Death Sucks

by Andrew Mallen

  Gordon smirked, shaking his head, almost toppling with the effort. “Even as I fade you still fear me.”

  “I have never feared you! I fear nothing!”

  “Yet still you hide in that thing. I am here my son, weak and dying, why do you not face me as an equal?” Gordon asked, his voice hoarse, his blood starved skin as gray as a storm cloud.

  “I am not your equal,” Sin growled.

  Gordon nodded with his eyelids, using his head required too much strength. “No, you are not.”

  “I don’t care what you think of me!” Sin bellowed as if its volume would make it true.

  “You don’t even believe your own lie.”

  “Fuck you Esha!”

  “I think you would be better off fucking yourself my son,” Gordon whispered. “It seems to be your specialty.”

  “This time it is you I’ll fuck Esha.”

  “If you mean to talk me to death, then you are well on your way. All your nonsense, the prancing and boasting, all for show and only me to see it.” Gordon grinned a wicked grin, it looked as foreign on his face as a polar bear on a pyramid. “Did you forget to give this beast you hide inside balls?”

  Sin roared and pushed himself up onto his hind legs a millisecond before his scales melted, his tails retreated and his body dissolved, reforming into the surfer model once again. “Now brother, human just like you. See me, see who will end you.”

  “Handsome, but I think you let your ego get the better of you once again my son,” Gordon replied, unfazed. “I imagined you different somehow, uglier.”

  “Stop this nonsense! Human is human!”

  Gordon nodded and smiled. “Human is human.

  10.

  “Human.”

  “What?” Maria, mesmerized by the scene playing out between the gods, asked without turning.

  Bobby didn’t answer, he was already sprinting toward the devil’s scythe. Gripping the telephone pole thick handle in both hands he hefted it up and slid beneath it meaning to balance it across his shoulders. “Shit, Maria help me out here would ya?” he cried realizing he forgot something.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” she asked as she ran to his side.

  “Pull up my hood.”

  “Your hood?” Maria frowned, confused, but only for a moment. “He can still see you.”

  “Human is human,” Bobby recited what Gordon said, what He had wanted them to hear. “Gordo is still in the game.”

  “What?”

  Bobby had no time to explain. “The hood.”

  “But won’t he see that thing?”

  “Nope, as long as I’m touching it it’s invisible,” Bobby explained.

  “Oh…okay, good.”

  “The hood?” Bobby snapped, growing impatient, afraid of chickening out before getting started.

  Maria obliged, pulling the rough covering up over the Reaper’s head then lovingly tucking the hair in front of his face behind one ear. He didn’t disappear, the robe’s magic was impudent to the Angel’s eyes. With no other humans to confirm he was unseen he would have to rely on faith. Not his strongest suit, not by a long shot.

  “Bobby…” Maria began.

  “I know,” he interrupted. “I love you too.”

  “No,” Maria winked. “Hurry up.”

  “Wow, you’re messed up.”

  The Angel leaned in, took the Reaper’s face in her hands, and kissed him gently on the lips. Bobby swooned as love poured through her subtle lips, flooding every nook and cranny of his soul. Maria pulled away, her face mirrored what he’d felt. “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Yeah,” Bobby agreed. “Big time.”

  They held each other with their eyes, both could have lived in that moment for eternity and never wanted for anything else. But there was a god in need of killing first.

  “Gotta go,” Bobby pulled free of the trance and hoisted the huge weapon onto his shoulders.

  “Please be careful,” Maria begged as a tear tracked from the outside corner of one emerald eye, down her smooth cheek and into the crux of her trembling lips.

  If I was careful, I’d be hauling ass in the other direction.

  Bobby nodded. Maria wanted to say something, something deep, something inspiring but couldn’t find the words. Even if she could, she’d only be talking to herself, Bobby was already barreling down the gentle slope toward the well-dressed surfer and the one armed fisherman.

  *

  The two hundred yards Bobby needed to travel to get within striking range stretched out for miles. Sin could finish Gordon at any moment. One swing, one flick of his wrist and it would all be over.

