is there something you do want to talk about?"
I pursed my lips, thinking it over. What could I say? My thoughts swirled in a chaotic mess, but one thing stood out—a sharp, persistent weight that refused to leave my chest.
"I killed him." The words slipped out, trembling and jagged, barely above a whisper. My chest heaved as the weight of them settled in—a weight that felt both like a release and a crushing burden. My vision blurred with tears, but I didn't wipe them away. I didn't deserve to.
Matilda's eyes widened, but she didn't interrupt. She just waited, her silence inviting me to keep going, even though it felt like dragging barbed wire out of my throat.
"I—I didn't even know him. I didn't even want to know him," I stammered, my voice cracking under the strain. "But he was hurting us… he was hurting her. And I had the chance to stop it, so I… I took it." My hands gripped the edge of the chair so tightly my knuckles turned white, trembling as the floodgates burst open.
"He was a bad person! He deserved it!" I shouted, as if saying it loud enough could make it true. But the memory of his screams echoed in my head, raw and haunting. My stomach churned, and I doubled over, the tears falling freely now.
"I saved my mom, but I… I killed him. My… him." My voice wavered, barely holding together. The word 'father' refused to leave my lips, like even acknowledging the connection would make it worse.
Garfield meowed softly, breaking through the storm in my head. He got to his feet and stretched, then pressed himself into my neck, purring as if he could sense the weight crushing me. His warmth was grounding, and I wrapped my small arms around him tightly, burying my face in his fur as the tears came harder.
A small voice whispered in the back of my mind, the rational part of me trying to find footing. If Carlos wasn't there, Death would have killed one of us. And if Death wasn't there, Carlos would have killed my mom and taken me.
Logically, I knew it. I could rationalize that, given the circumstances, the best possible outcome happened. I could tell myself that over and over. But no matter how hard I tried, it didn't make the guilt go away. It didn't erase the screams, blood, the look on his face, or the crushing weight in my chest.
It didn't make it feel okay.
Matilda's voice came gently, cutting through the storm inside me. "Maria," she said, steady and calm, "look at me."
I hesitated, clutching Garfield tighter as his purring filled the heavy silence. Slowly, I lifted my tear-streaked face to meet her gaze. Her eyes were steady, filled with understanding, but also something stronger—conviction. And for a fleeting moment, I hated her for it. For how composed she looked while I was falling apart.
"Maria," she began softly, leaning forward, her elbows resting on the desk. "Good people aren't perfect. They're not invincible or all-knowing. They're just people—flawed, scared, and sometimes forced into impossible choices. Choices that leave scars, even when they're the right ones."
Her words hit like a hammer, not with force but with weight, cracking through my spiraling thoughts. She continued, her voice steady, deliberate. "You didn't do what you did out of anger or malice. You didn't act to hurt anyone. You acted to protect. To save. And that doesn't make you a monster, Maria. It makes you human."
I swallowed hard, her words sinking in but not quite reaching the knot of guilt in my chest. "I don't feel human," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I feel… wrong. Like if I'd been better, I could've found another way. A way where no one had to die."
Matilda let the silence sit for a moment, her expression softening. "Maybe there wasn't another way," she said gently. "Or maybe there was. But what matters now isn't whether you made the perfect choice—it's what you do with that choice. How you move forward. Being a good person isn't about never making mistakes, Maria. It's about how you carry those mistakes and what you choose to do next."
Her words didn't erase the guilt, didn't make the weight disappear, but they dulled the edges, softened the ache. They gave me something to hold onto, a thread to cling to as I tried to make sense of it all.
Garfield meowed again, his rough tongue swiping at my cheek. I blinked, startled, before a soft giggle escaped me, unbidden. "Seriously?" I muttered, nudging him gently, but he just nuzzled closer, his fuzzy warmth oddly comforting.
"Looks like he's finally warmed up to you," Matilda said, her tone carrying a quiet amusement.
"Yeah… just took being nearly killed to do it…" I said, my voice tinged with melancholy. I stroked Garfield's fur absentmindedly, the weight of my words sinking in. "I never want to feel like that again… so small… so powerless…" My voice softened into a sigh, but there was a quiet thread of conviction woven into the words.
