That Which Came (Could Not Be Avoided)

Hello there! Thanks for clicking on my fic! This sprung up between a fellow Scythe fan and I, and I was almost immediately smacked in the face with inspiration. The thought behind this was basically "What if Scythe Chomsky burnt the monastery down as a protest to Goddard or to try and kill him or something like that?" And it all went down from there xD. Well, that being said, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!!!Please don't repost my works, and Arc of a Scythe belongs to Neal Shusterman/Simon and Schuster

-MG9024

The knock is quiet upon Scythe Volta's door that night. When he opens it, he sees before him the orange-robed scythe; he's instantly shocked. "Noam?" Comes the incredulous word as he wearily blinks sleep from his tired eyes. "Alessandro." The one-word response is just as simple, uncharacteristically serious. "The hell do you want? It's one in the morning. You're usually out dead by now."

"Ain't somethin' I can casually mention. Now move it and let me in."

"What the hell are you talking about, Chomsky?"

"You got ears, nutsack?" The blond scoffs. "Lemme in, and you'll find out."

"You try to attack me, and you're a dead man, Chomsky." Volta mumbles in return, rubbing his eyes as Chomsky enters. "No way. Just wanna talk." The brute flops onto the bed with a thud, staring at the pale yellow walls without interest. "Your room looks like a fuckin' nursery with knives." Chomsky mutters, but Volta brushes it off. "Then talk."

"You don't like Goddard's bullshit. Neither do I." The statement was simple, yet so full of power. It could've gotten either- or rather both- of them in deep trouble. Had Goddard have heard, they would've had targets on their backs for the rest of their lives. Volta is taken aback; Scythe Noam Chomsky, one of Goddard's top dogs, the brutal death-by-fire scythe who shows mercy to no man- he's a traitor? The scythe of yellow is left slack-jawed. "Let me get this shit straight; you- Scythe Noam Chomsky- you, who takes more delight in killing than the head bastard, than Goddard himself-!"

"Puttin' up an act. I'm just better at it than you." He sneers, sitting up against the headboard. Their eyes meet for a brief moment as Volta sits down hard on the bed's edge. Never would he have imagined that this brute was putting up an act. He has the whole Scythedom fooled! How the hell did he do that? It sends Volta into a reflective spiral, looking over all of the gleanings they were both a part of; his face was ridden with delight every single time. There is no way that there wasn't a bone of enjoyment in his body as he lit entire buildings on fire. Chomsky had always said that the purpose of his gleanings wasn't fairness or justice, but enjoyment. "The world ain't fair." He says. "Might as well embrace it, come to enjoy it, or move the fuck on. The universe doesn't give a shit about you." He always tells people. Volta can't believe it for a second. It just makes no sense; but that's the point then, isn't it? No one is supposed to see through an act like that. No one can see through.

"You're one clever bitch, Chomsky." Volta mutters and Chomsky just laughs. "Yeah, a lot more than you, V-Slayer, and you're damn lucky I ain't Rob or Rand." The orange scythe sneers, causing the other to shoot him a glare. "You're ridiculous, Noam." Volta says. "I'm not that transparent."

"My ass you ain't!" Barks the ruby-studded scythe with a sharp laugh. "You're as opaque as the fucking air, dude!" Cackling, he shoots Scythe Volta a look. "Chill out. I ain't gonna talk. I've actually got a plan to stop the old boy before it's too late."

"How the hell are you going to stop Goddard, Chomsky? No one else has before. What makes you so special?"

"I got one thing they don't." With confidence like that, who needs anything else?

"What the hell do you have, Chomsky?" Now it's Volta's turn to laugh. This man cannot be serious. No way, no how. "I have a flamethrower." It's so nonchalant and direct that Volta simply bursts out laughing. Chomsky waits for his laughter to die down, a self-righteous smirk on his face. He could wait hours. He knows that Volta is the only one that could help him execute his plan, so he'd wait as long as it took. Luckily, that wound up being only a few short minutes. "Shit, Chomsky, you're special, lemme tell you what!" He scoffs. "Go on, hotshot! What's your master plan to defeat Goddard. This better be good."

"I'll kill him at today's gleaning." Scythe Chomsky, a man of few words. "He said yesterday we were only usin' swords, but a little bitching and moaning let me convince him to let me use my flamethrower. So, I'll roast him alive in wherever we're gonna be. That way, there's no way to revive him."

"That's completely against the law and the commandments, Chomsky. You won't get away with it, even if you want to."

"Yeah I will, Al, and you wanna know why? Because I have an act. I've got a reputation for being chaotic, not to mention bein' devoted to Goddard, and no one's gonna suspect that a devoted follower is his killer. Eventually, the case'll be dropped, and I'll be off scot-free." Chomsky says, leaving Volta once again slack-jawed, this time at his stupidity. Is he serious? This dumbass can't be serious!

"Chomsky, you're missing the fact that Goddard has a brain. You really think that'll work knucklehead?" Volta snips, and Chomsky shrugs. "Yeah. I'm pretty sure."

"And even if it does work, you're gonna be trapped in there for too long making sure he burns to death."

"You think I don't know that? I'm ready for it. I'm willing to take that risk." Chomsky stands then, towering over Volta. "And if you ain't, you come up with a better plan before the morning, because that's what I'm doin', Volta." He walks towards the door, confident and smug; he knows Volta won't be able to come up with anything better. Feeling the other scythe's eyes bore into his head, he leaves, shutting the door calmly behind him.

Volta scoffs. "That'll never work."

Work it does, and a little too well.

Everything is inflamed, including the ends of Scythe Chomsky's robe. Smoke is in more abundance than air, and he can't see a thing. In his panic, he's long abandoned his Goddard-killing plan; he just needs to get out of there!

But he has to find someone first.

"Volta!" Scythe Chomsky shouts, his voice raspy from the smoke. "Al!" Still no response comes, and he goes down hacking. "Alesandro!" He yells between coughs. In the distance, he sees a flash of bright yellow and red. His burning eyes go wide. It has to be him! "Al! Volta! We have to go! come on!" He runs as best as he can to the flash of yellow. He's right there, just grab his robe and yank hi away and-

C L A N G.

Chomsky goes down again, now with a gash in the back of his head and a shattered skull. Blood pours. Eyes blurred, he looks up a final time. Above him stands that boy- he must've killed Volta! And the others! Rage flashes in his quickly-dimming eyes. The last thing the orange-clad scythe catches a glimpse of is his glare and his bloodied tuning fork.

His last thought is of Rowan, of his dead companion, and what the dreadful boy had done.