  Feet don’t fail me now.

  Bobby pushed himself as hard as he could, his legs pumped, his feet pounded, if his heart beat it would have run like a rabbit with a hungry greyhound on its tail. As the gap closed, Bobby realized he had no idea what he was going to do once he got there. The enormous weapon on his back might as well have been a toothpick, it was pretty much useless. He could barely pick it up, swinging it, killing with it, would be impossible.

  Think fast Bobby. Think fast

  .He couldn’t swing it, it was way too heavy. He couldn’t throw it, same reason. An idea popped into his head, an odd one but the menu of options wasn’t exactly extensive. He could try to use it like a battering ram, a horseless jouster but with a giant farm tool instead of a lance. If he balanced it just right, with the blade in front, he might be able to get up enough steam to drive it into Sin’s guts, maybe even cut him in half.

  Sounds like a plan kid. Fingers crossed, toes crossed, I’d cross my balls if I thought it would do any good.

  Bobby was close enough to smell Gordon’s blood and the foul stench of Sin’s hate. Shrugging from under the scythe, careful to keep in contact so it remained invisible, he positioned himself two-thirds of the way up the handle where he figured the center of balance would be. Bending at the knees, pushing with his legs, heaving with his back, and pulling with his arms, taxing every muscle to its breaking point, he barely got it off floor. Quivering from exertion, Bobby looked toward Sin who stood no more than twenty paces away. If he got moving, if he worked up enough speed and kept the blade up high enough, he just might be able to do it, but there was a lot of ifs in the equation. A more likely scenario was that the weight would prove too much for him, the blade would pitch forward and bury itself it the grass sending him head first up Sin’s ass. The devil would be thrilled, not exactly the result he was looking for.

  The fucking blade is too heavy! And the fucking pole is too long! Stupid fucking thing! Wait. Heavy blade. Long pole. Heavy blade and long pole!

  Another plan birthed in his panicked brain and he seized it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of tactical maneuvers but it was all he had left. He’d come too far and risked too much to quit. Quitting wasn’t even on the table, not with literally the fate of every creature, dead and alive, in every corner of every world, depending on him.

  How the fuck did that happen?

  *

  “Kneel before your master!” Sin roared and sliced Gordon’s calf to the bone with a deft swipe of his bloody sword.

  Gordon’s leg gave way and he crashed awkwardly to the floor. His remaining arm, badly wounded by Sin’s first blow, was unable to break his fall and he face-planted at Sin’s feet. Sin howled with sadistic laughter and danced around the floundering god. “Look at you! Look at what you have become! Look at what I have done!” Sin cried as he kneaded his crotch and shuddered with vulgar excitement.

  Gordon struggled to right himself with an arm barely attached. Sin lashed out once again and completed the amputation leaving Gordon to collapse into the deepening puddle of his own blood. Sin shrieked louder and danced quicker, he was losing control, exhilarated beyond madness by his long awaited vengeance. Gordon rolled clumsily onto his back while gasping for air.

  *

  Come on Gordo, hang in there buddy, just a little longer, please.

  The massive blade threatene
d to topple, pulling from his fingers. He dug his nails into the wood, losing one or two, but managed to hold on. Spinning it around carefully until the butt of the scythe’s handle pointed at the revolting display, he drove it into the ground, waited and prayed.

  *

  Maria fidgeted with the handle of her sword as she watched the future of existence unfold. She wanted so badly to attack, to save her Lord from the horrors Sin was inflicting on him, but she couldn’t. She hated the demon so deeply and let the blackness of it have its way with her. It was new to her, it was something she had never felt before but it felt right. Sin deserved her hate, he deserved her wrath but she hated herself more in that moment than she hated the demon. She hated herself for doing nothing. She hated the oath that bound her and she hated her Lord for imposing it upon her. As the dark loathing engulfed her, she even hated Bobby. He was right behind them doing nothing but watching. Esha was fading, she could see it even from where she stood. The Reaper needed to do something quickly before he died if his wounds or before Sin’s thirst for revenge overcame him and he finished what he started.