Matilda tilted her head thoughtfully, her voice soft but steady. "It's okay to feel that way, Maria. But feelings like that—they don't have to stay just feelings. They can be a spark. So, what's the first step you think you can take to make sure you never feel powerless like that again?"
For a fleeting moment, I closed my eyes and saw it—a vision so vivid it stole my breath. The wind rushing past me, the dizzying height as I soared between towering skyscrapers. A webline shot from my hand, catching the side of a building, and I swung effortlessly above the chaos, police sirens wailing below. The city roared with life, and I was there, a part of it, not powerless but strong, capable, unstoppable.
But then, the memories surged back, unrelenting and vivid. The blood pooling around Carlos, his screams of pain cutting through the air. My mom's terrified face as she fought for both our lives. Death's hollow gaze and the cold inevitability of her presence. I was back there, small and scared, the world crashing down around me. Fear clawed at my chest, gripping me with icy fingers. I wanted to run, to hide—but no.
Not anymore.
I clenched my fists, the fear burning away and transforming into something else: anger, conviction, determination. The universe had thrown everything it had at me, tried to break me, but I was still here. Afraid? Yes. But fear wouldn't stop me. Not now. Not ever.
I opened my eyes and met Matilda's gaze, my chest swelling with a newfound resolve. My voice was steady, carrying the weight of everything I'd endured and the strength of everything I was becoming.
"New York," I said, the two words ringing out like a declaration, a promise to myself and the world.
"Thank you so much for this, Stan…" Elena said gratefully, her voice thick with exhaustion. She and Stan both glanced over at Maria, who was seated in a booth, eagerly devouring a towering plate of chocolate chip waffles. Her face lit up with pure bliss, a rare moment of innocence and joy breaking through the storm.
Stan chuckled warmly. "It's the least we could do." His usual jovial tone carried an edge of seriousness. The news of what happened with Carlos had shaken him to his core, especially since the incident took place in his diner's parking lot. He'd been furious—at the situation, at himself for not having done more to prevent it.
To make amends, Stan had pulled out all the stops: offering Elena and Maria lifetime free meals, covering the cost to replace her car window, installing more lights and security cameras around the diner, and even hiring a night security guard to patrol the premises. It wasn't enough in his mind, but it was a start.
His gaze returned to Elena. She sat across from him, a mug of coffee cradled in her hands, her knuckles white from the tight grip. He didn't miss the dark circles under her eyes, the haunted look behind them, or the way her gaze rarely left Maria.
But what struck him most were the bruises on her face. A dark shadow near her cheekbone, swelling along her jawline, and her split lip. They told a story he didn't need to hear to understand. His chest tightened, anger bubbling beneath his composed demeanor. He forced himself to focus on the present, his tone gentle but concerned as he asked, "I know it's only been a few days, but… how are you holding up, Elena?" Stan asked gently, his voice low with concern.
Elena stiffened, her fingers tightening around the mug. She stared down at the swirling coffee, her shoulders tense. "Honestly… I haven't slept since it happened," she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her eyes darted to Maria, watching her daughter with an intensity that betrayed her fear. The bruises on Maria's cheek and the cut near her temple were reminders she couldn't ignore. Each mark sent a fresh wave of terror, protective fury, and guilt coursing through her. She clenched her jaw, her hand tightening around the mug as the memory of Carlos hurting Maria played like a relentless loop in her mind.
"Every time I close my eyes, I see him. And I think about how close I came to losing everything." Her voice cracked, and she swallowed hard, willing herself not to break. But her gaze remained on Maria, as though reassuring herself that her daughter was still here—still alive.
Stan nodded, his expression solemn. "You're doing everything you can, Elena. You're here. You're keeping her safe. That's what matters."
She exhaled shakily, nodding, though the tension in her posture didn't ease. "It's just… she's all I have, Stan. And I—I can't lose her."
"You won't," he said firmly, placing a reassuring hand on hers. "You're stronger than you think, Elena. Both of you are."
