Death is a Girl

Chapter 49 - Blue Flame

In the midst of their battle, the sun sunk lower in the sky, casting long shadows from the feet of the headstones. Death stood facing his wayward apprentice. Morrigan fused with the changeling was a sight that pained him deeply. He saw not just the monster before him, but the young soul who had been thrust into a world of shadows, a soul he had vowed to guide and protect. The bleak world he occupied was one he had eons to adjust to and accept his place within. Had he thrown Morrigan in too quickly? Had he over-estimated her and put too much pressure on her?

His movements were heavy with regret as he deflected another blow from Morrigan’s scythe, the force of the impact resonating through his bones.

“I know, Morrigan,” he said. “Fate has been cruel to you.” Their scythes collided again, his boots skidding backward in the dirt. “I know you don’t want to hurt anyone! You are a kind girl with a caring heart.” He pivoted to the side, avoiding an attack and finally slicing his scythe across the demon fused to Morrigan’s back. It wailed as she spun around scythe first, and Death barely avoided the blow. “A heart that is vulnerable when exposed to such darkness! This demon has taken advantage of you!”

Their scythes clashed once more, sending sparks flying in the dim light. The wound seemed to put the demon into a rage as Morrigan advanced with a barrage of attacks. Death easily deflected each strike as he tried not to harm her. Noir circled around, running to get into the fray. As he approached, multiple tendrils shot from his body, stabbing through not only the demon but Morrigan herself.

“Noir! No!” Death shouted.

“I am sorry, but she must be stopped!”

“Noir! I order you to stand down!” Death shouted. With a frustrated growl, the tendrils receded, their pact being such that Noir could not disobey a direct order from his master.

Death ran to get between Noir and Morrigan, as her eyes were now on him. Death saw how the once half-Morrigan head was now fully taking her human appearance, yet at the same time, it was nothing like her. The rotted flesh was covered by plastic skin; those deep blue eyes were void of any human emotion, and as its mouth opened, it wailed with an ear-splitting sound no naturally born thing could make.

Morrigan lunged at him, carrying the doll-like version of herself on her back, blood leaking from the wounds Noir had given her. She jumped as their scythes collided, her eyes no longer on Death but on his companion. “Noir!”

With a nimbleness that her deformed body seemed incapable of possessing, she flipped over Death, high in the air, her hands gripping the scythe while the demon on her back wailed like a banshee. Her scythe was poised, aimed directly at the skeletal cat who, stunted by his master’s command, could do nothing.

“NOIR! Defend yourself!” Death yelled, but it was too late. He looked on with a horror he hadn’t felt in ages as the scythe sliced through the small body of his companion. Noir’s head and upper legs rolled one way, and his hind legs rolled the other until his two halves came to a stop. Whatever flesh remained began to melt away, leaving nothing but two piles of bones.

Morrigan fell to her hands and knees, still gripping the scythe, but her white eyes seemed to look at Noir’s upper half. The demon, however, bobbed backward, hanging upside down from her back with its one limp arm dangling. The face of the doll-like Morrigan finally showed some emotion as its lips cracked into a smile, almost as if it were taunting Death.

“NOOO!” Death screamed, coming forward with another attack and hacking the demon’s head clean off. The severed head rotated in the air, smiling, golden blonde head flowing around it until hitting the ground. Then, a new bulb of flesh began to grow from the neck, and before Death could react, it shot at him like a fleshy spire not dissimilar to Noir’s tendrils.

Death had no time to react, and it scored a direct hit under his eye socket, splintering away bone and sending him falling to his back. He could see shards of bone that had made up his own face falling down on him as he hit the ground.

The fleshy spire retracted back to the neck, then became spherical as skin laced around it, and it reformed the Morrigan head. Meanwhile, Death tried to force himself back to his feet but took a knee. He wondered how he had become so weak. Eons ago, he’d battled far fiercer demons, back when their existence was a constant threat to the balance of the world. But, thousands of years of peace had him with only the occasional demon battle and never close to the might of the great demon lords of ages passed.