  “Do something Bobby! Hurry up before it’s too late!”

  *

  Hold still asshole! Hold still for one fucking second!

  Sin stopped, legs spread and leaned over Gordon. His sword hung poised over the old man’s belly, its triple tip pressing against the blood soaked skin. “Let’s see what you’re made of brother,” he hissed. “Let’s see if you’ve got something special in there or if it’s just shit and guts like the rest of us.”

  Sin pushed the sword into Gordon’s stomach. The old man winced as the blade penetrated his skin and sliced through the delicate organs beneath it. Sin giggled as he eased it deeper until the three points disappeared below the bubbling well of blood they created.

  “Nope! Just blood and shit! Blood and shit!” Sin rejoiced like a miner who’d struck a vein of gold. “Blood and shit!”

  *

  Hold still you prick!

  Gordon, in agony beyond comprehension, looked past his tormentor at Bobby and winked.

  What the fuck? He can’t see me, can he? He can! Gordon you tricky old bastard! Hold on and get ready big guy and cross your fingers…my bad, none left. Cross something.

  Gordon batted his eyes, it was as close to a nod as he could give. Digging deep to find the last of his strength and courage he sat up slowly as the blade and pulled the blade deeper inside him.

  “Oh my, look at this!” Sin cheered. “Rising from the dead, a little cliché don’t you think brother?”

  “Sin,” Gordon’s voice was less than a whisper. “Hear me…please?”

  *

  “Hurry Bobby! Please? He’s dying Bobby, he’s dying!” Maria pleaded from where she shuffled on the opposite rise, incensed but petrified, unable to stand still but unable to act.

  *

  Sin yanked his sword roughly from Gordon’s stomach with a thick, wet pop like a boot being liberated from the mud. Gordon’s eyes closed for a long few seconds as he teetered on the brink of unconsciousness. “No brother, not yet” Sin cried, unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock and pissed in Gordon’s face.

  Gordon coughed back to life under the rank stream and Sin roared with laughter. Gaging violently as the hot, bitter liquid filled his mouth and burned his throat, Gordon collapsed onto his back as he fought for breath through the acrid fluid.

  “Come on Esha, dig deep!” Sin cheered. “Come on brother!”

  “Sin, please?” Gordon groaned. “Please, hear me?”

  “Beg brother! Beg! I want to hear the great Esha beg!” Sin mocked him, loving every moment of Gordon’s suffering.

  “I beg…” Gordon began.

  “No, beg you fool, on your knees,” Sin reached down and grabbed the armless fisherman by the seeping stumps and pulled him roughly up onto his knees. “There, that’s more like it.”

  Gordon cried silently, his face distorted by the agony reignited in his arms, punctured guts, the nerves left exposed beneath the strip of flesh carved from his chest, the deep gash in his leg and by the undeniable truth of his failure as a father.

  “Good boy!” Sin praised. “Now, come on, let’s hear it. Beg Esha! Beg!”

  “I beg you Sin…I beg…” Gordon obeyed the devil but the words drained what was left of his energy, his eyes closed slowly once again, his body folded, pitching him forward into Sin’s crotch.

  To Sin it was the icing on the cake. He bellowed at the sky, cackling like a lunatic under a full moon, lost in the satisfaction of fulfilling his greatest desire. Gordon heard none of it, he was fading.

  Sin spent his laughter and returned his attention to the dying old man nestled against his pulsating cock. Grabbing a handful of Gordon’s thick, silver hair, he wrenched it back to look into his face.

  “I’d let you have it you horny, old perv but right now is not a good time for me,” Sin howled and shook Gordon’s head vigorously to wake him before continuing his taunting. “Anyway, no offense, but you are definitely not my type. I’m not into dirty old men.”

  “Hear me,” Gordon croaked without opening his eyes.

  “This better be good brother,” Sin’s curiosity finally got the better of him.

  The devil bent over Gordon, held the old man’s head to his ear and waited for what he expected to be a last-ditch attempt to save himself from the inevitable.

  Perfect! Just like that! Good job Gordo! This is it! Now or never!

