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Gift of the Gods

Up in Jugement, one of the Old High Ones, Azrael, was playing a game of chess against the King of the Gods. The King moved his piece into position.

"Check."

Sand whirled through the desert, past the many small oasis dotting the dunes. A lone figure skulked across the shifting sand, no footprints in its wake. The huge staff, gnarled at one end and with a smooth offshooting handle higher up, leaving no trace that it had ever been there as it tapped the sand. He wore the lightest of ragged, torn cloth, and all of his muscles looked atrophied. His long feline tail dragged along the ground, his ears lopped to his lead and his hair and fur were matted and gritty; and despite the size of the staff he held, it didn't hinder him in any way. He walked with purpose, his bright orange eyes staring straight ahead with determination. His name was Trace Echo, and he has been doing this for his entire life.

Well, technically that wasn't true. Trace was dead. he had been dead for many, many years. He had died just as he was being born. The powers that be, however, concluded that he had had no chances to show whether he was good or bad, so they placed him into the only option available. He had become a Reaper. Not the Reaper; the Grim Reaper organised the others, he was a Reaper. It had long been his duty to harvest souls from their mortal bonds so that they could be judged. He was, however, the only Reaper that Grim could not fully control. He had died too young, too innocent, for the powerful entity to control him; so instead Grim had decided to make Trace go to the most remote of places, far from the rest of the Reapers that he could socialise with, to harvest souls. Grim's idea was that if he became lonely enough Trace would snap and do someting that would align him with one or the other so that he could be rid of him.

His chance was obliterated today. Trace had been alone for a very long time, his latest trek had taken an equivelant of five days solid walking to get him out here and he was suffering from severe loneliness. He finally stopped walking when he reached his destination; a small half buried skeleton, almost one hundred metres from an oasis. The pearly white bones told him that they had been here months, maybe years, and he looked with a heavy heart and apologetic eyes at the soul that curled out of the skull. It was a male, curled up into a ball and crying. He smacked his staff onto the sand and a blade materialised at one end, forming a perfect Reaper's Scythe. The loud noise got the soul's attention and it turned its sorrow filled face to see him.

"Y-you're a Reaper?" It asked.

"Yes." Trace replied.

"It has been so very long since I died; many winters have passed." the soul sobbed. "I thought that I was to be alone for all eternity..."

Trace held the scythe up with expert hands. "I am sorry for the sorrow you have suffered, alone here for so long." He said. "You shall be released now."

The soul nodded, and Trace's scythe swung through the tether binding it to the nearly buried skeleton. The soul beamed, and started to dissipate. Trace grabbed the soul's fading hand and he too vanished from view.

He and the soul stood at Judgement, where the gods that be weighed the good and evil in the individual's life and would judge accordingly. The halls were nearly empty, early spring was always quiet, and Trace and the soul had no trouble walking up to the deity that the soul had worshipped in life. The god looked down at the soul.

"Arthur Debbins." The deity said with a booming voice. "You should have been here years ago. What has kept you?"

Trace stepped forth and knelt on one knee with his face shied from the god. "Lord;" he said, "Grim has only recently sent me to harvest him. He has suffered much, living endlessly in the desert with no companions or duties; surely this shall be taken into account for his judgement?"

The god smiled and put a massive finger to Trace's face, turning his eyes forward to see the god. "I thank you for your honesty, young Reaper." He boomed. "However his fate is not your concern."

"I understand." Trace said. "Lord, I wish to ask a question of you, am I allowed your wisdom after you have judged this soul?"

"Of course." the god said. A set of golden weights popped into existance infront of the trio, and the soul's good and evil deeds were weighed. He was found to be a very good person, doing what he could for everyone, even strangers. The soul said some quick thank-yous before he vanished to whatever heaven he believed in.

Now Trace had the god's full attention, and he fell to one knee again, averting his eyes from the god's face.

"Lord, why does the Reaper dislike me?" He asked.

The god thought for a moment before turning Trace's face to his own. "Trace;" he said, "Grim dislikes you because you are special."

"Special..?"

The deity sighed and signalled another god over to his side.

"Trace, do you remember the circumstances of your birth?"

"Not exactly." He admitted.

"Trace, you were born both during and after your mother's death." The god said. "You are unique, as you are the only person who has ever existed with only a soul. Grim dislikes you because, unlike the other Reapers, he does not have a mental control over your mind. It is as if you are alive, even though you are among the dead."

"We, upon your birth, decided to place you in where you would grow up wise and have a purpose." The other deity said. "And while you have exceeded our expectations, you sadly have not grown up as you should have."

Trace had to ponder what the deity had meant by this, but he could not figure it out.

"Trace; have you noticed how much more muscle the souls have over you?" The god continued. trace shook his head. "It is because they have had a need for them, whereas you do not."

"Lords;" Trace began, this time projecting to the entire hall, "How many souls have I brought back that have taken me many days to reach?"

The gods stayed quiet, all watching him with interest. The answer was many, as from day one Grim had always sent him the furthest of any Reaper.

"And I have never once had a break, in fifteen years I have been working endlessly. Lords;" he continued, "I ask again, why does the Reaper hate me?"

"What makes you think he hates you?" A female deity asked.

"I am always sent alone to harvests that are days from other people. My mind is intelligent, yes, but I am growing tired of always being alone." He said, now on the verge of tears. "I have friends in the Reapers whom I have not seen for weeks, for as soon as I return home I am sent out into solitude once more. I beseech you, help me."

The female god from before bent down to bring her face to his own. "What help do you require, young Reaper?"

"I know what Grim is doing to me." He said. "Trying to break my mind so as to get a stronger hold on me. I am afraid that he will succeed and that the few strands of my innocence will break under his control." He held out an arm weakly, the light shining off of his thin skin and dirty fur. "I have never eaten anything, but I know we have a banquet hall at home." He said. "And the other Reapers do have muscle, far more than I."

The gods stood around him in a semicircle as Great Blind Thrum, the leader of the gods, stepped towards him. He shrunk down to the same height as Trace and snapped his fingers.

The Grim Reaper appeared at Thrum's side, looking about in his momentary confusion. He noticed Trace and instantly threw his attention where he could.

"Trace! You were supposed ta report 'ome!" He yelled. "I have your next assignment, a soul in the Itachi Mountains."

"I take it I am to travel alone, sir?" Trace asked sadly. Grim nodded.

"Chu are ta go alone, we are stretched t'in a' tha moment and-"

"Enough!" Thrum's voice sounded. "Grim, when we put Trace into your care he was to be well looked after." He said. "And clearly you have failed us"

"What do you mean, sir?!" Grim asked.

"You have been neglecting him far worse than a mortal would neglect a cockroach." Thrum snapped. "I may have no eyes, but I can still see, Reaper. He is malnourished and frail, his mind has been driven almost to insanity with loneliness, he is clothed in the same robes he was given when he was but a child, and now you have been caught lying to him." Grim garbled inconherently for a moment before Thrum spoke again. "You swore you would treat him well, but instead you have treated him with malice in your heart. This shall be remedied now, for the sake of his eternal soul."