This changeling, fused to a reaper and thus drawing from a deep well of power, was proving to be far stronger than anything he had faced in a long time. If Morrigan’s life were not in the balance, he could unleash his full strength and have a better chance, but as things were, it was turning out to be an impossible situation.

He reached for his scythe, finding its smooth surface as he gripped his hand around it and pulled it back into existence.

How did he find himself in this situation? Was it arrogance? Complacency? Was he a fool to have allowed Morrigan off on her own for so long? He could have tried harder to find her, Noir had insisted that he should, but he had wanted to give her a chance to come to terms with things on her own. He never imagined things could get so bad.

Normally, that demon would be nothing to contend with, but he hadn’t expected it to gain control of Morrigan’s magic so easily. Now, it was showing strength it had no right to. It was embedded too deeply; he couldn’t sever them. Death knew the one way to bring it down. Kill the host, sever it from the well of magic it was using to regenerate its body, and then crush it. It would be so simple… but…

He watched as Morrigan, the real Morrigan, moved a shaky hand towards Noir’s remains. She was still in there. His apprentice was still alive! He just had to draw her out, but he didn’t know how!

Then, he watched the limp body pivot and force itself up over Morrigan’s shoulders once again. Its jaw landed in the crook of her neck, and it seemed to be whispering to her. Death’s hand clenched on his scythe… there was an opening! The demon felt its control wavering, and it was trying to reel her back in.

Blue flames licked from his damaged skull and ribcage as Death ran at them once again. “Morrigan! Don’t listen to it! Refuse to see what it shows you! It is all lies! You will find no peace under that demon’s rule!”

Morrigan rose and spun around, her scythe lashing out and stopping Death’s advance as he jumped back. The demon’s arm wrapped around her from under her shoulder, its hand gently caressing the side of her face as its lips moved over her ear. “He changed you, he made you like this. We can fix it, but he won’t let us.”

Death clutched the scythe, watching Morrigan’s face. Her white eyes squinted in pain and confusion as the doll-Morrigan caressed her face and whispered in her ear.

“Fight it!” Death called. “You must fight!”

The demon’s gaze suddenly shot at him and hissed like a cornered animal. The sound was even more unsettling now that it came from a mock version of Morrigan’s human self. The true Morrigan’s expression kept shifting, one moment seemingly on the verge of tears, the next squinting into anger, then confused horror.

“You shall not get what you want, demon!” Death growled, holding up his scythe with one hand but then tossing it away and letting it disperse. “Her heart is strong. Morrigan, see me now, I believe in you! I chose you because I believed in your strength! I saw your will to survive! Now fight!”

She suddenly fell to her knees, her head shaking, white eyes squinting as tears rolled down her pale cheekbones.

“No! He lies! He will make the nightmare real again! We are nothing but his tool! Remember the diary? You are not special, only one of many!”

Death stepped back. “Diary?”

The demon smiled as Morrigan’s expression shifted once again. She suddenly shot to her feet, scythe arcing upward from its low stance.

Weaponless, Death could only watch as Morrigan's scythe, imbued with her power as a reaper but guided by the demon's benevolent will—found its mark.

“Nooo!” Death moaned as it plunged into his body. Face to face with his apprentice for only a moment, he looked into her eyes, trying to see any trace of the Morrigan he knew. As he stumbled back, he fell against a tombstone, and ended up seated against it. Blue flames leaked from his various wounds as if trying to mend his shattered form. But, his strength to stand was gone.

The demon smiled gleefully. “Now, end it.” It commanded her, and to Death’s horror, she obeyed. Morrigan rose the scythe high in the air, her posture awkward as she carried the weight of the demon embedded into her back.

Death’s gaze faltered as his head fell limp, looking down, prepared for whatever would come. His demise would alert the fates. An emergency order would appear on the lists of all surrounding reapers, and this demon would be dealt with hastily. However, those other reapers would not try to save Morrigan. Her soul would be scattered to limbo, and nothing would remain of her.

His jaw cracked open. “Morrigan… I… am so sorry…” he said, helpless to prevent whatever would come.

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Chapter 50 - The Great Witch