It didn’t take long for Lucian to catch his predecessor up on what had happened to Yoshimi, how she had asked him to kill her in the end, and how he had done so even though he didn’t want to.
Once he was done speaking, Old Death nodded, the older man clearing his throat. “Then she had a death wish,” were the first words out of his mouth. “What else would it be if not a death wish?”
“She didn’t have to die.”
“No one has to die, she chose today. I wouldn’t blame myself, if I were you. You two clearly had a way out, you could have left and saved her. You could have, but you honored her wishes. That Azazyel…”
“Everyone hates him, don’t they?”
“If there was one thing to unite our troubled Progenies, it would be killing that unsavory, unlicked possum cub. He has been at the throat of both sides since long before I was chasing parasites. A fool, really, and a hungry one at that. And the more he is fed, the stronger he grows, making him harder for either side to take him down. They’ve tried, you know.”
“Working together?”
His predecessor laughed. “There aren’t many times I can recall our kind ever working together with Life; no, I mean working in teams within our separate Progenies. There were Deaths that tried to do it several times. To be honest, I have always been of the mind it would take a joint effort, but as you can probably predict, no one has yet taken my suggestion to heart.”
“Huh,” Lucian said, his bone armor with its metallic sheen melting back into his body.
“So don’t worry about your friend. She died doing what she wanted to do, and clearly that was helping you. As for Azazyel, if you weren’t already on his radar, which I’m going to assume you were, you definitely are now.” His predecessor wiped his hands together. “The bastard. Now, moving on, I see you are busy learning the basics of chemistry. Care to tell me what you are concocting?”
Lucian smirked at him.
“Yes? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I don’t think you will believe me…”
“You’ve already brought a giant robotic being to my world, and I am now in the body of an anatomically correct mechanoid with a swath of skin covering my metallic shell,” he said, looking at his hand. “I will believe you.”
“So I think I mentioned before that Yoshimi made this potion that replenished my power,” Lucian said. “Replenished my Soul Points.”
“Yes, I am familiar with the term that you have given your power.”
“It works. In fact, if you recall our battle against Wyatt, that’s how I was able to help Gaspard and Mastima heal themselves quickly so we could get out of there.”
“Recall?” His predecessor considered this. “I may no longer look old,” he said, running his hand through his silvery blonde hair almost as if he was trying to impress Lucian, “but even if I did look old, nothing has happened to my memory. Continue.”
“Right,” Lucian said, laughing quietly to himself. “Before everything went down in my brother’s backyard, she gave me another bottle of the stuff. After I got back here, I started wondering how I could replicate it. Because I don’t know what she did to make it, or how she was able to modify her mantlecore considering I’m still kind of new at this, I thought of a different solution.”
“Which was?”
Lucian tapped on the side of his head. “A bottomless bottle, one that cannot be emptied.”
“Ha!” his predecessor clapped his hands together. “Your ingenuity is boundless, my boy. So, you poured this potion into the bottle you concocted and…”
Lucian equipped the bottomless bottle and showed his predecessor what he meant, emptying its contents onto the ground, the liquid constantly streaming no matter how much he poured, a pool quickly forming around his feet.
“Like I said, your ingenuity knows no bounds. Rather than figure out how to create it yourself, perhaps reverse-engineering the potion if it were indeed possible, you simply created a bottomless bottle. Ho! I can’t wait to tell Leliel of what you’ve done.”
“I had to think of something,” Lucian explained. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to make potions in the same way that she did, but she didn’t tell me much about it, and it’s not something that I have time to really work with at the moment.”
“Understandable. Now, what does this have to do with being in your armor? When I stepped out of the forest, you looked ready to give someone hell.”
“I had this dream last night, something that I can’t remember happening or not. I guess that part doesn’t matter. The point is, I got to thinking about my life before I died, how I was always hooked up to machines, needles, all that stuff. I should know the names of all those damned machines by now, but I dreaded dealing with doctors so much I would pretty much block out all of my trips, and the time I spent in the hospital…” He started to trail off. “Bad times.”
“You aren’t the only one who has suffered. Continue.”
That was exactly what Lucian needed to hear, the younger man looking up at his predecessor and steeling himself. “Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, I was thinking about all the times I got poked and prodded, the machines I had to get hooked up to, and then I was thinking about this backpack I saw once that you could put water in. It had a tube that came down your shoulder,” Lucian said, touching his chest, “so you could just tilt your head a little and take a sip if you needed to refuel quickly. I think it was for hikers, joggers, those sorts. I also thought about some of the video games I played, a particular one where mechas were powered by a source connected to the back of the user’s helmet. Anyway, I combined these ideas, bottomless bottle and an intravenous system, and put those inside my armor. I also placed strategically positioned reservoirs all over my body, so if I lose an arm, or leg, or even my head, I’m still being powered, still rejuvenating my energy, if that makes sense.”