Thrum turned to Trace and put a hand on his shoulder. "Trace, you are no longer under the direct command of Grim." He said. A warm feeling flowed through Trace from Thrum's hand, and he felt somewhat refreshed. "As an added apology, you are to be given your own Nightmare to ride to souls. You may choose any animal that can carry your weight that you wish, and you may name it as you wish; however you must take care of it."

Trace fell back to his knees, tears rolling down his face. "Thank you Great Thrum." He said to the tiled floor.

"And you!" Thrum bellowed, turning to Grim. "You shall give Trace a full list of the souls he shall gather each week at daybreak every monday! That is the limit of your control over him!"

Grim lowered his skeletal gaze to the floor. "Yes, lord." He said.

"Trace, you are more unique than even my fellow gods give you credit for; please be vigilant with your life."

Trace nodded. His mind began racing over all the different animals he knew of that could support his weight that would be suitable as a mount. "I understand lord." He said.

Thrum straightened his back and beamed before walking back up to his seat.

Grim scowled at the feline, and another god grabbed his robes.

"Grim, you are to go to the soul you had Trace lined up for personally." She said to him. "Trace is to take a temporary leave for a day or so to get his health back; and you shall supply him with new Reaper attire."

Grim reluctantly bowed. "It shall be done." He grumbled, before vanishing into darkness.

Trace smiled weakly. "Thank you, lords." He mumbled before he too vanished.

Trace reappeared in the Reaper headquarters, right outside the uniform office. The line for the counter was nonexistant, and the Reaper behind the counter was busy sharpening her scythe when Trace walked in. She gave him one look and snorted.

"Uh..." Trace mumbled. "Trace Echo, I'm here for a uniform."

"What's that you're wearing?" The female Reaper asked. "Looks like the bottom of a waste basket at a cloth factory."

Trace looked down at the meager cloth covering him and sighed. "This is the uniform I was issued when I was five." He said. "I have outgrown it by many seasons."

"The dead do not grow." She said.

"I'm... different." He replied. "The gods told me to recieve a new uniform, so here I am."

The girl chuckled. "I've got no word of it, so-"

A letter, with golden edging and letters exquisitely written in pure silver dye fell onto the counter with a light tap. The signature was that of Thrum. The girl opened the letter quickly and her eyes skimmed the lettering.

"A-ah." She mumbled, putting the letter down. "I see."

She wandered off into the back rooms, which Trace could see many robes of different sizes hanging. They all looked different to the robes he remembered when he was young, and the girl eventually returned with a large suit bag and a hefty sharpening stone.

"Your rank has been heightened due to the amount of souls you have harvested, and so your new robes show your heightened rank." She said, handing Trace the items.

"How many souls have I collected over the years...? He asked rhetorically.

"Twenty thousand and five." She said nonchalantly. "It's a rather fair amount, actually; only veterans have as high a count. How long did you say you'd been harvesting?"

Trace chuckled as he turned to walk away. "My whole life."

He skulked through the halls up to his dormitory. The headquarters existed in a 'rift' between the real world and the afterlives; it was Limbo, the space between. In effect, the headquarters was endless; new dormitories were emerging as the ranks of the Reapers grew, and they numbered in the thousands. Most simply stayed busy, sharpening scythes, tailoring robes etc; and only a dozen or more were ever out harvesting at any one time. Their numbers were only vital when wars or plagues happened, in which case they could act quickly; descreetly harvesting the souls of the fallen quickly so as not to leave them lingering to watch friends and allies slain. The last war was brutal, and when the Atomic Bomb was dropped onto the major city of Arathant, Grim himself was there to increase the pace. Trace stepped into his meager dorm, the smell of dust permeated the air, and a light grey haze covered almost every surface. His bed was made, but it too was covered in the dust that had settled over the last fifteen years. He sighed as he flicked on the lights and put his new uniform on the bed, a light cloud of dust wafting up as the bag heavily fell onto the bed.

He wanted a shower, and badly. He had been out in the world for so long that his hair and fur had long ago lost their luster, and he wanted to wash his old uniform. He stepped into the small bathroom, turned on the shower and stood under the running water without even bothering to disrobe. He sighed heavily as the warm waters ran through his fur, and he eventually washed the dust off of the bar of soap. He spent what felt like forever in the running waters, and when he stepped out he felt so much lighter. His hair, now back to its original fluffy brown, had dropped years of dirt and grit, and his fur hadn't been much better. He quickly dried off and hung his torn, ragged clothes above the bath to dry. He moved his new uniform and sharpening stone, shook the dust from the sheets on the bed and jumped in. It was the first time he had been in this bed in years, and he didn't want anyone to barge in while he slept, so he had locked the dormitory door tightly. Slowly as he drifted to sleep, his mind flooded with images of animals.

He awoke (technically) the next day. He opened his eyes a crack to see the three other Reapers he talked to most often sitting about the room dusting things off. He sat bolt upright in bed and pulled the sheets around himself.

"W-what're you guys doing in here?" He asked.

"Ah, he's awake." Theresa, the only female of the trio, said. "Grim told us to clean your room."

"Did he?" Trace growled. "That was nice of him." He rolled his eyes sarcastically.

Damien shrugged. "Well, we are only doing what we were told to do."

"How'd you three get in here, anyway?" Trace asked. "I locked the door."

"You should know that no lock can hold a Reaper." Patrick replied.

Trace sighed, slapping a palm to his forehead. "So how've things been for you three?" he asked.

The trio shrugged. "Pretty average." Theresa admitted. "There's not been a major problem in the world for so long that we're starting to think we're redundant."

"You're never redundant to me." Trace mumbled.

The trio smiled and walked to the door. "We'll let you get dressed." Damien said as he passed through the solid wood.

Trace was left on his own once more, and he quickly pulled on his new uniform. Black jeans, black shirt with golden trim and a long black cloak with a hood that featured golden stitching. Despite the heavy clothing that he now wore, he still felt naked. He stepped into the bathroom and tied his old torn robes around his waist like an extremely ragged belt. Now he felt complete, and he grabbed his scythe as he walked through the door. the others stood outside the door waiting for him.

"I'm headed to the banquet hall." He said. "You guys're welcome to join me if you wish." They shook their heads.

"Nah, we have other things we need to do. catch you later!" Patrick said, waving.

"Yep, have a nice day."

Eventually Trace found his way to the banquet hall; the room was massive, large enough to seat ten thousand people with plenty of legroom. The ceiling was possibly miles above, as the walls faded to an inky blackness. He was at a loss at what to do now; he knew that people got food in here somehow, but he didn't know how exactly. He stood about perplexed for a while before a voice called him.

"Hey! Trace! Over here!"

Trace quickly spun in the direction he was called from, another Reaper was standing behind a counter waving at him. Trace cautiously walked over to the counter.

"Hey, Trace;" the Reaper, a canine called Oscar, said, "not seen you stop in the hall before. 'Sup?"

"I've got some free time." Trace said. "And I thought, maybe, I'd get something to eat. I just don't know how..."

Oscar sighed. "You've not eaten here before I take it?"

