Death is a Girl

Chapter 48 - Graveyard Rumble

As the final notes rang out from the orchestra, applause surrounded Morrigan and Emma, and they concluded their dance with a bow. Morrigan looked up, feeling the room spin around her as she realized they were the center of attention. She was out in the open, with all eyes on her, and everyone was clapping and cheering.

“Looks like we stole the show,” Emma said with a wink.

Morrigan grinned, unable to contain the flutter in her heart. “Guess we did, huh?”

“Thanks to you,” Emma said, twirling to fluff out her dress and then falling into a curtsey. “Thanks for tailoring this dress for me.”

“I was happy to…” Morrigan said, her words trailing off as she looked at Emma. Her smile faded somewhat, her eyes lowering in concern. When did she make these dresses? She couldn’t remember.

Emma was face to face with her again, so close Morrigan couldn’t see anything else. “What’s wrong?”

“I just… I don’t want this to end.”

“Why would it have to?”

“Because…”

Because none of this is real? She had run away from Emma, and everything else.

“That was only a piece of us,” Real Morrigan whispered in her ear. “We’re whole again, remember? That was only a bad dream.”

Morrigan’s eyes squinted as she looked past the version of Emma that stood before her. She saw a door opening, light coming through the crack and growing brighter. As she focused on it, the ballroom suddenly felt like it was part of a long dark hallway.

There, inside that light, a girl stood, and Morrigan pushed the beautiful Emma to the side, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Another Emma was there, her clothes wrinkled, hair disheveled, and her face wrought with shock and horror. Her lips moved, she was shouting, but she was so far away the words barely echoed in her ears, sounding distant and surreal. Her gaze shifted back around the ballroom, the applause becoming a hollow echo. Everything was too perfect, too scripted.

Emma’s touch on her face should have been warm, but it felt like a ghost’s caress. “Did… did I really make these dresses?” Morrigan whispered, more to herself than to Emma.

“Of course you did,” Emma reassured her.

“But how? I don’t remember designing them, sewing them... anything!”

Emma’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Morrigan, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?”

Morrigan closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “I... I think this isn’t real,” Morrigan said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m trapped.”

Emma’s grip tightened. “Trapped? Come on, that’s crazy. This is our prom, Morrigan. We’re here, together.”

Morrigan shook her head. “No, that’s not right. I’ve only just finished my sophomore year… and I died! I—”

She felt a pair of arms wrap around her, but it wasn’t Emma. They held tight, the other body pressing firmly against her back. Morrigan stared at Emma, who was now frozen, all expression drained from her face and she was suddenly like a doll.

“You’re right…” Real Morrigan whispered in her ear. “We did die, and so much was taken from us. I’m sorry, I thought this would make us happy, but it's nothing more than a gilded cage. Isn’t it?”

“Then stop this,” Morrigan whispered back.

“We can’t. If we stopped here, the nightmare would come back. We’ll never be whole again, and the life we lost would all but disappear.”

“But how do we do that?”

“Simple, we take everything back. One piece at a time,” one hand raised, pointing over Morrigan’s shoulder, at the horrified version of Emma that stood in the light at the end of the dark hallway. “Starting with her.”

***

Emma could only stare in horror. Morrigan raised herself off the ground, a third arm assisting as she pushed herself to her feet. The creature was fused to her back, its waist attached to the base of her spine like a conjoined twin. It at first bobbed backward before righting itself, and Morrigan hunched under its weight. Its other arm was fused into her shoulder as if it was reaching deep inside of her; the free arm had gray decaying skin that flailed limply… but its head was what Emma couldn’t tear her eyes from and left her frozen in disgusted horror.

One half was a sinisterly perfected version of Morrigan’s: rosy cheeks, eyes deep blue yet as unseeing as a doll's eyes, golden hair draped around her, and eyeliner and red lipstick. The other half was Grotesk, strings of mucus connecting its upper and lower jaw, yellowing teeth, and a haunting milky yellow eyeball sitting within its skull. Its mouth opened, letting out a hiss that seemed to come from two voices at once; one like an animal, the other like a girl experiencing unknowable pain.

