💀Death's Apprentice💀

Chapter Twenty-One: Beautiful and Covered In Goo

The Apprentice

"You know what's disappointing?" Cedrick Hawthorne spoke in a taunting voice as he paced in front of us. We were in the main area of some sort of underground tunnel system. A domed ceiling towered above us. Rows and rows of coliseum style seats were carved into the stone floor, and in the center an enormous fire pit was dug into the ground. Death gave me a warning glance, knowing that I'd like nothing more than to smart off to our maniac of a captor.

"How much you talk?" I couldn't resist.

"Your existence?" Death added.

"How pretentious your voice is?"

"That tie?"

SMACK!

"Despite everything you've done I was going to leave you alone. I wasn't going to seek you out again. But then you had to further involve yourself." Hawthorne shook his head, absentmindedly swinging the the Scythe back and forth in his hand like a pendulum. I rubbed my reddening cheek on my shoulder. A guard's fingers dug into my collar bone as I wriggled in his grasp.

          "So let me get this straight," I snapped. "You want a world where everyone chooses their destiny and fate. No more murders. No more early deaths. No more unjust deaths..." Hawthorne nodded along. "...until it's inconvenient for you." Hawthorne's grip on the Scythe tightened in anger, and I tried not to wince.

"You're right. And right now it's convenient for me to shoot you, watch you writhe on the floor in agony, and then use the Scythe to send you to the afterlife once and for all. Starting with the monster who stole my sister from me." Hawthorne pulled the Scythe behind him with one hand and reached out with the other. One of the guards wordlessly handed him a pistol. He snatched it away and clenched it in his fist, leveling it at Death. Their eyes met in an exchange of venomous glares. Hawthorne's finger squeezed on the trigger.

          BLAM!

          Hawthorne roared in pain and clutched his hand as the Scythe and pistol clattered to the floor, but not before a finger got there first. Everyone in the room searched for the origins of the gunshot. All eyes landed on Director Prometheus Cain. He was nodding in approval and surprise...until he realized everyone was staring at him. With a quirked brow and a proud smirk he pointed to his right.

          Rose Delaney stood with a gun in her hand and a mystified expression on her face, as if she couldn't believe she had just shot someone. 'Did I do that?' Her face seemed to read. I glanced downwards. The Scythe lay on the floor between Hawthorne's and my feet. The fire from the pit flickered along the blade. We looked at each other for a split second before lunging to the ground. None of the guards dared to move for fear of Rose shooting someone else. Fists clasped onto the Scythe, and we held on for dear life as an explosion of light and smoke encircled the two of us.

          We each tugged and yanked, trying to pry the ancient weapon from one another. But the transfer of power had made our strengths equal. The fire pit fizzled out as shimmering gusts of wind flowed through the room and cycloned through a circle in the ceiling in a blinding blaze of blue magic. I racked my brain for a way through this. We had to beat him! Then it hit me-if our strengths were equal, then I would have to outsmart him.

          I stopped pulling and launched myself forward, smashing his bloodied hands into my chest. BAM! Our foreheads collided, and Hawthorne was forced to let go out of sheer agony. He growled in pain as he tried to reach for the Scythe, but it was too late. I was already falling backwards and out of his reach, the headbutt disorienting me. I fell hard on my back, and the moment my hands hit the ground the Scythe was sent screeching across the floor. It stopped at Rose's feet. She quickly snapped it up, and another burst of magic filled the room.

          Rose's eyes began to glow once again. The flecks of her fragmented magic began to expand until her eyes were neon blue. Everyone still standing tried to rush at her at an attempt to grab the Scythe from her, but she brought the butt of the shaft down to the ground, and a surge of magic knocked them all back. I continued to lay in the floor, dazed and awe-struck. Rose Delaney was dressed in tactical gear, with her Kevlar gone, leftover clothes tattered, and smeared with glistening black dog goo that she had clearly tried to wipe off with her sleeve and failed.

She was absolutely beautiful.