"I've not eaten." Trace meekly replied. "I've no idea, honestly."

Oscar put a paw on his shoulder. "It's okay, Trace." He said. "Not all of us are oblivious to your... Unique existance. Tell you what, I'll make you something that you're bound to like, you just wait here and I'll bring it to you, that sound okay?"

Trace shyly nodded. "Thanks, Oscar."

"Don't mention it." Oscar replied as he walked into the kitchen.

Trace waited for roughly ten minutes, the smells of a working kitchen filling his nostrils and the sounds of a room of socialising people echoing through the hall. Another Reaper, wearing the same style uniform as Trace, grabbed him by the back of his robes and swung him around.

"What're you wearing that rank unform for, whelp?!" He yelled. Marcus Regret, the most decorated of Reapers, was possibly the shortest tempered one at the same time. He had long had a dislike for anyone in the same rank as he, fear that they might one day overshadow his massive reputation.

"I wear what I am given." Trace replied, which got him punched across the face.

"You aren't worthy of those robes! Barely worthy of the ragged cloth you wear about your waist!"

Trace sighed. "If it is a fight you want, mayhaps if you broke my arm you would even the scales?"

Marcus threw him across the hall and into a table, the heavy oak stopping him painfully. "Whelps should know their place!" Marcus yelled, slamming his scythe on the ground and making the blade appear.

As he charged Trace down, Grim stood in the doorway to watch the fight, a disinterested gaze peering from his empty eyesockets. Marcus swung his scythe, but the blade stopped inches from Trace when he slammed the end of his own into Marcus' stomach. Marcus was winded for a moment, but he was quickly knocked on his ass when Trace kicked him in the chin. Trace slammed the blunt end of his staff into Marcus' arm, breaking it with a loud crack as the blade materialised.

"Whelps should know their place." Trace growled. "While you've been here relaxing for the last few years, I've been out there every single day Harvesting. Never once have I slept, never once have I eaten, never once have I stopped in fifteen years!" Now he was almost yelling. "And never once have I had to fight another Reaper over 'rank superiority'! We are all Reapers! Our job is to free the souls of the dead from their mortal remains, there is no glory to be gained doing what we do! We exist only for our work; there are no crowns, only the harvest!"

His words echoed in the now silent hall, and he suddenly became aware that he was the centre of attention. Oscar stood at the counter with Trace's food, and Trace quickly closed his scythe, walked over to Oscar, took the food with a polite thank you and rushed back to his room. If he had bothered to open the door, he would have slammed it behind him, but instead he simply walked in, put his food on an available tabletop, sat on his bed with a heavy thump and broke down into tears.

Some time later there was a light rapping at the door. Trace paid it no heed, but it gently became more insistant and he had to relent.

"Who is it?" He asked.

"It be me." Grim's voice called back. "Can I come in?"

"I don't see why not." Trace replied, still staring into his carpet dismally. "Everyone else can."

Grim walked through the door and sat in a chair opposite Trace. He glanced about the room momentarily. "Dey didn't do too bad cleanin' up all da dust." He mumbled conversationally.

Trace wasn't listening. He just sat on his bed and stared at the carpet; he hadn't even gotten up to eat the small roast that Oscar had cooked for him. Grim sighed.

"Chu want ta know why I'm here?" He asked in a tone that told Trace he would keep talking anyway. "What chu said earlier in da banquet hall... Right den and dere you reminded me o another young Reaper dat I knew."

Trace didn't talk, he knew that Grim would continue whether or not he asked who it was.

"It wasn't one of your chums, either." Grim continued. "Do you wanna know who it is?"

Trace meekly nodded; if there was another Reaper that thought like he did he wanted to know who it was.

"It was me." Grim said. Trace looked up at the skeleton in mild shock, but Grim continued. "Many, many centuries ago, I was ta be replaced wit another Grim. Dere was a group dat tought I was a menace, and dey managed to petition me a lifetimer. I spent dat time on a small farm where I learned many tings about how precious life is; and when da new Grim showed up, he 'ad on his head a crown, sayin' he wanted to rule over all deaths, and dat takin' mah life was like takin' the souls of a million lesser lives. In mah rage over his arrogance I killed him wit mah own scythe, yellin' 'no crown! Only tha Harvest!' " Grim sighed and stood up. "I just tought chu might like ta know." He said. "I'll go now. Chu should eat yer roast before it goes cold." He swiftly and silently walked through the door, leaving Trace alone once more.

Trace sighed and stood up. He walked to the table, sat down and ate.

Nightmares

The next day Trace found himself being avoided by the other Reapers. They would find reasons to duck into rooms, or go around corners to get away from him. He felt more alone than ever, and when he ordered food from the kitchen, he stayed in the hall only long enough for Oscar to hand him his food before he would slink back to his room. Even his friends were nowhere to be found, and so he spent the majority of the day alone sharpening his scythe or deep in thought. His scythe was about as sharp as it could be to begin with, but by the time he was finished it could have cut through even purest titanium and he knew he had to stop or risk using up what was left of his first stone, which wasn't much. This thing he treasured. It was his first posession that he had ever recieved, and even though there was barely any of it left, he loved it like a poor man loves a bar of gold. He closed his scythe, put it on the bed and hid the stone in his wardrobe. He had had a nightmare whilst he slept the night before; a massive skeletal wyvern had attacked him and gobbled up his stone, at which point he awoke sweaty and in tears, and he had doublechecked to make sure his stone was safely in his robes before attempting to sleep once more.

After he had hidden his stone where he was sure that no-one would find it he finished his food and returned his plate to the kitchen, ever wary of the glares he got as he wandered the halls. When he returned to his room, one of the Gods was there waiting for him. Trace averted his eyes before he spoke.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit my lord?" He asked.

"We have been watching, young Reaper." The god replied. She was Bastet, a fertility goddess. While she didn't have to judge lives, she still had many a thing that she was in charge of. Her long feline tail and little cat ears moved in a wind that was not present. "You are lonely. The Reapers are scared of you because of your strength and what happened yesterday, am I correct?"

Trace nodded. "Yes, m'lord."

Bastet smiled. "It is fine, young Reaper, you may see my face. Unlike most other gods I prefer to see the eyes of whom I talk to." she kindly said. Trace reluctantly looked her in the eyes. "There you go." She said. "You are indeed very thin... Mayhaps it is fortunate, although she is strong..." She mumbled to herself.

"Of whom do you refer, lord?" Trace asked.

Bastet grabbed his had with her gloved own. "Come, young Reaper." She said.

And then they vanished.

Trace and Bast reappeared in a huge cave lit only by Bastet and another god leaning against a stalagmite. Dagda, once an Irish god of Life, had a list of likes and dislikes a mile long. He disapproved of the Reapers for seperating soul from body, but he also hated the fact that death was inevitable. Long had he enjoyed musing the prospect of resurrecting the dead, but the Reapers seperating body and soul was the main problem in this. every so often, however, through one means or another he would find a way to create new life from old, spawning the 'Undead' of the worlds. It was to him that Trace owed his 'life'. If Dagda hadn't stepped in with his proposition then Trace wouldn't exist.