Morrigan herself looked much the same, though her eyes were completely white, somehow even whiter than her skin, otherwise dressed in her usual black clothing, befitting her existence as a reaper.

“Ah, this creature seems to have worked faster than I was expecting,” Death said, standing over Emma’s shoulder. “My dear, do keep calling out to her. It seems Morrigan’s will was so shattered this demon has had an easy time of consuming her.”

“M-Morrigan!” Emma spoke with a shaky voice. “I-it’s me! It’s Emma!”

Noir came from between Death’s feet and stood between them. “Master, at this point, you may have no choice but to reap both Morrigan and the demon.”

“Nonsense, Noir!” Death declared, popping his scythe off his shoulder and twirling it fluidly into a battle-ready stance in his hands. “I may be a tad out of practice, but I’ve dealt with a demon or two of this caliber in my time.”

The mouth of the half-demon-half-Morrigan head screeched once again with that haunting double voice. Morrigan’s arm reached to the side and pulled her scythe out of thin air, the poll and blade materializing in her grasp.

“Oh my…” Death said under his not-breath. “I wasn’t expecting that. Emma, dear, please run.”

“WHAT!?”

“Run!” Death yelled, yanking her by the shirt and throwing her back towards Hilda. “Protect your cousin, witch! It’s eyes are on her!”

“I thought you had this handled!” Hilda shot back, getting in front of Emma and pulling up her sleeve to reveal the runes tattooed on her arm.

“Adaptability is vital in battle!” Death said as Morrigan lunged at him. Their scythes connect with a muted wobble of sound that then boomed like a fighter jet as a flash of blue light sent Death sprawling backward. He rolled across the ground but popped right back up to his feet, losing his baseball cap in the fall. His overalls were spotted with dirt, but he was otherwise unharmed.

As Morrigan emerged from the tomb, Noir leaped in front of her, black tendrils erupting from his body. Morrigan swung her scythe across them, severing them and sending them to the ground, wriggling like worms. Noir let out a hiss of pain as Morrigan jumped high into the air and descended towards Hilda and Emma.

Hilda clapped her hands and quickly chanted a spell. “Es’cathari prenai’ia!” she shouted, raising her hands into the air as her tattooed runes began to glow.

Morrigan’s scythe crashed into a spherical force a few feet above them, ripples of static moving across the clear, rounded surface. Hilda grunted, one foot stepping back to find purchase as she struggled against some incredible force. The tip of the scythe began to slip through her shield, sending off more blue lightning sparks, but in a moment Death was there to assist.

Airborn, Death’s scythe met the pole of Morrigan’s right below the blade and pulled it off it’s trajectory. His skeletal hand came forth, grabbing Morrigan by the collar of her hoodie as the demon’s limp arm smacked across his skull like a wet noodle. “Morrigan! You must fight it!” Death roared, his foot coming up and kicked her in the stomach with such force he send her shooting back to the ground.

Hilda took a knee, letting out a heavy breath, showing just how much effort it took to deflect the attack.

“Witch! Summon your staff!” Death said, landing back on the ground. Morrigan was already back to her feet, her extra half-Morrigan head letting out another screech.

“Summon it? I left it at home!”

“You can summon it! Witches had long ago mimicked the reaper’s spell to summon their catalyst! Feel for its power that should be so familiar to you and pull it into existence!”

“It’s already in existence! It’s in my damn apartment! Leaning against my TV stand!”

“It doesn’t matter!” Death yelled as he deflected another of Morrigan’s attacks. “If you don’t want your cousin to die, then do as I say!”

Panic and desperation filled the air as Death parried another vicious strike from Morrigan, her movements unnaturally swift and brutal under the influence of the changeling. The half-demon-half-Morrigan head continued its ghastly screeches, creating a discordant symphony.

