Ghost in the Machine (Undertaker x Female Reader)

Chapter Seven.

Please note BEFORE READING:
!Trigger warnings for death/loss
!Physical restraint (non-sexual)
!Extreme emotional distress

Chapter Seven.

I had had many experiences in my lifetime which I had considered rather unnatural, but the pace at which they greeted me now was unprecedented.

Behind me, three beings faced off, two against one, all of them performing feats I never expected from humans as I had known them. My erstwhile savior and protector was among them. As the intimidating vision of him drawing up his scythe in a green-tinted halo burned itself into my core, I faced another new experience in willing myself to leave the confines of the roof's edge. Before I could recall that it was he who had commanded me to hurl myself into the winds, I had run at the ledge, my skirts gathered in one fist and his hat still clutched in the other. My boot touched upon the last bit of stone between myself and the sky before I pushed myself up and out with my legs, aiming for the next building and closing my eyes. The breeze rushed over the skin of my face, its force contrasting with the breathtaking weightlessness I felt as I disconnected from the Earth.

I did not fall.

Not in the way I'd expected, at least, for my landing was less than graceful. The next rooftop came upon me hard and fast, and I skidded upon landing on one foot before crumpling forward onto my hands. My legs were scraped along the stones as I completed my forward momentum; I noticed my gloves and stockings torn, my skin bleeding as I staggered to my feet. I chanced a brief look backwards to gauge how far I'd jumped.

How was this even possible? There was a wide cross street between the two buildings; I'd sailed over this space like a bird. This railed against my conception of how things simply were, and the observation joined what I'd already encountered that early evening in cementing my realization that there was much more going on than any simple murder plot, live burial, or eye affliction. I leaned stiffly to pick up the Undertaker's hat in my bloodied hand, tightening my fist on its brim until it started to shake.

"Oh my, dear, are you all right?!" Grell's voice floated over the noise of clashing metal and the rev of her "beast." She had ducked away from a swing of the Undertaker's scythe, and called out to me over the distance before darting to back up William. "No one is good at it so soon after death, but we can't have your pretty skin getting scarred!"

...Wait.

I snapped my head up at Grell's comment. I could only imagine the expression on my face; I was certain my confusion was clear from across the street.

...What?

William had taken a stab at the Undertaker with his pruner before trading places to back up Grell. My reaction hadn't elicited much of a startle from him, in his unshakeable professionalism, but he sneered, having drawn the inevitable conclusion all the same.

"Reprehensible beyond all belief!" He berated the Undertaker, his face darkening with contempt. "Haven't you even told her she's dead?"

It felt, momentarily, as if I was listening to a discussion about someone else. Then the disbelief froze into ice, chilling me from within my veins.

You still live, he'd said.

I only half-heard anything else William had said, as it was the Undertaker's form my entire being—whatever I was—had locked onto. I saw his body hesitate, his shoulders cringe as if physically struck with my revelation. Slowly, he lifted his head to turn partially towards me; I met one of his eyes, briefly, his yellow-green gaze flaring from under his mussed silver locks. The cold in that glance resonated within me. He had confirmed my worst fear without uttering a word.