"Greetings, Trace." He said. "You have certainly grown since I saw you last."

"Good day, lord." Trace replied. "If I may ask, what is the purpose of our presence here?"

Bastet stepped infront of Trace and held out a small orb. "We have aquired a soul." She said. "It is a very special soul. She is strong, both physically and magically, but without a name she cannot be made into your Nightmare. Think hard, Trace, this is important."

He stared at the glowing sphere, raking his brain for ideas and names to use. He finally came to a conclusion, but was it good enough...

"Lillith." He said.

Bastet looked to Dagda. "It means 'Of the Night.'" He said matter-of-factly. "It's... Not a bad choice for his Nightmare." Bastet handed Dagda the small orb and he breathed on it. "Lilith;" he mumbled, "spread your limbs and live."

Dagda swung his arm down, throwing the orb into the stone. The sphere smashed and the rocks glowed lightly before the light faded. Bastet looked confused.

"Is that all?" She asked. "No huge explosion, no swirling light, just 'Smash! Ooh, I'm all dramatic!' ?"

The rocks cracked loudly. "Not quite." Dagda said with a smile on his face.

The floor of the cave heaved, tonnes of rock and dust thrown in all directions as a large head pulled from the stone, followed by a wing and then a torso. The eerie purple fire that shone from every joint lit the cave, and the undead wyvern pulled itself from the rock. Trace backed away carefully, his nightmare showing it's ugly head in real life.

"Trace;" Dagda yelled over the crackling of rocks against the ground, "the gods are proud to give you your Nightmare; Lillith!"

Trace wasn't listening, he was terrified out of his mind, and only when Bastet grabbed his shoulder did he recover his senses. "Sh-she's certainly a wonderful creature, Lord." Trace wimpered. "But she's terrifying me."

Dagda looked at the dragon shaking rock off of its skeletal form. "Indeed, I see your problem." He said. "Mayhaps..."

Another goddess, the egyptian goddess of Creation and Weaving Neith, appeared next to Dagda. She gave the massive dragon skeleton one look and sighed. "Dagda, you're really out of your mind."

"Don't blame me that his nightmares forged something of true horror." He retorted. "Just help us out by making her less horrifying to Trace, would you please?"

Neith sighed and put her hand to the skeletal monster; muscle and scaled skin flowed from under her palm, the scales tinting a dark sombre black over time. Lilith glowed eerily as she stood tall. The process finished by filling in her eyesockets, her eyes a shining purple. Lilith shrunk slightly, to just over the size of an average horse, and Neith took her palm from the dragon.

"It is done." She said. "I have even shrunk her down slightly to make her easier to climb onto."

Trace stepped forth and put his palm to the Nightmare's cheek. She cooed lightly and nuzzled into his hand.

"This is her den." Dagda said. "You would be wise to make it comfortable for her. The mouth of this cave is impossible to access from the outside world, and even if anyone could find their way in here they would not find anything of interest. Your dormitory has a door in it that has a direct connection to this cave."

"How friendly is she?" Trace asked.

"If they are an ally of yours, they are an ally to her." Dagda replied. "And she can instantaneously teleport between any two points. She can fly normally as well, if you like that kinda thing." He slapped a hand against Lilith's thigh. "Three hundred and fifty five kilograms of muscle, bone and sinew; and she's all yours."

"Thank you, lords." Trace said.

"It is our pleasure." Bastet said. "Just doing as we promised."

Trace left the cave with a happy wave behind him, vanishing right as he crossed the threshold.

Trace returned a few minutes later with Theresa, Damien, and Patrick in tow. They had no idea why Trace'd been so eager to get them to follow him to his room, and had even less of an idea as to how he vanished into thin air when he walked into a small wardrobe that wasn't there the day before. They were gobsmacked when, after stepping in, they found themselves in a large cave.

"Trace;" Theresa started, "why're we here again?"

Trace was looking around the cave for something. "She was right here a few minutes ago!" He exclaimed. "Where'd she run off to..?"

"This is indeed a cute pocket-dimension you have here, Reaper." A voice called out. "I wonder if the gods know about it?"

A male demon stepped out from behind a stalagmite. His huge ram's horns and spiked tail let the four Reapers know that this was a 'dispair' demon, responsible for causing bad luck and misery wherever he went; naturally there are thousands of these such demons all across the universe.

"Mayhaps I shall take it from you." He said smugly. "I could spawn quite an army of demons here."

"What have you done with her?!" Trace yelled.

"Her?" The demon parroted. "I do not know of whom you speak; this cave was empty when I arrived." He smugly walked towards them.

"This cave belongs to me!" Trace said. "Get out!"

The demon laughed cruelly. "You couldn't make me even if you tried. Four Reapers are no match for me!"

Theresa chuckled. "Well then you had better get some friends." She said.

The demon laughed and threw a fireball at her. It burst harmlessly against Trace's handle. "You want to fight for this cave, you fight me." He said.

Grim walked in behind him. "I knew you would have wanted ta show your friends." He said as an explanation for why he was there.

The demon laughed once more and swung his lengthy tail at Trace, who caught it in his hand effortlessly.

"As you wish." Trace said, throwing the tail down and smacking his staff against the ground.

From this point on, the demon fought a losing battle. He could barely dodge the constantly swinging scythe, let alone lash out against his attacker. He caught the scythe with is tail and swung Trace across the cave. He took this moment to hurl fireballs at his foe, but they bounced harmlessly off of the scythe blade as Trace regained his balance. The demon ran at Trace, hoping to take this opportunity to catch him off guard, but he had only taken a few steps before he was pinned to the ground.

Lilith had landed on him unexpectedly, and roared into his face. She had a small sheep in one clawed paw and held the demon down with the other. She gave Trace a slightly worried look.

"I am fine." He said. "The demon, however, was just leaving."

Lilith let the demon up and he sighed defeatedly. "I guess I have no choice." He muttered before charging Grim and the others. He got inches from them before he felt the metal scythe blade carve through him effortlessly.

"I said it before, demon." Trace mumbled. "Get out..."

The demon disintegrated as he fell to the ground, leaving no corpse. Trace sighed and closed his scythe.

"Is that where you went to? To get some food?" He asked the wyvern that was now looking apologetically to him. She nodded. "... It's alright." He said, standing behind his friends. "Lilith, this is Theresa," he put his hands on her back to indicate who he was talking about, "this is Patrick, this is Damien and the tall guy at the back is Grim, my boss." Trace pointed a thumb at Grim. "Guys, this is Lilith."

Theresa was the first to talk, although she did with evident fright in her voice.

"W-what is she?" She asked.

"Lilith is a Nightmare, like Grim's horse." Trace explained.

"Nightmares are born from tha dreams o their masters." Grim explained. "Our own nightmares shape their soul and they are born when that soul is bound to a body that is similar. Nightmare souls're very rare, and tha gods're reluctant to use one as it is a form of necromancin'."

The trio nodded cautiously, still unsure if Lilith would attack them. Trace chuckled lightly and ushered them closer, stimulus that they quite firmly dejected.

