A Grim Reaper is neither Mortal nor Immortal. They cannot be killed, for they are Death's Minions. They do not age, for they are Timeless. Yet they cannot live forever, for the Doom and Blessing of the Grim Reaper is this; they will exist until they find love.
In all of time, there is one person the Grim Reaper cannot help but encounter, cannot help but fall in love with, and cannot help but watch die. And when that Mortal dies, the Grim Reaper, his life complete, will fade away as well.
~
Scythe of Shadows crouched over her grave, his black eyes wide with more emotions then the Bone-Rose had ever seen in one of his own kind. Terror, anger, pain... emotions of a mortal, in the pure and depthless eyes of a Grim Reaper.
“Step aside, Of Shadows,” he said calmly, his grip tightening around the handle of his own namesake-scythe. “That soul needs to be set free. It has already been three days... much longer and we risk her soul reawakening.”
“Leave us be, Bone-Rose,” snapped Of Shadows. “Leave me to what time I have left!”
“What use is it to linger by her grave?” Bone-Rose persisted, coaxing as gently as he knew. “She is dead, and you are dying. Shouldn't you free her soul to Death and use what time remains to continue our work?”
“What do you know of it?” Of Shadows screamed, his voice cracking and hoarse. Bone-Rose took a step back in midair, startled by the force of his emotion. “When you find her, love her, and lose her, then you may tell me what I should and should not be doing. When you are on your last moments, then you can talk. But you have not! I have, and I am. I do not care about other souls, and soon that will not even matter anymore! Leave me be.”
“I cannot,” Bone-Rose protested. “It is my duty to see the dead freed from their bodies, lest they rise again in torment. Would you have her stumbling hither and thither in her waking death, unable to comprehend, broken and ailing? If you loved her--”
“I WILL DO IT, THEN,” Of Shadows roared, then sank to the ground suddenly, his head lowered. His body and voice shook. “I... I will, before it comes to that, do it myself. Before I die. So just... just leave. Please, Bone-Rose. There is nothing else for me to do.”
So... this is what love does to a Reaper. It makes us like them.
Bone-Rose closed his eyes for a moment, then swung his thorny scythe up to rest against his shoulder.
“Very well, Of Shadows. If this is what you need to do, then do it.” He turned away but hesitated before leaving, pity for his broken brother swelling inside him. “I am sorry you have to do this alone. I'm sorry I cannot help you.”
~
The Dragonfolk Necromancers keep their methods close and secret, but in truth, for all the intricacies of programming a soul, the first and most necessary part of Necromancy is the ability to speak and deal with Grim Reapers. A Necromancer can ask Grim Reapers to leave a soul attached to the body even after death, for after a soul is severed and set free no magic can bind them once more to the Mortal World.
~
“My name is Tiberius, and I can help you.”
Scythe of Shadows raised his head, looking at the man before him with blank eyes. The turmoil of emotions that had been tearing him apart had also worn him down, and now there were no more black tears left to shed. Nothing left for light to shine off of in his soul.
“Who are you to offer such a thing?” Scythe of Shadows asked dully. “You are not Grim Reaper, nor necromancer. What are you?”
“I am a keeper, a soul-watcher, a maker of miracles,” replied Tiberius with a smile. “Deal with me, for I am the only one who can make such an offer to you.”
“And what is it you offer me?”
“The power to bring her back, and save you from the death of a Reaper.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
~
Necromancers in Dragon Society are honored, but they are not above responsibility. When a Necromancer abuses his power, the Emperor of Dragons can demand any penalty deemed appropriate and the Necromancer must comply, for the Imperial Royal holds the secret to taking away a Dragon's magic forever...
~
The dragonman whimpered and spasmed on the floor, reaching out a trembling hand in silent plea. Scythe of Shadows could see the man's spirit crying as his magic was torn from him again and again, splinter by splinter.
It was a pitiable sight.
He had chosen a necromancer already accused of misusing his powers, but even in this cell of his, the dragon had held himself with dignity. Now that same man writhed in emotional pain, like a fish on dry ground feeling his life draining away.