One of his predecessor’s eyebrows slowly raised. “So you are constantly powered, then, is that it?”
“The essence of our mantlecore, this potion that Yoshimi made, is constantly pumped through me when I’m wearing my armor. So right now, without the armor, no, I’m not. I’m just as vulnerable as normal, and would suffer Soul Point damage if I took it. But as soon as I equip the armor…”
Lucian brought up his hand, and as he did his metallic bone armor started to move down his arm. He then turned his palm toward his predecessor, a swath opening just beneath his wrist to show him one of the reservoirs, the small capsule filled with blue liquid.
“I also gave my crows and my replicants some of the stuff, figuring it wouldn’t hurt.”
“Which would give you unlimited stamina.”
“Bingo. Not only that, I would also have an unlimited ability to create things. I haven’t really exploited that one yet, but I could theoretically just keep creating weapons or whatever, just as long as I wore my armor. I’ll have to test that more; I don’t know what it would do to my mantlecore, but so far I haven’t noticed a change anything, at least one that I could feel.”
“Impressive,” Old Death finally said before his smile thinned. “I am sure you’ve already considered what I’m about to say, but even if you have, I will say it anyway: you should not tell anyone about this. No other Deaths, nor any angels,” he said, Lucian knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Nobody outside of the inner circle.”
“Danira hasn’t contacted me since I told her the truth about what I did. It feels like she’s never going to contact me, to be honest with you.”
“Never? It has only been a day or two,” his predecessor said, the man’s voice indicating that he wasn’t too concerned about their latest drama. “These angels will eternally operate on a different timeline than you are used to operating on, even as you grow into your role. One day you will look at time a little bit differently, a year having as much weight as a week, five years having the same weight as a month, that sort of thing. When you are immortal, time is inconsequential.”
“Yeah, I get i
t. It was just the way that she left. We were having a good time too.”
“And there will be plenty more good times, I’m sure, and perhaps some rough ones as well. After all, how can you classify a time as good if you don’t know what it’s like when a time is rough? You’re still new; it is understandable to be anxious after a few days of being abandoned by Life. She will come around, they always do. If there’s anything I know, it is that your angel will come around. Mine certainly did, although it took much longer than I would’ve hoped to take, and it resulted in me having to go to the South Wind to fight for her. Those are all just details now, what’s important is that we are finally together. Forever.”
“I’m not so sure Danira will work out in the same way.”
“You must trust me. We are the forbidden fruit to the beings. A fruit that never expires, mind you,” Old Death said, gesturing toward himself. “Not looking too bad for over two hundred years old, if I do say so myself.”
“I don’t know if I would consider myself a fruit…”
“Ha!”
His predecessor was about to say something when a shimmering portal opened up, the female Death known as Mastima stepping out of it.
“Remember what I told you,” Old Death said quickly as the woman approached, her hands coming up so she could remove the black hood partially covering her face.
“Lucian, Cuthbert,” she said, nodding.
“I wasn’t expecting company,” said Lucian’s predecessor, his purple eyes locking onto the female Death.
“I’m not here for you. Lucian, I need you to come with me.”
“Come where?” Lucian asked.
“To the Congress of Death,” she said. “Gaspard will be speaking soon.”
Chapter Twenty-One: Congress of Death
It was an entirely surreal structure.
Looming before Lucian and Mastima was a structure that was part coliseum, part abstract art piece, the roof of the structure coming down over the western side of the building and fanning out, almost reminding Lucian of what a scythe would look like if it moved through the air in slow motion.
The scythe-like structure was lit by giant blue torches, and it was the pathway that people took to the top of the coliseum, where they were ushered through arched doorways by floating masks.
Lucian had invited his predecessor to come, even though he knew the old man would decline his invitation.
Sure enough, after a series of curse words ending with “bah-humbug,” Old Death had turned back to the woods, reminding Lucian that he was done with the Progeny of Darkness.
This comment soured Mastima’s already foul mood, the female Death glaring holes through his predecessor’s back as he departed.
Even now, after they had arrived in this strange place—which looked like it existed on the surface of a foreign planet, the sky above the structure filled with a gaseous green haze, saber-like mountains in the distance, no sign of life—she was still complaining about him.
“He has no respect for what we are,” she said. “By taking this role that he has now taken, as a rabble-rouser still feeding off the mantlecore of a younger Death, he has not only preserved his life, but he continues to complicate ours. What kind of man is this? What is his ultimate goal in doing this?”
“He’s just in love,” Lucian said, not able to hide his grin.
“With a former member of the Progeny of Light?” she stopped walking and turned to him, her boots clacking against the pavement. “A fallen angel?”
Lucian shrugged. “Wasn’t it a member of the Progeny of Light that helped save you from Wyatt not too long ago?”
The dark-haired woman took a step closer to Lucian, sizing him up.
“Well? Wasn’t it?”
A portal opened behind them and a child in black robes stepped out.