"It's alright." Trace reassured them. "She's friendly."

They didn't budge, but Grim walked right up to Lilith with a professional air about him.

"Strong muscles, well developed wings, sharp claws, and an amazin'ly powerful aura o' magic..." He mumbled as he walked around her. "She's a good example o' a Nightmare, despite her bein' flesh." He stopped infront of Lilith and gave her a firm stare. "I hope you didn't steal dat sheep from where it'd be missed." He said. She shook her head.

"You better not be lying, Lilith." Trace warned.

"I am not lying." She growled. Trace jumped when she spoke.

"Hm? What is it, Trace?" Damien asked.

"She just spoke!"

Damien tilted his head to one side. "No, I don't believe she did."

Grim laughed. "Nightmares can speak to their masters in a unique language dat only the two of dem understand." He explained. "Some gods think dat it's a form o' demonic, but it's actually da language of your thoughts; each o' us have a unique language dat we think in, even though it sounds like English in our heads and to our ears, it isn't. To us it sounds like she's growlin' or roarin', but to Trace she's speakin'."

"Okay." Trace said. "Where'd you get the sheep from?"

"The farm I got it from was about to incinerate it." She said back. "Old age."

"... Alright, I'll trust you this time." Trace replied. She smiled and hid the sheep in a corner before walking over to Trace and his friends, who hadn't moved. Trace held his hand out to her cheek and she nuzzled into his palm with a gentle growl.

Sand and Blood

A short while later, after Trace's friends had gotten used to Lilith, they left her to her fresh sheep and went to the banquet hall, where they got lunch and sat at one of the very long tables to eat. Theresa was the first to notice Trace's nervousness and the way that other Reapers avoided him.

"...Trace are you alright?" She asked, "You've been very fidgety."

"I'm... Not exactly comfortable around others at the moment." He admitted. "Nor are they around me... Mainly to do with what happened in here last time."

"Right, the fight." Patrick mumbled. "I should have you know that Marcus is healing quite well."

Trace nodded weakly, still giving a blank stare into his empty plate. His friends gave each other worried glances. They worried that even though Trace had made himself free of Grim's tyrrany, he might still have broken something inside; something important. They had asked the Gods the day before if everything was alright with him, but they hadn't given them a clear response. They had made it cryptic, and the trio had been trying to decipher it like an agitated five year old tries to solve a rubix cube. They didn't have enough time to say anything to Trace about it, though. Not only because they could see him silently dripping tears onto his plate but because a trio of Reapers had taken up the space behind him.

"...I know you're there." Trace eventually said. "And I've had enough for one week. If you don't want to end up in more pain than Marcus is in, I suggest you go."

The trio chuckled. "Make us."

Trace sighed, and in a flash he was upon them. He had pinned the first one to the ground before the others even knew what had happened. Trace pulled back a fist.

"Stop!" Grim yelled. Trace's fist halted inches from the Reaper's face. "Dis is tha last ting you want right now, Trace." Grim said, walking over and extracting the Reaper from Trace's grip. Grim gives the Reaper the kind of stare that only a Skull can manage. "I remember tellin' all tha Reapers not to confront Trace inna fight."

"He started it!" The Reaper yelled accusingly.

"How'd he start anything?!" Theresa yelled back. "We were eating lunch here and you came over and stood behind him! I very much doubt that if Trace had gotten up you'd have let him go about his business, Reginald!"

"I already know what was goin' on here." Grim said. "And as punishment you three are on sweepin' duty for a month! Get outta my sight!"

the trio hung their heads in defeat and walked out of the hall wth Grim watching their every move. After they left Grim grabbed Trace by his collar and pulled him up.

"What did you tink you were playin' at?!" Grim yelled. "You coulda killed him!"

Trace sighed and simply looked away sadly. Grim let him go and pulled a scroll from within his robes.

"Here." He said as he thrust it into Trace's grip. "Dis is da list of souls you are ta go harvest. Their locations are listed alongside their names."

Trace nodded and silently started to walk out before Grim grabbed his shoulder.

"Not so fast." Grim said. "First I have an important errand to send you on. I know da gods said dat you aint' under my direct control, but dis is important."

"What is it, sir?" trace asked.

"One o tha Reapers has failed to report back, she's supposed ta be out harvesting a soul from Palmwest beach, up in Eunora. I'd go check on her myself, but I have more pressing matters ta attend to, and you're tha only reaper who can be dere instantly. Wit all da Demon activity lately, it be imperative dat you be swift and careful."

Trace nodded. "It shall be done." He said, before walking out.

Trace made his way back to his room and through the door, not bothering to open it. He was worried, and Grim shared this feeling. A soul may be immortal, but 'killing' one was not hard. While it was nothing more than a deep coma, they would be unconsious for days, even weeks; and a Demon would have no qualms about assaulting a reaper if they felt like it. Demons and Angels could die completley, and Trace had had many encounters with wandering demons willing to try to kill him over the years. He grabbed his scythe, which was still closed, put his new sharpening stone into his pocket and walked through the threshold door into Lilith's cave.

She sat in a corner with a bored look on her face, and when Trace tapped her she practically jumped on him. She still had the sheep's blood around her mouth, and Trace wiped it off her before he climbed onto her back.

"Where're we going?" She asked happily, bouncing a little in anticipation.

"First we're going to Palmwest beach." He said. "And then we're returning home so I can get some things for your cave."

She gave him a curious look. "Like what?"

"I dunno." He said, shrugging his shoulders. "Bedding of some sort, maybe something to keep you occupied while we're not out... I noticed how bored you seemed when I walked in."

Lilith nodded shyly before she jumped into the air and swung her wings to keep them airborne.

"Maybe a saddle that can fit more than one person for if we ever take one of our friends for a fly." Trace said slyly. "I know I can't fall off, but that doesn't make this any less uncomfortable."

Lilith chuckled as she flapped her huge wings. A field of energy formed around them, and they suddenly popped out of the room.

They reappeared above a rainforest, already moving at a high enough speed to keep them in the air and moving towards their destination. Trace was in awe of how amazing it felt to be flying; the cool wind through his hair, trees whipping my below and the gentle whoosh of Lilith's massive wings weaving them through the air. He could see the beach in the distance, what would have taken him hours to walk.

"This is incredible!" Trace yelled, huggind Lilith's body tightly.

"Glad you like it." She replied. "But we've got to go down now, ready for this?"

Trace nodded. He could see something dark on the otherwise golden sand, and it didn't seem to be standing. Lilith passed the last of the trees and landed on the sand with a heavy thump, sliding along the beach as the sand softened the landing somewhat. trace leapt off her back and up to the figure lying in the sand. It was, indeed, a Reaper; and he knew this girl. Hell, he had had a crush on her for so long that he felt he knew her personally, even though he had never had a real conversation with her. The shapely shark lay bleeding and weeping in a pool of her own blood. trace put a hand on her shoulder and she jumped.

"It's okay, Halycone, it's okay!" He said. "I'm Trace, another Reaper. Grim sent me. Are you alright?"

She shook her head. "N... No." She said quietly. "I-I harvested the soul that was here, but a Demon jumped me by surprise, he might still be around!"