“Please...” he begged, his hand slipping towards the ground as his strength failed him. “Mercy, Reaper... mercy! Do not take... my magic...”
Scythe of Shadows considered the artifact, the power contained within. It was not a container for stolen magic but a conduit, yet some scraps of dragon magic were still trapped within from previous uses. The Dragon Emperor had not shied from using an unknown, ancient magic like this in need against his own people.
And Scythe of Shadows had never needed anything so desperately, not in over seven hundred years of walking the lines between the Mortal World and Death.
Tiberius stepped through a wall next to him, glancing briefly at the pitiful prisoner. “I believe you could stop there,” he said quietly. “If you wanted to spare what is left of his pride.”
“Very well,” replied Scythe of Shadows, his voice still coarse and rough with grief, and released the siphon. The man curled up on the ground, muttering wordlessly to himself, or to whatever gods the dragonfolk thought watched them. Scythe of Shadows and Tiberius left him to his imprisonment; they had what they had come for.
~
Grim Reapers are the servants of the unknown named Death. They see a mortal's life as nothing but the wait before death... until they are on the brink of death themselves. Only then, for a brief time, are they granted the chance to truly live.
~
“I bring her back now?”
Magic was a strange thing to Scythe of Shadows, for he was not a Reaper who dealt habitually with necromancers. He looked down at her grave, stolen magic swirling like a storm in his soul. It hurt, but if it did as Tiberius had promised... the pain and wrongness now would be worth it later. She was down there, and her soul still slept, tethered to her mortal body. Not for much longer, my love.
Tiberius put a gentle hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention back. “Not yet, my friend. Think of her. She is mortal, they need breath and light to live. Bring her back buried in the ground, and she will be scared, confused. Neither of us can free her, unfortunately, being of non-physical realms... but I have a solution. I did promise you an escape, a way to save yourself as well as her, didn't I?”
“What's your plan?” grated Scythe of Shadows, and Tiberius sighed slightly.
“Before you bring her back to life, you must first bring yourself to life, in the body of a mortal.”
Scythe of Shadows's black eyes narrowed. “How?”
“I have studied necromancy for centuries, watched true masters of the dragon art... it should be possible. If you find a very recently dead mortal, one whose body has not even begun to cool, and simultaneously bring him back to life and sever his soul from his earthly tether... you should be able to hijack the necromancy itself and tie yourself to the newly raised body. With an only barely dead mortal, sometimes a swift return to life can be explained, one way or another, by other mortals and they don't suspect anything, so you shouldn't even be suspected of being undead. If you're careful, there is no way humans could discover otherwise.”
“And then,” Scythe of Shadows said slowly, “I come back here, free her from her prison of planks and death... and...”
“Live,” Tiberius finished. “Together.”
Scythe of Shadows took an empty breath, casting out with his grim senses to find a human whose heart was beating its last. “Then let us waste no more time. She's waiting.”
~
Grim Reapers are not meant to practice Necromancy. Ever.
~
Tiberius balanced on a streetlight, watching through the walls of the ambulance as his plans collapsed in violent chaos.
The poor mortals scrambled hither and thither, yelling at one another with panicked words. The man whose heart had stopped moments before thrashed and writhed on the floor of the vehicle, having already flipped from his gurney. To Tiberius's otherworldly eyes, the true horror of the scene was also visible. The twisted souls trapped in a fragile frame, howling in terror and madness. Man and Grim Reaper, locked together by magic neither should wield.
“I made a mistake.”
Tiberius had truly thought it would work. Of course, his intentions had been selfish; having made a deal with him the Reaper's soul was his rightful prey, and eventually Tiberius would have collected the debt. But this... this was an abomination. This was a twisted result of magic that Tiberius had never seen before. The effects on his own soul if he tried to ensnare such a thing... it frightened him, he who had not been frightened by anything since the day he went Dark.
He straightened, standing tall above the tragedy for a long moment. With a twinge of regret, he gave the poor humans one more glance.
“I'll take my leave, then. Good luck, Scythe of Shadows... if you even exist anymore.”