Elena's eyes glistened, and for a moment, she allowed herself the smallest, tentative smile.
Stan's phone buzzed on the counter, cutting through the moment. He glanced at the screen and gave Elena a reassuring nod. "Go be with your kid. I'll introduce myself properly in a bit. Just need to make sure my buddy's still good to fix up your car."
Elena offered a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Stan. For everything."
He waved it off with a warm chuckle as he picked up the phone. Elena took a steadying breath, her fingers brushing over the smooth ceramic of her mug as she made her way to the booth. She slid in beside Maria, who looked up from her plate with a beaming smile, her face smeared with chocolate.
The sight tugged at Elena's heart. For the first time in days, her daughter looked… like a kid again. Carefree, happy, and blissfully in the moment. She thought about saying something about eating more neatly—maybe a playful nudge about manners—but stopped herself. After everything they'd been through, Maria had earned every bit of that chocolate-covered grin.
Elena reached over, brushing some stray crumbs from her daughter's cheek. "Having fun there?" she teased lightly.
Maria giggled, her mouth still full, and nodded enthusiastically. Elena smiled softly, leaning back in her seat. For now, this moment was enough.
Then, suddenly, Elena froze, her breath catching in her throat. For the briefest, most heart-stopping moment, Death's skeletal visage flickered over Maria's face, the hollow, unyielding eyes boring into her soul. Her heart pounded like a drum, her vision tunneling as icy dread clawed at her chest. She blinked rapidly, hoping—praying—it was just a trick of her mind. But the image burned in her memory, the cold aura of Death lingering as if it had seeped into the room.
Her breathing grew rapid, shallow, panic creeping up her spine. Not again. Please, not again. The bruises on Maria's face seemed darker now, her fragile form a painful reminder of how close Elena had come to losing her. She gripped the edge of the table as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality, her mind screaming to protect her daughter, to do something.
Her chest tightened as the phantom image lingered, but then Maria's hand touched her arm, grounding her. "Mom?" she asked softly, her voice trembling with concern.
Maria's voice pierced through the haze, shattering the false image like glass. Death's face faded, replaced once more by Maria's chocolate-covered grin. Elena blinked, tears welling in her eyes as she fought to steady her breathing. "Maria…" she whispered, the name barely audible as she gripped her mug tighter, her knuckles turning white.
Maria tilted her head, her brow furrowed, but didn't press. Instead, she squeezed her mother's arm gently, her touch warm and reassuring.
Elena exhaled shakily, trying to gather herself. Over the past few days, she'd been grappling with the reality of… everything. It wasn't just Carlos. Everything Maria had told her—all the heroes and villains from her sketchbook—it was real. She thought she understood. She thought she could handle it.
But Death had shattered that illusion. Seeing her, facing her, had torn open a wound Elena wasn't sure would ever fully heal. And now, every shadow, every flicker of doubt, brought that terrible night back with vivid, haunting clarity.
She looked at her daughter in a new light now. It wasn't just because of the revelation that their world was bigger, stranger, and more dangerous than she ever imagined—it was because of Maria herself. Her daughter had saved her life. Saved both of their lives. Maria's quick thinking had stopped both Carlos and Death.
There was so much more to Maria than Elena had originally thought, and she had already thought a lot.
And it left her wondering... what about her?
"For now..." Death's final words still rang in her mind. A warning? A threat? A promise? Whatever it was, it haunted her. How could she possibly protect Maria if Death decided to return? Hell, how could she protect her daughter if any of the villains Maria had mentioned suddenly became more than just drawings in a sketchbook? The thought sent a chill down her spine.
"But we can give them the tools to stand on their own, to face the world and everything it throws at them."
Stan's words echoed in her mind, cutting through the fear and replacing it with something far more useful: determination. She couldn't shield Maria from the world, but she could make damn well sure Maria could stand on her own and face whatever came her way.
Elena took the final sip of her coffee and looked down at Maria, who was happily finishing the last of her waffles, her face still smeared with chocolate.
"Mija," Elena said softly, her voice steady but firm, "we need to talk."