Trace took heed of this and turned his head, motioning Lilith to fly up. She nodded and jumped, beating her wings as she ascended.

"Can you last a little longer?" Trace asked. "If a Demon is willing to attack one Reaper, he is most likely to be here somewhere."

She nodded, sobbed loudly and stayed quiet as Trace stood up.

"Come out, demon!" He shouted. "Or are you only man enough to attack girls?!"

A fireball came flying out of the forest, and trace deflected it with his staff, which he promptly smacked against the ground.

"Fight me, coward!" He yelled.

A large, dark blue monster thundered out of the forest. Massive ram's horns and dragon's head made it a Torment demon, infamous for crippling their victims and torturing them to death in incredibly cruel ways. Trace stood his ground, holding his scythe in preperation. The demon got right up to Trace before he stepped aside and swung his scythe, slicing through the demon from head to foot. The corpse disintegrated and Lilith landed once more, this time closer to them. Trace knelt down to the weeping shark.

"Halycone, are you safe to move?" He asked.

She nodded and allowed him to roll her onto her back. Trace gasped and fell on his ass. Her right arm was missing, all the way to just past where her elbow should have been. She crie louder when he returned to her gaze, a worried look on his face. Trace tore a sleeve off his robe and tied it around the remaining stump. He picked her up and carried her onto Lilith's back.

"I'm so sorry." He mumbled to the girl in his arms. She simply wrapped her remaining arm around him, hugging him tightly as she wept. Lilith ran along the beach, magic flowing around them and vanished.

They reappeared inside Lilith's cave, and Trace jumped down, still holding Halycone in his arms. He ran through the invisible door, out of his room and into the massive hallway beyond. The hall was empty, but he could hear chattering in several of the nearby rooms.

"Help!" He screamed. "Grim! Anyone!"

Several people popped their heads out of doors to see what the matter was before Grim materialised in a cloud of darkness. He grabbed Trace by the shoulder and then the three of them vanished back into another cloud of black.

Trace's next locale was the medical ward, and he soon felt Halycone wrenched from his arms. He sat opposite the curtain, watching them do what they could to seal up Halycone's missing arm through the curtain before he tried to leave. Grim grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back into the room.

"She shall want ta see you when she wakes." Grim mumbled. "Stay a while... For her sake."

trace nodded, sat down on one of the beds and pulled Halycone's scythe over to him. He hit it against the floor to reveal the blade, took out his new stone and began to sharpen it in long smooth motions. Her scythe was different to his. While the staff of his was made of a firm maple, Halycone's was solid oak, and the brass joint at the top which held the blade was smooth, like it had been formed around water. Trace's scythe had a simple sharp curve on the top, and was pretty basic; most of the Reapers had one just like it, but hers was beautifully made. Grim noticed Trace admiring the scythe that he was sharpening and chuckled.

"If it's dat impressive to you, Trace, I could get da guys down in da workshops ta modify yours?" He asked. "Usually da higher rankin' Reapers get theirs customised ta suit their personality."

Trace nodded quietly. "I guess so." He mumbled.

Grim, if he had flesh, would have smiled in a fatherly manner as he took Trace's scythe. Even to his skeletal fingers he could feel how smooth the staff was from overuse, every part of it seemed to emenate Trace's presence. He silently watched Trace sharpen the scythe in his arms for a minute or two before he rapped it againt the ground to show Trace's blade. Grim was... Impressed, to say the least, that a scythe that had been in constant use for fifteen years was so perfectly sharp. No nicks or grooves, it was all one smooth curve, right to the tip. Grim would have smiled once more as he gently closed the tool and put it back with its owner.

"I don't believe dat any alterations could be made." Grim said. "To make it unique, we'd be better off altering everyone else's scythes."

Trace nodded slowly before returning his attention to the scythe in his hands. An inexpert hand had attempted many times to sharpen this instrument, and it featured irregular grooves and nicks, and it had many little 'bumps' along the blade where it had been sharpened less than the rest. He sighed as he ran the stone along the blade. This was going to take a while.

A few hours later and Trace was sleeping lightly, leaning against the wall while seated in the bed. He had finished sharpening the scythe, and now it was perfectly curved as it should have been and had only just managed to drift off. The scythe was currently closed and leaning up against the wall beside him. Grim had left to the workshops with at least five hundred scythes in tow. He had decided to change the other's scythes to preserve Trace's own uniqueness. With Grim gone and the Nurses attending other matters, Trace and Halycone were alone in the room, heavy breathing the only sounds breaking the silence. Other Reapers had come in and dropped off flowers and other presents for Halycone; not one of them noticing Trace as he silently sharpened her scythe while keeping a watchful eye on her. Eventually she stirred and slowly tried to sit up. When her arm moved but didn't give her any support against the bed she looked to where it should have been and screamed.

"W-what?!" Then, trying desperately to think of who was last with her when she could remember being awake she screamed again. "T-Trace!"

Trace awoke with a start, lightly confused from being woken so suddenly, and rushed to her side. He knelt down next to her bed and looked up at her. "Yes, Halycone? Is there something you want?"

"W-what happened to my arm?!" She asked in a panicked voice.

Trace's face turned apologetic and he looked down. "I'm sorry; there was no sign of it at the beach, we think the demon devoured it before I killed him." He said. "The surgeons did what they could, but without your arm all that could be done was seal the wound. I'm so sorry, Halycone."

She didn't say anything back to him, instead putting her remaining arm to her shoulder and breaking down hysterically. She cried for as long as she could, muttering 'I'm so useless' to herself over and over until Trace grabbed her spare shoulder and turned her eyes to his.

"You're not useless, Halycone." Trace said firmly. "Arm or no, you're not useless." He pulled her into a tight embrace, stroking the fin that topped her head so gracefully.

"My friends have not even come to visit me." She mumbled sadly. "Why would they bother..."

Trace indicated the flowers and gifts that took up almost every piece of free space that surrounded her, and then finally pointed to the cast that hid the raw stump that was left of her arm. It was covered in signatures from her friends and admirers, and to top it off he stood up, walked over and grabbed her scythe. He rapped it against the floor and showed her the blade.

"It was in such disrepair when I opened it, too." He said. "Now it's perfectly curved and sharp once more. And do you know why I did it, despite it taking several hours?" She shook her head gingerly. "I did it because I, like many others here, admire you. You are a great Reaper; don't let something like this-" he tapped her cast with the dege of the blade "-hinder you. Please?"

She nodded sadly and sat back in the bed, her face was still soaked with tears, but Trace carefully wiped her dry with a tissue. "Thank you, Trace." She mumbled. "You don't need to waste your time here; I'm sure you have souls that you need to go and harvest."

"They can wait another day." Trace mumbled. "Right now you are most important." He put his hand on her head and smiled sweetly. "But first things first."

"Huh?"

Trace grinned widely and pulled a marker out of his pocket. "Can I sign your cast?"

