The Joker x Reader Imagines 💚

The Angel Of Death

As the Messenger of Death, your fate is to decide who lives or dies. If you spare a mortal's life, you can either curse or bless them, or do nothing and let destiny determine the outcome. Tonight is a very bad one for Gotham: a lot of souls on the verge of dying. And you are here to sentence them all.

The ambush went incredibly wrong; the gangsters knew about the stakeout and the mob boss detonated the explosive with everyone in the building: cops and henchmen alike. So many humans on the verge of dying.

Your black wings stretch, gently stopping their movement as you walk over rubble and ashes. You firmly hold the Silver Sword, the only thing shining in the darkness: one side of the weapon is engraved with the curse of the underworld,the other one with its blessing. Only nothingness surrounds you, the glowing white orbs in your eye sockets assessing the aftermath of the carnage.

You halt by the kingpin and bend one knee to bring yourself closer to him. Only souls trapped in between, waiting for the judgement can see you. Your uncanny presence makes him shiver with fear, the pool of blood he's lying in sizzling as an outcome of the powers bestowed upon The Angel of Death. Your long, ghostly hair touches his shoulders as you decide on his faith:

"You created enough damage. I have a lot of work to do because of you. I am not forgiving when it comes to this. STOP BREATHING!!" your voice echoes in his mind and your ethereal lips touch the man's forehead: the Kiss of Death. His heart stops and you get up, searching for the rest of the mortals.

Bruce Wayne is not very far. The Batman armor is very strong, yet not enough to protect from such a violent blast. His wounds are fatal, but you linger on top of him, debating.

"I...I remember you..." he kind of smiles, half gone and delirious. Bruce thinks he's hallucinating since there is no way you are besides him again.

He saw you a long time ago, when he was a child and fell into that accursed cave near the Wayne mansion. He almost died but you spared his life; you didn't curse or blessed the little boy, you just allowed him to go on.

You have a weakness for lost souls; he is definitely one of them. The goosebumps on his skin alert you it's time for a decision.

Your sword touches his chest, the piercing words lingering in the heavy air around you:

"I curse you with life, never to find peace unless you keep on fighting. It is your doom and your salvation."

Bruce groans in pain and falls in a deep daze, but his broken body will survive because you said so.

Commissar Gordon is under a crashed wall, struggling to breathe, barely conscious, which is why you are here.

"Who...who are you?" he manages to whisper, thinking this is a dream. Poor humans, they never recognize The Angel of Death and the blissful contradiction it brings.