Maria took the last bite of her waffle. "About what?" she asked, her words muffled by the chocolate and waffle in her mouth, either blissfully unaware or blatantly ignoring the mess on her face.
Elena chuckled softly, shaking her head. "I love you, mija, but how about cleaning up a bit before we talk about New York?"
At the mention of New York, Maria visibly tensed. The smile slipped from her face as she reached for a napkin, hastily wiping away the chocolate. She turned to face her mother, her expression suddenly more serious, more thoughtful. Elena noted the shift, realizing she wasn't the only one with heavy thoughts about their next steps.
Maria folded the napkin in her lap, her fingers fidgeting with its edges. "So… New York?" she asked, her voice cautious, as though bracing herself for whatever was coming next.
Elena took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the edge of her empty coffee mug as she stared at her daughter. Maria had wiped her face clean, but her eyes still carried the weight of everything they'd been through. Elena leaned forward, her voice soft but steady.
"Mija, I've been thinking a lot about everything. About Carlos… about Death…" She paused, her voice hitching slightly before she steadied herself. "And about you."
Maria's gaze dropped to her hands, fiddling with the napkin in her lap. She didn't respond right away, but her lips pressed into a thin line.
"I get it if you don't want to go. It's… dangerous. I know that. It's not just Carlos. New York… it's not safe." Maria hesitated, glancing up at her mom with a mix of resolve and unease. "But Mom, we aren't even there, and look what happened!"
Elena flinched at the truth in Maria's words, brief flashes of that night forcing their way into her mind—the screams, the blood, the cold presence of Death itself. She exhaled shakily. "I know. Which is why… we're doing this."
Maria blinked, caught off guard. "Wait. You mean—?"
"I know I told you we'd go already," Elena interrupted, her voice cracking as she tried to hold back her emotions. "But seeing something like… Death…" She swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as they reached out to grip Maria's shoulders. "Mija… I don't know how to protect you from something like that. But… you do."
Maria's eyes widened as her mom's words sank in. "Mom…"
Elena's voice grew steadier, her misty eyes locking onto her daughter's. "You were brave that night. Smarter and stronger than I ever imagined. You saved us both. I don't know how to fight what's out there… but I can give you the chance to learn. To grow. To become who you want to be."
Maria's chest tightened, her heart thundering in her ears. She didn't know what to say, but her mom's belief in her felt like a warm, unshakable anchor in the storm of doubt swirling inside her.
"We'll go to New York," Elena continued, her grip on Maria's shoulders firm but gentle. "Not because it's safe. Not because it's easy. But because you deserve to live the life you want to live—and to protect it."
Maria swallowed hard, tears pooling in her eyes before she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around her mom in a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice muffled against Elena's shoulder. "I won't let you down." As she clung tightly, her small hands gripping her mom's shirt, a single thought burned in her mind: And I'll protect you too, Mom. No matter what it takes.
"Well, isn't this just a lovely sight!" Stan said joyfully, his voice cutting through the tender moment. Elena and Maria pulled back from their embrace, both turning toward the kind old man.
"More coffee, Elena?" Stan asked, already reaching for the pot as he gestured toward her mug. Elena let out a small, contented sigh, her shoulders relaxing for the first time in what felt like days. "Yes, please."
As Stan poured the coffee, he turned his attention to Maria, who was staring at him with wide, curious eyes. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
"So, you're the famous little bugger Elena can't stop talking about," Stan said with a warm chuckle, his amused tone breaking Maria out of her daze.
Maria blinked, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Wait… you're Stan? Like… the Stan?" Her voice was equal parts disbelief and excitement, and her expression shifted into one of wonder.
"That'd be me," Stan replied, his grin widening. "Although, I prefer just plain old 'Stan.'" He winked, leaning against the counter as he set the coffee pot down. "And I've heard plenty about you, kiddo. Sounds like you've got quite the spark."
Maria blushed, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Something like that…" she muttered, glancing at her mom, who was now giving her a perplexed look.
"Mom!" Maria blurted, her excitement bubbling over. "You work for Stan Lee?" The sheer disbelief in her voice made Elena raise an eyebrow, clearly confused, while Stan tilted his head, equally bemused.