The child Death continued up the stairs, to the arched doorway that led to what Lucian assumed was the seating area. Following the youth was a floating stuffed animal, also black, with large ram horns and an arcane marking on its back that glowed green.
“Maybe it is best if we keep our personal opinions to ourselves,” Mastima said, finally turning away from them.
“I’m not trying to start something here,” Lucian told her, “but I thought the whole reason we were here, and the reason we were doing this, was to put a stop to all this bullshit.”
“Yes,” she said with disdain, “I suppose you are right enough for me not to want to pursue this argument any further.”
Mastima stepped into the air and floated up the steps, Lucian catching up to her just as another portal fizzled into existence behind him.
He looked over her shoulder to see an older woman with a skeletal face, her sleeves touching the ground as she zipped by. She held her chin high as she moved past the two of them, the woman’s look giving off a Dia de Los Muertos vibe.
Other Deaths were appearing, of all shapes and sizes, ages and ethnicities.
Some of them were ghostly, others dressed in formal clothing, everything from period pieces to fashions Lucian had never seen before. This caused him to feel small for once, intimidated as he realized just how many of his kind existed.
Part of Lucian wanted to stay back and trade war stories with some of the ones that looked friendly, to hear how they had taken their mantles, but the way Mastima floated in front of Lucian told him that it would be best to keep up with her, that it would be best not to loiter.
They passed under one of the archways and found a pair of chairs, Lucian noticing that the stadium was half-filled by this point, more of his ilk taking their seats.
He wasn’t great at estimating numbers, but there were easily over a thousand already in attendance, more streaming in, guided by floating masks and blue flames.
A spiral of black energy began to descend from a nexus in the sky, and as it did it formed a floating platform, raised chairs morphing into existence on the platform.
Those seated at the back of the stands began to move toward the front, the seats filling even faster now as black backdrops unfurled behind the floating platform.
“What committee is this exactly?” Lucian asked. “Did you already tell me that?”
“These are the elders of the Congress of Death,” said Mastima. “Gaspard is appealing to them directly. It is not one of the committees.”
More Deaths floated in, Lucian feeling smaller by the minute. “Do you think this is going to work?”
“I don’t know; to be honest with you, I am surprised that this was the option he chose. I thought he would do something a little less public.”
“Do you think there could have been a better way to do it?”
“Appealing to the elders isn’t something that I’ve seen done very often in my time with this mantle,” she admitted.
“To think all these people here were just like me at some point. Alive. Sorry, I’m not trying to ramble here, or get philosophical or anything, I’ve just never seen so many of our kind in one place. All of these people were alive. They all have memories of who they were, of the times they lived in, maybe some of them conflicting. It’s just strange to think about.”
“It’s always fascinating to talk to someone who is new to their role, the naivety of rebirth. After a hundred years have passed, and then two hundred, then three, even if you have crystal clear memories, they too will fade.”
“What if I want them to fade?” he asked her. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to know about where I was from, or the people that I cared about. Easier that way.”
“Unfortunately, that isn’t up to you. As you know, before this, I was a girl from Canada. I died of an illness that would have been curable in less than a fortnight with modern-day medicine. I tried to stay alive, and the woman who held my mantle before me, Angwusnasomtaqa, liked my spunk.”
“I’ll never be able to pronounce that name.”
This statement caused Mastima to smile. “Yes, it was a rather long one. She was a Hopi Indian who had had the rol
e for nearly five hundred years and was ready to retire. And here we are. There isn’t much more to my back story other than what I’ve told you twice now. You will get similar stories here from those who have held the mantle for longer, if you started asking around. Eventually, you are able to boil down your past to a couple sentences. So in that way, yes, maybe your memory could somewhat fade, but you won’t forget it all.”
Lucian took the woman in, her fully black eyes, the softness of her skin, the way she looked both dead and alive.
He was just about to say something to her when he caught a spark at the corner on his periphery.
He turned back to the floating platform to see that there were now five people seated in the chairs, all of them older Deaths wearing blackened robes and grave expressions. They ran the gamut when it came to race, Lucian making the assumption that they came from all walks of life and times in human civilization.
Lucian was too far away to fully make out their faces, but he was easily able to see their stern expressions, especially as the dark-skinned man seated in the middle started speaking, his voice amplified.
“By the Order of the Seventh Level and the Books of Encumbering, we have been brought here today to hear the testimony of Gaspard Marchand, a minority whip on the Committee of Luminaries. We will hear his testimony, and then make our decision. That is all.”
“Short and to the point,” said Lucian under his breath.
“I just don’t…” Mastima shook her head. “It doesn’t make any sense why he would go this route. It is unlike him. It is so public.”
“You still haven’t explained another way for him to do this…”
Gaspard appeared, the man in a dark suit, his long hair slicked back and in a topknot, a spark of purple at his fingertips as his form solidified.
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