Power of Death (Agathario)

Chapter Two

Agatha's lungs screamed for air and she released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "You're... Death."

Death nodded. Her face slowly molded back into the human one she'd worn before. Agatha still saw the skull, like it was embedded in her eyeballs.

"And you want me to get bodies for you," Agatha repeated, "How?"

"I like witches," Death said, then shook her head. "I'd like them to die, I mean. They give me my life. I live when people die. And the more witches die, the more power I have. And there's too many witches who haven't died yet."

Agatha let out a short laugh. "Can't you just kill them yourself? I mean, you're Death, after all."

Death rolled her eyes. "You think I haven't tried? It's against the rules for me to kill a witch until it's been hundreds and hundreds of years."

"The rules?"

"Don't ask. And if you tell another witch any of this, you'll be an exception to that rule."

Agatha made a motion like she was sewing her lips shut, then gave Death a crooked smile. "Got it. So you want me to kill witches. And what do I get?"

"A better life. You need a place to live, and I have it. You need hundreds of years to live? I can give you it. As long as you keep the bodies coming. To put it in official terms, if you keep killing witches once a week, I'll give you life and a home."

Agatha scanned Death. She did need a place to stay and when she was older she would still want more time. All she needed to do was kill witches. Agatha remembered how the pain had quickly turned to power coursing through her veins. She remembered how much she liked it— all that power, belonging to her.

It seemed like a worthy investment. "You have a deal."

"Perfect." Death reached out from beneath her cloak, drawing out a curved dagger. "Come with me."

And with that, she dragged the dagger straight down through the air, leaving a rip in it's wake. She pulled the rip open wider, revealing pitch black behind it, and stepped aside for Agatha. "Time to go. Live people first."

There was no time to calm her thoughts, only to move.

Agatha stood, grabbing her bag, and headed to the rip.

Death grabbed Agatha' arm as she was about to step into the gap. Agatha froze at the touch, suddenly becoming very aware of how she hadn't taken a bath in a few days.

"You'll get used to killing. It'll become second nature," Death told her, releasing Agatha's arm. "Don't feel bad about your power. It's what kept you alive. That's what everyone does. They survive. It's what makes you a witch. And a very good one at that."

Agatha stared at Death, unblinking. Upon closer examination, Death didn't have black eyes. She had brown eyes.

After a pause, Agatha spoke, nodding slowly. "Okay."

"Well then, go in." Death leaned back, allowing Agatha through.

Agatha stepped into the tear, even more confused on how to feel than she was a few minutes ago.

—

Okay so this is going to go sort of slow the first few chapters mainly because I unintentionally made them shorter. But yay! I'm writing it!

That reminds me... I need to write the next chapter for my wenclair fanfic now...

Anyway, I hope you're all having a wonderful day or night or whenever you readers like to read!

Love you!

-VictoryGreen8