Maria could barely contain herself as she whipped out her hero sketchbook from her backpack, her hands trembling slightly. Her eyes were wide, sparkling with awe. "Um… could you sign this, please?" she asked, holding out the sketchbook toward Stan like it was a sacred artifact.
Stan blinked, then chuckled warmly, taking the sketchbook from her. "Well, this is a first. You're treating me like I'm some kind of big deal." He opened the sketchbook and flipped through the pages, his grin growing wider. "And what's this? You've got a whole gallery of heroes in here!"
Maria nodded eagerly, her cheeks flushed with excitement. "Yeah! I draw all my favorites. I'm working on a villain section too!" She hesitated for a second, then added shyly, "It's just… really cool to meet someone who's been so kind to my mom and me."
Stan smiled, his expression softening. "Well, it's always nice to meet someone passionate about what they love. And it's been a pleasure helping out you two." He pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the inside cover of her sketchbook with a flourish. "There you go—one personalized sketchbook for a very talented artist."
He handed the sketchbook back to her, and Maria's eyes widened as she caught sight of his signature. Just beneath his name, in bold, looping letters, was the word EXCELSIOR. Her jaw dropped, and she nearly yelped in excitement, clutching the sketchbook to her chest like it was a priceless artifact.
Stan chuckled at her reaction, clearly amused. "Glad you like it, kid," he said warmly, before turning his attention to Elena.
"Hey," he began, his tone casual, "my buddy's out in the parking lot, ready to get started on your car. You mind if I borrow your keys so we can get that window fixed right up for you?"
Elena looked at him, her expression filled with gratitude as she reached into her purse and pulled out her keys. "Thank you so much, Stan," she said sincerely, handing them to him.
Stan waved her thanks off with a smile. "No problem at all. You two just sit tight and relax." With a final nod, he headed off toward the parking lot, whistling a cheery tune.
Elena turned to Maria, raising an eyebrow as she watched her daughter nearly vibrate with excitement. She was about to ask what all the fuss was about when Maria suddenly burst out, "I can't believe you actually work for STAN FREAKING LEE!" She squealed, clutching her sketchbook to her chest like it was made of gold.
Elena chuckled, though her expression was laced with confusion. "Is he… another hero?" she asked, tilting her head. For years, Stan had just been the kind, hardworking man who ran the diner and occasionally gave her a break when times were tough.
Maria gasped dramatically, looking at her mom as if she'd just committed a terrible crime. "Mom!" she exclaimed, shaking her head in disbelief. "He's not just another hero! He's—he's the guy! He's like the godfather of heroes!" She gestured wildly at her sketchbook, flipping through pages as though that would somehow explain everything.
Elena held up her hands, laughing at her daughter's outburst. "Okay, okay, mija, slow down," she said, her amusement growing as she watched Maria practically vibrating with excitement.
Maria shook her head, her expression serious despite her obvious glee. "No, you don't get it, Mom! The world from my old life? All these heroes—Spider-Man, the X-Men, the Avengers—they were made by him! Him and Jack…" Her voice trailed off, her gaze shifting to the window as something outside caught her attention.
She froze, her eyes locking on the pickup truck parked next to her mom's car. On the side, bold letters read: Kirby's Auto Repair Shop.
"Kirby," she whispered, her voice barely audible, the awe unmistakable. Her heart pounded as realization struck her like a lightning bolt. Could it really be…?
Maria immediately bolted out of the booth, clutching her sketchbook tightly against her chest, her excitement driving her forward like a rocket.
"Maria!" Elena called after her in surprise, hastily getting up to follow. She hurried after her daughter, who was already halfway across the diner, her focus locked on the window and the scene outside.
Elena reached the door just in time to see Maria skid to a stop near Stan and the man by the pickup truck. The stranger turned around, a kind smile creasing his weathered face. Maria's eyes widened as she thrust her sketchbook forward, her excitement spilling out in rapid words Elena couldn't quite make out from where she stood.
The man chuckled warmly, clearly amused, and took the sketchbook. He leaned against the truck, pulling out a pen as Maria bounced on her toes in anticipation. Stan stood nearby, his hands on his hips, watching the interaction with a proud smile.
