Prey

The Shadow walked into the room.

His eyes scoured the mess, noticing everything and noting nothing of importance. Clothes lay strewn about on the floor, empty ale bottles lay on their sides and small candles burnt down to mere nubs. In the midst of it all lay Draen, drunk out of his mind and naked from head to toe. A lone candle stood silently lit a few steps from his feet.

The Shadow slowly moved towards the unconcious man, whose back was facing the Shadow. His ghostly feet passed through the mess, touching nothing, leaving only a cold trace in the air. The bottles he passed through cracked, the clothes he touched stiffened, the candle nubs he looked at froze.

But Draen... Draen did not stir.

A stream of moonlight invaded the room through an open window, casting its glow all over Draen’s body. The Shadow paused, mildly irritated at the light. He glanced at the window and saw his own reflection gazing back at him.

He saw a hooded figure in a lonely room reflected back. Nothing to be seen of his face except what seemed to be a long flat beak-like bone poking out where his nose should have been. Clothed in darkness, floating just a few feet above the ground.

The Shadow raised a skeletal hand and the shadows around him moved towards the window, stretching and reaching towards it. The shadows moved like an invisible hand, swirling around the window and completely covering it in darkness, halting the moonlight from entering.

Then the Shadow moved towards the man, his arms reaching...

Something was wrong.

The Shadow hesitated. Something was amiss. The body radiated death and the Shadow instantly knew it had been dead for at least an hour.

He reached out with a swift hand and pulled Draen’s body to face him. There was only one problem.

The body wasn’t Draen’s.

A floorboard creaked behind him. Someone sighing. “You really should be more mindful of your prey, Shadow.”

The Shadow spun around. Draen stood, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed with a smile on his face, completely calm despite being faced with the second most lethal assassin in the Nine Realms.

The Shadow spoke in his native tongue. A low rough voice forming harsh cruel words -- words of power and anger. Words of magyck.

Draen lifted a hand towards the Shadow and the Shadow stiffened, his words momentarily caught in his throat. Then he began his chanting anew, determined and fierce.

“You just never know when to give up, do you?” Draen smiled. “Admirable, but ultimately...”

A bright blue glow began to appear in the palm of Draen’s hand, growing and building, being held back as if by sheer will. Then when it seemed like it would not grow any more ... it was released. It shot forward, faster than the Shadow’s eyes could follow and tore right through the Shadow’s torso, disappearing and taking the dark with it.

“... stupid,” finished Draen.

The darkness that surrounded the room seemed to disperse and the shadows that had guarded the windows let in the moonlight once again. The dark apparition was no more.

“No one beats the best, Shadow,” Draen snarled into the quiet room, his eyes only momentarily -- guiltily -- going over the naked human corpse he had killed.

Then he turned his back on the room and walked away.

The Clearing

All was cold and dark in the forest clearing. It was darker than it had ever been in several years, even though the moon was in full harvest that night.

The leaves had stopped their rustling. Not a sound was heard. No creatures had dared to stir. Not at the very moment, no. They could feel the silent tension that stretched the very air taut.

And then Death stepped into the clearing.

The last time Death had come here personally... It had been ages ago. But the circumstances that found tonight’s soul were too precious to leave to his little Reapers. This was something that Death had to see to himself.

He smiled wearily when he saw them. The lovers were lying down on the cold grass, their arms and bodies so entangled in each other that it was hard to tell where one person ended and the other began. They were staring softly into each other’s eyes.

Love in its youth, sighed Death. Innocent and beautiful. Such a shame.

The boy and the girl had not noticed the sudden darkness that pervaded the clearing. Nor had they noted the way the temperature had fallen on their skin. Indeed, so intense was their gaze upon each other that nothing existed beyond each other’s loving stare.

The girl’s eyes were the first to feel heavy. She blinked once, twice. She smiled at her love and gave him a final lingering glance before slowly falling into a deep slumber.

The boy felt no similar inclination to close his eyes. Not just yet. He looked at the young beautiful person who lay in front of him, not wishing to miss a thing.

He studied the angles and curves upon her face, trying to imagine the way the light would have cast hollow shadows when her head tilted somewhat.

He traced a gentle finger along her cheek, appreciating the subtle skin. He gazed at her for as long as he could, memorizing every facet of her beauty, remembering every tender moment he shared with her, every time she was in his arms.

He knew that this was the last time he would hold her. He had felt the cold and the dark that had closed in on them the moment she closed her eyes and he just knew.

Death watched all of this with the sound of silence in his thoughts. He soaked in the tenderness of the moment. It gave him no pleasure to have to do this to the young couple. Not tonight of all nights, when the light of their love had shone brightest of all.

But such was the nature of Death. He could not go against it even if he so desired.

The boy closed his eyes for the last time.

Slowly, tenderly, gently. Death moved towards the boy, his feet making no sound.

A soft breeze blew about him. But none could feel it.

It was the breath of a thousand souls. And none could feel it. None, save Death himself.

Death hovered over the young couple. Before him were two souls, both beautiful in their own right. But only one was to stay.

He stared deep into the depths of the young boy’s heart and saw in there the tumour, making its way and spreading like a cancer.

Death had no love for the cancer. But neither was there hate. The cancer just was.

He knelt down beside the child – for to him, all men were mere children – and reached out with both hands.

His ethereal hands went under the boy’s body and slowly rose, passing through flesh and bone and gently feeling for the heart. As soon as he found it, the beating stopped and just like that, the child would never again be able to return.

Then he gently pulled.

And inch by inch, the soul tore away from its home. So it went until Death cradled it in its entirety. Then Death gazed upon it.

The boy’s soul was crimson and purple, sprinkled with flecks of yellow. It was a clean soul, a kind soul, a soul that Death took pity upon easily. He held it lightly in his arms.

Tentatively, the soul opened its eyes and stared at the only manifestation of death it would ever know.

The soul was not surprised to see Death and did not stare as long as previous souls had. Instead, he turned his gaze back to the girl, his expression mournful.

A minute passed. Another.

Death stood unmoving, the soul in his arms. This was a moment that would last forever if need be. Time was no matter.

Eventually, the soul turned back to look at Death. His expression was one of acceptance. The soul nodded and Death blew his breath upon the soul.

It was time to go.