Spirit of Disaster

Trace spent the rest of the day in that room with her; keeping her company through the most difficult time in her afterlife. Though he didn't know how she thought their time together was, he felt like he had been on the first date of his life. He had to admit, in his eyes she was perfect; beautiful, incredibly intelligent, not to mention athletically built, and she had the kind of personality that made him want to reach out and pet her, and he caught himself halfway there a couple of times before he managed to get the hang of himself. He was too afraid to ask her how she felt about him, a common male weakness hitting him at every turn like a car hits a brick wall; fear of rejection. Inwardly he sighed at his cowardice; he could stare down and slay demons three times his size without being even slightly phazed, but this was something that he couldn't fathom. He had been to some of the most gory and bloodsoaked battlefields in the last twenty years, but asking her what she thought of him made him feel sick to his stomach. Instead, he was content to keep her company until she felt well enough to get up and move about, which was a whole night away.

He stayed up all night even, watching people come and go as he waited patiently for her to wake. When she finally did get up out of bed, Grim was there in an instant.

"Alright you two." Grim said loudly. "I know yer both wonderin' why I'm here, so I'll be blunt; da demons are on tha move. Da gods have spotted dem increasing deir numbers dramatically, and as a precaution to all Reapers, I'm pairin' people up. You two are ta be together, as much as it pains me ta say so."

Trace's heart, if it actually did beat, would have skipped. Together with her on missions? This was either a dream come true or a horrible nightmare starting in slow motion. "But, sir!" Trace complained. "I was going to go and complete some of that list you gave me today; we can't go on missions if she's still this badly wounded, her low amount of blood might cause her to faint, or become more injured than she is now!"

Grim held up a skeletal hand. "She'll be fine, Trace." He said reassuringly. "She may be injured, but she be more sturdy dan she looks; and her arm will be back in a month or so."

Halycone nodded, clutching her scythe in a firm grip. Trace knew he was defeated and sighed.

"Yes, sir." He groaned.

"Look at it this way, Trace, you get to spend more time with me." She said, nudging him playfully in the ribs with her elbow. "And it's more likely that you'll be protecting me until I've got my strength up again."

Trace nodded, gaining his determination back from her remark. "Well, the first place to stop is the outfitters." He said. "I need to get some things for Lilith; she's unlikely to take us anywhere if I don't at least get her some soft bedding for her cave, and we need a saddle for her."

"Lilith?" Halycone asked, tilting her head.

"My Nightmare, the Wyvern that brought us back here." Trace explained.

"Speaking of;" Grim said, pulling a large box from the bed next to him, "dis be your saddle, you'd be unlikely to find anything ta suit a dragon of any size in da outfitters, so I had it custom made for you."

Trace took the large box from Grim and tucked it under his elbow. "Thanks, sir." He said.

"Yeah, well, consider it my apology for bein' so cruel ta you all dese years." Grim said. "Da wardrobes one floor up from your dorm is where you'll get your dragon's beddin'. I suggest droppin' this off first, as when I ordered da stuff for you dey said dat it'd be heavy."

Trace nodded and lead Halycone to his dormitory. He paused for a moment outside the door.

"Wait up." He said. "I'm bringing a girl that I've been protecting since this time yesterday to my room; doesn't that strike you as... Odd?"

Halycone chortled and pushed him through the door. "Get going, loverboy." She said with a laugh.

Not twenty minutes later they had readied the bedding in what Lilith called the 'coziest part' of the cave, and tightly strapped the saddle onto her back. It was nothing special, a saddle built for two, passenger at the back with red painted panels and edging around soft white leather seats, two pairs of pommels down the sides for the look of them. Trace helped Halycone onto Lilith's back before climbing on himself and pulling out the scroll Grim had handed him.

"Bloody hell." Trace grumbled. "All fifty of these souls are at the same locale. Up in the Amelian hills, some place called 'Renevere Sanitorium'." He grumbled as he rolled the scroll back up and stuck it back in his pocket. "We could be there all day harvesting."

"Sounds like I've got a thing or two to teach you, kid." Halycone said as Lilith took to flight and they vanished into thin air.

They reappeared over a little town surrounded by hills, a massive building looming in the distance as they flew on.

"Things to teach me?" Trace asked, their conversation continuing. "Such as?"

"Well," Halycone replied, "for one, can you feel the presence of spirits?"

"Of course." Trace replied. "I can also feel the presence of demons and angels, too."

Halycone scowled inwardly. She couldn't do that. "Do you know the Reaper's Call?" she asked.

"Not exactly." He admitted as they landed out front a massive building in disrepair. "I do know that it summons any souls that are close enough to hear it, but I've never been shown how to do it."

She slid off of Lilith's back and took an uneasy step before revealing her scythe blade. "It's simple." She said. "Simply raise your arm over your head as straight as you can and click your fingers."

She went to demonstrate when Lilith wrapped a wing around her and growled loudly.

"Trace!" Lilith growled. "I can smell it! A demon drenched in the blood of innocents is here, watching us!" She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. "It smells like death, probably a warrior demon. I also smell an Angel, though it is faint, probably upwind."

"Halycone, stay with Lilith." Trace said. "Lilith smells a powerful demon nearby."

"It's not me." Came a voice behind them. Trace whipped around, holding his scythe at length ready to fight back if he had to before lowering it. "Hello, Reapers; that's a interesting dragon you have there. How long has she been undead?"

Trace stepped between the angel and Lilith. "Don't touch my Nightmare." He warned. "The gods themselves gave her to me, Thrum would be most displeased to hear you have gone against his wishes, Angel."

"Indeed." The angel replied softly. "Anyway, I was sent here to purify this location and I cannot do it with you... Souls around."

"There is a demon here somewhere." Trace said. "If you were to start the ritual now it would be suicide!"

"And we were sent here to harvest the souls of those that remain." Halycone's muffled voice said. "Your consecration must wait until we are finished!"

Trace held his hand up over his hand and clicked his fingers; the sound much louder than it should have been, echoing through the empty building and massive courtyard. A triumphant roar from the building calling back, and the demon present made himself known.

Massive, red, and covered in barbs; this demon was unlike any that Trace had seen previously. A dog-like head crowned with massive horns and more barbs and finally a long whippy tail. It sauntered into the courtyard from the building, slightly dripping blood in its wake.

"You've got to be kidding." The angel said. "Azuriel, one of the demon masters of suffering."

"Demon master?!" Trace cried. "That's impossible! Only a very powerful summoning circle can summon them; and that kind of magic was long ago forgotten for a reason!"

The angel took a step back. "I am not trained in combat advanced enough to defeat this demon on my own." He said. "Lesser demons will die when the consecration ritual is complete, but masters are immune to it."

"Then flee and come back with an army!" Trace yelled. "But help me hold him off long enough for Halycone to harvest the souls; they'll be here any second!"

The angel unsheathed a glowing white sword. "I shall do what I can to aid a fellow servant of the gods." He said.

"What do you wish for me to do, Trace?" Lilith rumbled.

"Keep Halycone safe." Trace replied. "And pray."

Trace rapped his staff against the ground as the angel rushed past him, soon following him as the twenty five foot demon started to fight back; souls of the dead moving around the fight to Halycone as she sent them on their trip to the gods, all the time oblivious to exactly what they had started.