Elena stayed back, leaning against the door frame, her coffee mug still in hand. The warmth from the ceramic seeped into her fingers, grounding her as she took in the scene.
Her daughter—her brave, brilliant daughter—was beaming, her face brighter than Elena had seen in weeks. The joy, so genuine and unguarded, made Elena's chest tighten.
She watched as the man—Jack, if Maria's whispers were to be believed—handed the sketchbook back. Maria clutched it to her chest, her expression one of pure reverence. For a moment, the storm clouds of the past few days seemed to part.
Elena let out a long breath, her grip on the mug tightening slightly. She had seen so much—too much—in just a short span of time. Death, Carlos, the terror, and the fight for their lives. But now, watching Maria, she felt a flicker of something she hadn't dared to feel in days: hope.
Her daughter wasn't just enduring; she was rediscovering joy, daring to dream, and finding the strength to move forward.
Elena sipped her coffee, the steam curling into the crisp air of the diner. She didn't join Maria just yet. Instead, she stood there, taking in the sight of her daughter being a kid, if only for a moment.
Because no matter what lay ahead, this—this fleeting happiness—was worth every fight.
Realm of Death
Death dragged a screaming, tormented Carlos through her realm, spectral chains rattling against the endless void. Her steps were slow, deliberate, yet her thoughts churned like a storm. She had borne witness to death since the dawn of time, seen the end of countless lives taken by injustice, atrocity, or simple inevitability. Yet never once had she interfered. It wasn't her place—it wasn't her purpose. Until now.
First, there was Maria. An existence so profoundly offensive to the order Death had upheld for billions of years. A dead soul, plucked from one universe and thrust into another, given a second chance at life. It violated everything she stood for—the delicate balance of life and death she had meticulously maintained since time began.
Then there was him—Carlos. The man she now dragged through the ether, bound by the spectral chains of his own wretched existence. Many had pleaded with her over the eons, desperate souls begging for second chances or vengeance against their enemies. Death had ignored them all, remaining an impartial force, never bending to the whims of mortal desperation. Yet for Maria, she had broken that ancient neutrality.
And then, the final moment—something so small, yet it lingered in her thoughts, a splinter in her otherwise unyielding mind. After everything—the fear, the pain, the defiance, even being hurt by her hand—that girl had asked her for a signature. It was laughable in its absurdity. Death did not leave marks in the world of the living. Her presence was felt only through the cold finality of mortality, not through something as trivial, as mundane, as ink on paper.
Yet she had done it. She had left her mark, not on the dying, but on the pages of a child's sketchbook. A gesture so insignificant, yet it unsettled her more than any rebellion she had faced. It was as if Maria had seen something in her—something no mortal should.
Death's empty eyes flickered with uncertainty, a sensation she had never known. She had interfered. She had broken her own rules. And for what? To preserve a child whose very existence was an affront to her? Or was it something else—something she couldn't name?
For the first time in her infinite existence, Death was conflicted. And she hated it.
Time held no meaning in her realm, so Death didn't rush. She moved with deliberate intent, dragging Carlos behind her as his screams echoed and faded into the vast emptiness. Her thoughts, normally precise and unwavering, felt disjointed. There was another soul on her mind: Judy Chen, the officer who had died trying to protect Maria and her mother. Brave, resolute, and accepting of her fate, even in death, Judy had still wished to stop Carlos. And for reasons Death could not fully define, she wanted to bring Judy a semblance of closure.
Summoning Judy would have been simple, instantaneous. But Death needed to walk, to think. It had been millennia—eons, perhaps—since she last strolled through her domain. The ever-shifting shadows danced in a macabre rhythm, casting strange shapes against the faint, ethereal light that bathed the endless expanse. Wandering souls drifted aimlessly, their forms shimmering and translucent, while the occasional undead lumbered at the edges of her vision. Death paid them no mind; as long as they stayed here, they posed no threat. This was her realm, her unyielding sanctuary.
