"Death's Protege"

"Death's Protege" Chapter 1 ( Death-cisions)

The only time we truly value life is when death knocks at our door—when our existence teeters on the edge of oblivion, and the last breath of air threatens to desert our lungs. As the heart beats its final rhythm, life plays a haunting symphony before our mind's eye. We see what we were, what we failed to be, and the countless possibilities of who we could have become. His name is Achilles Nafsi Avunaye, and as you read this, death approaches. He is dying—not the peaceful kind we all hope for, but the agonizing, drawn-out death we secretly dread. Beaten and left for dead on Route 66 in Candlesville, this is where his story truly begins.

He lay there, motionless. The cold concrete cradled his cheek, while the icy rain mixed with the blood pooling beneath his back. His broken half-moon glasses lay nearby. "Mom's going to kill me... second pair this month," he thought briefly, before realizing the absurdity—he was already dying. Those thugs had stolen that opportunity from her. At least now, his torment was coming to an end. No more milkshakes to the face in school hallways, no more Dan Greyback, clueless teachers, and, most of all, no more longing for Raven Constantine without the courage to tell her how he felt.

The street was getting colder, but the blood oozing from his chest was warm—warmer than the presence hovering over him. Death himself had arrived, the master of ceremonies for this grim occasion. Shrouded in a black metallic coat, only gleaming white eyes pierced the darkness beneath the hood. Despite everything, Achilles couldn't help but find those eyes oddly beautiful—ironic, given they belonged to the bringer of death. Death's cloak brushed against Achilles' face as he coughed, bemused, "Who... are you?"

Achilles' eyes locked with Death's, now an intense deep blue, pulling him in like the depths of the ocean. They stared at each other, a silence only broken by Death's voice—a strange mix of beauty and torment. "I have been called many names throughout history, boy—Hades, Michael, Grimm. But tonight, for you, it's simply Death." With a snap, a brown parchment appeared in Death's gloved hands. "Achilles Nafsi Avunaye, age 15, mixed descent... 5'11". That's you, isn't it?" Not exactly the way one imagines their death: a cloaked figure reading their life like a checklist. Achilles stuttered, "Y-Yes."

Death continued, "Very well, let's begin. I've got 100,000 more deaths before dawn—there's supposed to be an earthquake in East Asia around 10."

Achilles, surprisingly amused despite his situation, managed, "Begin what?"

Death let out a chuckle, one that oddly soothed Achilles, even as blood seeped from his wounds. "Ah, right. Your first time dying. Silly of me. We'll replay your last seven hours in 30 seconds, and then... you'll have the option." Achilles thought he saw a grin under that hood.

"What option?" Achilles croaked, the pain relentless.

With a wave of his hand, Death said, "There, that should help with the pain, boy. Now, let us proceed. Every soul gets an option after their life is replayed. Now... 30 seconds. Let's begin."

Suddenly, Achilles found himself climbing the steps to his school, humming his favorite Linkin Park tune—"In the End" (how fitting, he mused). His body moved on autopilot, but his thoughts were still his. The usual barrage of insults hit him as soon as he entered the building: "Freak! Geek! Loser!" Before he could brace himself, SPLASH—a smoothie drenched his white T-shirt. Even though he knew this was just a replay, the same old rage surged up. Dan Greyback sneered, "What did you say, wimp?"

Raven Constantine's voice cut through the tension. "Stop it, Dan!" And just like that, Dan froze. Her command was law. Raven's brown eyes met Achilles', and for a moment, he felt calm. Yet, just as before, he remained silent, still trapped in his own memory. The day continued as it had—humiliation, loneliness, and pain.

"Fifteen!" Death's voice pierced through. The school bell rang, marking the end of another torturous day. Achilles bolted, desperate to escape Candlesville High, but Dan and his cronies were waiting. "Let's go for a ride," Dan said, smirking beside his red Chevrolet.

Achilles protested, but resistance was futile. They threw him into the back seat, where Chad and Phil assaulted him, blow after blow. Each strike was more brutal than the last. The car sped along Route 61, their fists never relenting until they finally stopped on Route 66. Then came the gun—an antique. "Do you know what this is?" Phil asked, pointing it at Achilles.

When Achilles failed to respond, Dan, frustrated, grabbed the gun. "Bang, bang," he mimicked, grinning wickedly. But then—BANG! A real shot rang out.

Achilles had barely felt it, but there was no mistaking it—he was dying. "Throw him out here," they said.

And just as they had left him to die, Death's voice whispered, "Zero."

Achilles was back in control of his body—what little of it remained functional. "My life sucked!" he cried. Death, standing over him, almost sympathetic, replied, "Choose your last words more carefully, child."

Tears streamed down Achilles' face, mingling with the blood. "What are you waiting for?!" he screamed.

Death's voice grew more serious. "The option."

Achilles looked up, bewildered.

Death explained, "I have been tasked with finding an apprentice before the century ends, so that I may enjoy heaven's peace, like the other angels. But no soul has passed my tests in the last hundred years. You, however... are given the option."

Achilles, now intrigued, asked, "Me? Worthy?"

Death's eyes glinted. "Your deeds, boy. Few live like you, showing kindness even when life offers none in return."

And so began Achilles' trial—a series of three tasks, with the first already behind him: confronting his own past. Now, with newfound purpose, Achilles made a bold choice, "Bring it on!"

Death smiled beneath his hood, "So be it, Achilles of
Candlesville."