Inked

29

Death rarely interfered with the battles of man. It only showed itself when absolutely necessary. When a debt needed to be paid, when a war needed to be won, when a life needed to come to an end. That said, Death did not limit itself to natural occurrences. It would peek out from the Land of the Dead whenever someone thought himself worthy of Death's magic, whenever someone believed he could cheat Death. Sometimes someone would be foolish enough to attempt both; Death simply could not let that go. It tried to be fair and just in all its dealings, and part of that involved punishment. There would be consequences for those who dared to think they could outsmart Death. An advocate of necessity, Death knew when to involve itself and when not to. This was one of those times when intervention was necessary.

The interior of the castle was dark. Few lamps were lit at this hour, and even so their weak light was smothered by the thick blackness bouncing off the ebony walls. Death let itself in; no one could ever erect an effective barrier against it. Strengthened by the slow, deep breaths of the castle staff and the soldiers-in-training -- in sleep they were closer to Death than they knew -- Death made its way along the empty halls, searching for the one who had alerted him. But there was something off about the castle. There seemed to be a block on Death's senses; it could no longer pinpoint who had cheated it. 

Following the winding stone passageways, Death came upon a large hall, the ground littered with mats, and on top of those mats, men. Hundreds of them, all asleep, eyes closed and bodies relaxed. If only they knew how closely they tread to me in their slumber, Death thought, zeroing in on one man in particular. Death had seen many people over the centuries, but for some reason this one brought on a sharp jolt of familiarity. He was important, Death knew, yet it could not quite recall how. Still not able to locate the fool who had practically invited him over, Death made its decision. What is one fool's life over another? I can always return if my message is not clearly understood.

And with that, Death took care of its business and went on its way, contemplated the stupidity of man and his insatiable desire to put himself in harm's way.

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When Mo woke up, a crowd of people was surrounding him. It seemed the entire occupancy of the castle -- besides the queen, of course, and her infant son -- were gathered over him, whispering and muttering to one another. Their eyes cast curious, almost frightened glances at him -- no, not at him, but at the spot next to him. Following their gazes, Mo discovered what had captured everyone's attention. 

Piercing blue eyes stared into his, wide and vacant. The man had been dead for several hours. His skin was cold and white, his lips tinted blue. The cause of his death was unclear, but there was one cause for speculation: the man's blank, dead eyes were trained on where Mo's head had been as he slept, fixated on the person sleeping innocently and obliviously next to him. In addition to this odd placement, Mo's being the last to wake up was even more cause for suspicion. 

While Mo believed in his heart that he had not been responsible for the poor young man's demise, he did know one thing: he reeked of Death.