Finally, she found Judy. The officer's soul was alone, her form faint and naked, her gaze distant as she lingered in the liminal void. When Judy felt Death's presence, she turned sharply, surprise flashing across her face before relief softened her features. Her eyes fell to the figure being dragged behind Death, recognition sparking with a mix of emotions—fear, anger, satisfaction.
Death stopped before her, the spectral chains rattling softly in the silence. Without a word, she held the chains out to Judy. For a moment, the officer hesitated, her translucent hand hovering near the shimmering links as she studied Death's skeletal visage. But then, understanding dawned. Judy reached out and took hold of the chains, her grip tightening as she pulled them toward her. She would be Carlos's jailer in death.
Carlos writhed and snarled, his deformed soul pulling against the chains, but Judy held firm, her form solidifying with newfound purpose. She met Death's hollow gaze with a nod, gratitude flickering in her eyes.
Death said nothing, but for the first time in countless ages, she felt something strange. Satisfaction? No, not quite. It was subtler, more complex—a faint flicker of something akin to justice. Or perhaps… vindication. The feeling stirred uneasily within her, like an unfamiliar note in a symphony she had conducted for eons. Justice and balance were two sides of the same coin, yet justice was not hers to wield. Justice implied judgment, and judgment required bias—a luxury she had never been afforded. Her duty had always been clear: to maintain equilibrium, detached and impartial, unshaken by the tides of mortal morality.
And yet, as she turned and walked away, leaving Judy to her duty, the echoes of Carlos's screams faded into the distance, swallowed by the void. The faint sense of satisfaction lingered, unsettling in its novelty. She was not meant to feel this way. To feel that an outcome had been deserved. Was this what mortals called justice? The notion prickled at her thoughts, discordant with the role she had upheld since the dawn of time. She was not supposed to interfere, to shape outcomes. Her purpose was to guide, to collect, to maintain the balance of existence, not to exact retribution.
Her hand brushed against the soul stone on her chest, its faint warmth a reminder of the cosmic order she was bound to preserve. But was it truly order if she had allowed herself to feel vindication? She paused mid-step, her skeletal form casting a shadow that danced and twisted unnaturally in the dim, ethereal light of her domain. This moment with Carlos—was it balance? Or had it been something more? Something… personal? She tilted her head, contemplating the thought, and for the first time, uncertainty gnawed at her resolve.
Perhaps it was Maria's existence that had begun to unravel her tightly held impartiality. The girl, a walking contradiction, had challenged the natural order simply by existing. Her defiance, her audacity to trade a soul in the face of Death herself—it had struck a chord, something Death could not easily silence.
She shook her head, shadows rippling around her as she walked further into the endless void. Balance was her domain. Balance was her duty. And yet, this feeling—the tiniest ember of something more—refused to be extinguished. Was it a crack in her eternal objectivity? Or was it the beginning of something else entirely?
For now, the question lingered unanswered, an anomaly in the quiet void she called home, but one thing was certain: things were changing, even for her.
As Death strolled through her endless domain, her bony fingers brushed over the glowing Soul Stone resting against her chest. That child, Maria, had recognized it—a startling revelation. Another ripple from that peculiar soul, one that continued to defy her understanding. In all the countless eons, Death could count on one hand the living beings who truly grasped the stone's nature, and now Maria had joined their ranks. If she could sigh, she would have. How could a soul so small, so seemingly insignificant, manage to have such an outsized impact on her?
Her realm stretched infinitely, its ethereal glow illuminating the swirling shadows and wandering souls. Time had no meaning here. She walked without urgency, her thoughts both turbulent and steady, as though walking through her domain would somehow unravel the questions spinning in her mind. Slowly, her stormy thoughts began to settle. Her castle loomed in the distance, its towering spires piercing the endless twilight of her realm. She approached it, but the weight of the night's events pressed heavily on her, forcing her to stop at the shadow of its gates.
Among the many things lingering in her mind, one figure stood above all others—the purple titan from Maria's drawings. The so called "Mad Titan", Thanos. She had seen him before, fleetingly. And somehow, impossibly, he had seen her. The memory stirred something she could not quite place. At the time, she had dismissed him entirely, paying him no mind. He was one of countless mortals fascinated by her, one of countless fools who thought they could court Death herself. But his endless pursuit of her had left a trail of carnage, filling her domain with the echoes of those he had slain in his quest.