Hilda, kneeling on the ground, struggled to comprehend Death’s instructions. “I’m telling you, I’ve never done that before!” she yelled, her voice laced with frustration.

Death dodged another swipe of Morrigan’s scythe, his skeletal form moving with surprising grace. “Concentrate, witch! Think of your staff, its essence, its energy! Draw it to you with your will!”

Emma, standing beside her cousin tried again to call out to Morrigan. “Morrigan, please! Fight back! You’re stronger than this demon!” she cried, her voice breaking.

Hilda closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. She pictured her staff in her mind, its feel, its weight, the intricate carvings along its shaft. She reached out with her magic, trying to connect with it and draw it to her, but to no avail.

Noir, observing the scene, hissed in frustration. “Master, this is futile! Please, give me permission to use lethal force! Let us go for her head and end this!”

“NO!” Emma yelled at the demonic cat, who now had half the flesh on his face missing.

“Have faith, Noir!” Death said, pivoting to get in front of Emma and Hilda, meeting another attack from Morrigan head on, their scythe’s colliding with another burst of energy. Death was more prepared this time and instead sent Morrigan sprawling backward on the ground, the extra limbs twisted and rolling in a chaotic mess. “Every second we buy is more chance for Morrigan to take control!”

“She is losing the fight, master! Can you not see the demon’s control is only strengthening!”

“I will not give up on my apprentice, Noir!” Death roared, running at Morrigan and swinging his scythe, the two blades meeting in a loud crash. “Not again!”

“There’s no choice!” Noir shouted as his flesh dissolved to form another tendril. It shot forward, severing the demon’s limp arm and sending it flopping to the ground. The half-Morrigan head screamed in agony as the abomination retreated, and its upper body wrigged as a bulb of flesh began to grow from the wound. Skin and flesh laced around it as a new arm grew; this time, it looked much more human, and even the half-human face seemed to cover the demonic side slightly more, making it more like the perfected Morrigan side of the head. “She’s losing, master! It is only growing stronger!”

Death’s voice was laced with grim determination as he continued to clash with his white-eyed apprentice. Each impact of their scythes sent shockwaves through the graveyard, the energy crackling with an eerie blue light.

Emma watched in horror as the demon took on Morrigan’s appearance more and more. The changeling’s screams were a chilling mixture of agony and fury.

“There is more at stake here than another apprentice, master!” Noir shouted, throwing another tendril at Morrigan. “If you are to fall imagine it’s power if it consumes us as well! Not to mention those two witches!” The newly grown arm grabbed the tendril out of the air and twisted it. Noir hissed and retracted it to his body.

“Not yet!” Death cried out. “There’s still hope!”

The newly grown arm of the demon lashed out, Morrigan’s movements evolving with a terrifying grace. As Death moved defensively to avoid the arm, Morrigan’s scythe arced forward. In a split second, it found its mark, slashing across Death’s chest. Death staggered backward, a rare look of surprise etched on his skull. Blue flames licked from the wound, illuminating his skeletal form in an otherworldly glow.

“MASTER!” Noir shouted.

Emma gasped, her hands covering her mouth. “Morrigan! Morrigan, please!”

Death’s legs seemed to shake as he steadied himself, the blue flames continuing to rise from his broken ribs and lick over the dirt-stained overalls.

Hilda let out a growl of frustration. She had been trying to summon her staff but finally concluded it was impossible. “Screw this! Emma, we have to run!” she shouted, grabbing her cousin.

“NO!” Emma fought off Hilda’s embrace as she tried to drag her away. “MORRIGAN! Please come back to us! PLEASE!”

Hilda twisted her hand into a symbol and jabbed her fingers into Emma’s chest. “Ah'tareste 'rei!” Emma’s body at once seized up to where she couldn’t move a muscle. The older girl rolled her younger cousin onto her back and carried her away as she ran off between the gravestones.

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Chapter 49 - Blue Flame