  Sin was bent over with his back exposed and waiting. Bobby didn’t waste a moment, he couldn’t afford it. After double checking he lined him up just right, he pushed the scythe up over his head and began walking it up to full mast. Hand over hand, step by step, he eased it upright as the butt end sunk deeper into the bloody muck. His arms burned as overtaxed muscles rebelled. He forced himself to ignore the pain. He had to. To Maria, he looked a soldier raising a flagpole over a bloody, hard won battlefield. She hoped it was an omen and prayed she’d get to chance to tell him about it later. The last few steps were the hardest. The pain raging in his arms and legs, his back and neck, threatened to consume him. Bobby refused to let it, forcing himself forward, willing the scythe to climb above him as he did. Pain, after all, was a small price to pay to avoid an eternity of a much more potent variety.

  When he finally stood the immense weapon up to its full height, the thrill of accomplishing the feat quickly vanished as gravity threatened to pull it from his trembling grasp.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  Grabbing the pole with both hands, leaning back, hoping his weight would be enough to halt the scythe from toppling uselessly in the wrong direction. His heels slid for a brief, terrifying moment.

  Fuuuuuucccck!

  Sin heard his mind’s desperate cry and turned toward it.

  “Grant you little shit, where are you?”

  Oh fuck.

  “You never could control that mind of yours. I warned you Grant,” Sin continued as he watched for a sign that would reveal the Reapers whereabouts. “I knew it would end up being the death of you.”

  “Oh fuck you!” Bobby shouted as he struggled to hold the scythe in place.

  “Be patient, you will have your turn. I haven’t forgotten you or that pretty little bitch of yours.”

  “You first asshole!” Bobby hated him so deeply it almost scared him.

  *

  Gordon knew this was the end. He had nothing left. Another moment or two and he would lose himself to the darkness of death that tried so desperately to drag him into its embrace.

  “You first,” Gordon repeated the Reaper’s threat and let himself fall backward while driving his remaining foot up into Sin’s crotch from behind. He put everything he had into the assault, there was nothing left to save it for.

  Sin yelped in surprise as Gordon’s sturdy boot smashed his balls and shot one up into his stomach along with a white, hot bolt of excruciating pain. Folding over as the pain dug deeper into his guts he turned toward his attacke
r. Gordon lay smiling back at him. Seeing it, Sin’s need to draw out his father’s suffering was at last overpowered by his rage. “I’m going to feast on you brother!” he screamed. “The last thing you will see is me eating your heart.”

  Gordon smiled wider.

  *

  Bobby took one final second to adjust the scythe then pushed it toward the two gods. The blade sliced the air with ever increasing speed as it fell, its weight propelling it downward in a blur of deadly purpose. Bobby saw it all in super-duper, one-legged tortoise, slow motion.

  Hurry up! Please hurry the fuck up!

  *

  “Why are you smiling?” Sin growled as the clenching pain in his belly began to loosen its grip.

  “Because I won,” Gordon whispered.

  Sin frowned in confusion but in the millisecond of time before it all went wrong, he knew.

  The massive blade struck Sin just above his waist as he stood. The weight of the weapon, combined with its wicked edge and the force of its fall, cut through skin and bone without slowing. It cut Sin neatly in two with deadly efficiency. His upper half crashed to the ground as his legs buckled and swayed before toppling in the opposite direction.

  “Nooooooo!” Sin cried, dumbfounded by pain and shock. “This cannot be! No! No!”

  Bobby pushed back his hood, he wanted Sin to see him when he died and he wanted him to know he was the one who had killed him. “Dude, you don’t look so good,” Bobby was going to enjoy making the devil’s last moments as miserable as possible. “You’re falling apart my man.”

  “You little shit…you’ll pay for this,” Sin vowed but it lacked power, it lacked venom, a dying man can’t really promise anything.

  “Easy big guy, hold it together,” Bobby replied with a grin as he strolled closer, careful to stay out of reach, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake Sin had.

  Maria barreled past him in a flurry of white robes and red curls. “My Lord?” she cried as she threw herself onto the ground beside him.