Death remained motionless at the gates of her castle, her hollow eyes staring out at the void. The Titan intrigued her, she admitted. For eons, many had claimed to love her, to be drawn to her unknowable nature. She had always rejected those affections, seeing them as misguided, born of fear or obsession rather than understanding. But this… this was different.
Something about the turmoil she had experienced—the insult of Maria's existence, the hypocrisy of her interference, the satisfaction of Carlos's punishment—had created a strange disquiet within her. It felt foreign, unbalancing, and she sought something, anything, to take her mind from it. And now, the Titan's visage lingered in her thoughts, his relentless determination standing out among the countless lives she had touched.
Her skeletal fingers tightened over the Soul Stone as if it could offer her answers. The Titan's pursuit of her was unlike anything she had ever seen. He was not merely smitten or afraid; his obsession carried purpose, conviction. And for reasons she could not yet understand, Death found herself… curious. For the first time in untold eons, she wanted to act on that curiosity, to divert her thoughts from the strange emotions she had felt.
With a flick of her wrist, she summoned the power of the Soul Stone, her fingers brushing its surface as she reached across the cosmos. She searched for him, and soon, she found him—sitting on his throne at the edge of the universe, a figure of stillness surrounded by the vast emptiness of space. His face, framed by ruin and shadow, carried an expression of deep contemplation, the weight of his quest etched into every line. Around him, the remnants of his commanders left to fulfill his bidding, and he remained, alone, his gaze fixed on the void.
Death's hollow eyes glimmered faintly. For the first time in countless ages, she felt a pull—not duty, not obligation, but something else. And it intrigued her.
Her skeletal hand drifted to the dagger at her side, its blade shimmering with an otherworldly light. With one deliberate motion, she sliced through the fabric of reality itself, a jagged tear opening before her. She stepped through, her form emerging from the void like a shadow given life.
The air around her shifted immediately, growing colder, heavier, as if the very essence of the universe was recoiling in reverence. Shadows stretched unnaturally, bending and twisting toward her like living things compelled to bow. Even the faint hum of the cosmos seemed to fade, leaving behind a silence that pressed against the edges of existence, as though reality itself held its breath.
Thanos, seated on his throne at the edge of the universe, turned slowly from his contemplation. His towering form was a picture of composure, unmoved by the cold or the creeping shadows. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the void between them was still and timeless. Then, his lips curled into a slow, deliberate smile.
Author's Notes:
HEY! HI! I finally did it. Like... actually did it. I've been sitting on this fic for nearly a decade, and FINALLY, it's out there in the world! Sorry this chapter took so long—insert obligatory life update here. My goal is to update at least twice a month this year. Fingers crossed I can stick to that! .
Okay, so let's address a few things:
First! Thank you SO much for reading, reviewing, and engaging with this story. Your comments, thoughts, and reactions mean the world to me!
Second! Yes, there were a lot of therapy sessions in this arc. I know, not the most action-packed stuff, but I really wanted to dig deep into Maria's psyche and explore that classic "with great power" theme. I promise this groundwork will pay off! That said, I can also promise 100% more action and 100% less therapy from here on out (for now).
Third! I'm splitting the story into arcs to help structure things better. Each chapter will now be labeled accordingly. For example, Chapter 6 is officially "Mother and Daughter - Part 6," and the next chapter will kick off the new arc as "New York, New Life - Part 1." Chapters 1-5 will also be updated to reflect this structure. Hopefully, it'll make things easier to follow!
Fourth! Trigger warnings! This fic is rated M, so violence and other mature themes will come into play. Consider this your general trigger warning for violence throughout the story. Anything outside of that (like sensitive topics) will have a specific trigger warning at the start of the relevant chapter.
Finally—Fifth! …
Wait, actually, I don't have a fifth point. But I'm leaving this here for vibes. Thanks again for sticking with me 3
Next Arc - New York, New Life!
