Sodden Wings

Six black, oil-drenched wings were not much use to anyone.  They could not fly, they were heavy and constantly dripped.  But it was a form of repentance, a way of taking away something that was once deeply cherished, so the things that remain would be treasured more.

Or that's how Death liked to think of it, anyway.  These days he found walking to be quite relaxing, though he did dearly miss the days of flight.  Back when his wings were dry and his scythe was sharp, he was a carefree archangel, reaping the souls of whomever he pleased, whether their time was up or not.  But of course, such wasn't the natural order of things, and eventually his antics were halted.

But that was a long, long time ago, and he was a different man now.

He stopped in place, the steady taps of his scythe ceasing as he gazed around him.  He was in a city - a human city, to be precise.  Pale moonlight broke through the clouds, illuminating the busy streets, crowded with cars and people.  They all moved at a tiny fraction of the speed they normally would, as Death had a lot of work on his hands, and he'd never get anything done if he had to abide by the standard laws of time.

With a heavy sigh, he shifted his dark robes and sat down atop the bonnet of a speeding taxi.  Of course, nowadays he was barely ever called out for jobs, thanks to the dozens of machines that zipped around above him.

They were small, black devices, hexagonal in shape and fitted with a small steel blade, a cheap imitation of Death's fearsome scythe.  Propelled by plumes of golden energy, they zipped around the mortal worlds, reaping souls and shipping them off, doing his job for him.

He grimaced.  Expiry Drones.  God's "gift" to the overworked archangel.

"First you take my wings, then you take my fucking job... Call it helping... Tch..."

Archangels were very much against swearing as a whole, he knew this, but it wasn't like he would be going back to Paradise anytime soon.

Grumbling under his breath, Death continued down the street, slowly weaving in between the near-frozen human, his sights set on the building at the edge of the street.

No matter how many machines did his job for him, he was still the Reaper... He still had it in him...

Reaching into the satchel that hung by his side, Death pulled out a small device, similar in shape to the mobile phones that humans were so attached to.  Pressing a button, it brought up a holographic display of an hourglass, alongside a timer and a name.

"Clover Evans..." he mumbled, turning his piercing gaze to a small display of a compass pointing to the building before him.

If there was one good thing to come of this new age of technology, it was that he didn't have to physically carry around those blasted hourglasses anymore.

Reaching the building, Death wasn't surprised to see that it was a hospital.  People died in places like these all the time.  Even now, he saw an Expiry Drone phase through the fifth floor wall, having just delivered a soul to the afterlife.

Looking over at the door, he found that it was an automatic sliding door.  This altered timeframe would mean he'd have a Hell of wait for it to open.  Frowning, he looked back up at the rapidly retreating machine.

"Yeah, I can do that too, you mechanical shit" Death cursed, reaching a pale hand above him.

Grabbing the purple, slightly misshapen halo that floated above his head, he placed it around his wrist and spoke a single, magical word.  His hand wreathed in a glowing miasma of purple energy, he tapped the brickwork, causing them to explode inwards, creating a sizable hole which Death climbed through.  With his feet firmly planted on the floor of the hospital's lobby, he spoke another magical word and snapped his fingers, causing the wall to rapidly repair itself, like it had never been broken in the first place.