Ten minutes later and the fight still raged on. The angel was exhausted, but Trace still fought on strong despite taking several fierce blows. He dodged and parried, ducked and lashed out as the demon fought without slowing down between swings. Trace constantly kept his eye on Halycone, watching for when the last of the souls was with her and making sure that nothing went her way; even at the sacrifice of his own well being. Finally she was about to cut the tether binding the last soul, and Trace took a million to one chance.

He reached out, grabbed the angel by his wrist and kicked off of the demon towards Halycone. He landed next to the soul with a heavy thump and looked up at Lilith.

"Lilith, go home! Now!" He yelled.

She was reluctant, but she jumped into the air and flew into the distance, where she vanished in a blur of magic. Trace grabbed the soul's hand.

"Angel, grab Halycone, we only have one shot at this!" Trace yelled. "Cut the tether!"

The angel grabbed Halycone by her tail as she swung her scythe, and they all faded as the demon slammed down upon them.

They reappeared up at Judgement to a chorus of applause, even though they landed in a crumpled heap. Trace pushed the angel off of Halycone and lifted her to her feet as Thrum walked up to them. Trace and Halycone averted their gaze and the angel fell to one knee.

"My lord." The angel started. "I was unable to complete my mission; Azuriel was too strong for us."

Thrum nodded. "I understand." He said. "However, the battallion of angels sent to fight him back to the gates of hell is now on the front line of something you did not intend to start."

"What do you mean, great lord?" Trace asked. "I asked this angel to assist me in keeping the demon at bay while the souls at the location were harvested; it is I who instigated this battle."

"It is not a battle any more." Thrum boomed. "It is now a war."

Trace dropped his scythe to the marble floor with a loud metal clatter and fell to his knees. A war between the angels and demons started by him? He couldn't believe he had been so foolish, to fall for such an obvious ploy. The mere thought of it made him physically sick.

"... What have I done..?" He asked rhetorically to the messy tiles. He watched the puddle vanished before his eyes. Thrum snapped his fingers and Grim appeared at his side.

"Wha-?" He blurted in his confusion before noticing Thrum. "Yes, lord?"

Thrum held up a finger and clicked one more time, this time a red mist popped into existance in a far corner. The mist slowly faded and a red furred wolf with horns walked out of it. He wore a business suit and kept about him an air of superiority. Trace's first impression was that of a lawyer.

"What do you want, Thrum?" He asked. "I'm very busy down below."

"This is no social call, Lowell." Thrum snapped. "Your minions have started a war using souls and Reapers as bait! The one thing we agreed upon was that your demons would not interfere in their work!"

Lowell, the head of the demons, was a god much like any other; he had once been in Judgement, but he was caught breaking rules that even the gods are supposed to obey and was subsequently banished to rule the pits for all eternity. He was rude and condesending to all except Thrum; and he had indeed swore an oath to never allow his demons to get between the Reapers and their harvest.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Times change, Thrum; even the almighty cannot control the actions of millions. Azuriel was there to take out your angel, not the Reapers."

"And yet he attacked us all the same!" Halycone yelled.

Lowell waved his hands in a calming gesture. "Calm the fuck down, kid." He said. "He did only what he wanted to do. It isn't my fault that your stupid friend here got involved."

Trace stood back up, his scythe rising with him. "If I hadn't helped the angel hold Azuriel back, we would all be dead now." He said. "You're a god; why couldn't you show up to restrain your pet!?"

"I am not allowed to show myself upon the world unless summoned by mortals." Lowell said, shrugging again. "And even if I could I'd not have helped you."

"Lowell!" Thrum boomed. "You want to start a war with the heavens then so be it, however you will call back your minions and tell them that the Reapers are not to be harmed!"

"Well, you know the saying, Thrum; 'all's fair in love and war'." Lowell retorted.

"If dat's your attitude maybe I should go to Azrael and get him ta talk some sense inta you?" Grim threatened.

Even the gods had to answer to someone; Azrael, one of the Old High Ones, was the keeper of this universe. Power that even the Gods themselves cowered before flowed through Azrael like blood through a living being. He controlled time itself, and Grim was, essentially, a part of him; but he treated Grim like the favoured son. While Grim may have had to take orders from the Gods about petty matters, Azrael could give orders to entire universes.

"Well, Lowell?" Grim snapped. "I've nothin' ta lose but my Reapers, and I'll be damned before I see chu take dem from me!"

Lowell sighed. "You wouldn't dare."

"All's fair in love and war." Grim said. "Either you get your demons ta leave my reapers alone, or I'll see dat Azrael gives you a personal visit." He growled these last words. "Very personal..!"

Lowell shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "Fine, have it your way."

"And you!" Grim snapped, turning to Thrum. "Your angels are ta leave my Reapers alone also!"

"As always, Grim." Thrum calmly replied.

"C-could you tell them to leave my Lilith alone, too?" Trace sheepishly asked.

Thrum looked confused. "What do you mean? Who is this 'Lilith' of whom you speak?"

Trace pointed an accusing finger at the angel. "He..."

The angel sighed. "Undead are an abomination unto heaven." He said.

"Well, all angels are told not to harm Nightmares that are under someone's control; be they mortal or Reaper." Thrum said. "And all angels are capable of recognising Nightmares due to their magical aura, hm?"

The angel nodded.

"So what about young Trace's Nightmare gave you mind to approach her?" Thrum asked. Bastet and Dagda walked into Judgement from wherever they had been.

"She is undead!" The angel pleaded.

"She is a young Nightmare!" Bastet snapped. "You, as all the other angels also know, that the only undead that can exist in the spiritual plane are Nightmares and Reapers; or do we have to reteach that lesson?"

The angel became very nervous and fidgety. "N-no, lord."

"Good." Bastet said.

Trace, now satisfied that Lilith would be safe from the Angels, faded back to the Reaper's headquarters, where he promptly hid himself in his room to brood over what he had unwittingly started.

Weapon of Fury

Some time later, Grim stalked through the headquarters, pausing a moment by the infirmary. The war had only just started, and yet already there were dozens of Reapers who had been rendered 'dead' by the relentless demons that hounded every viable location. Hospitals, major cities, even churches with consecrated ground were being fought over by the two opposing factions, and the Reapers stood in the middle taking all the blows. Clearly Lowell had ignored Grim's warning, despite promising to leave the Reapers out of the conflict. Azrael would be speaking with him soon, Grim swore to himself that much. He salked to the massive banquet hall and stood by the counter; he had requested that all Reapers return to the hall for an emergency meeting, the first in centuries. He turned and faced the thousands of Reapers who watched his every move.

"Alright." Grim announced. "I know what you're all thinkin'. And da answer is yes; tha demons and angels are at war again. This be da first war in over one hundred years, and already my pleads to da demon lord that he leave us out o' it fall on deaf ears. I shall be speakin' ta him very soon, and we will get our safety back; until then, I want you all ta stay in tha headquarters. Bar da gates, lock da doors and keep our home safe until I return. If all else fails, Trace Echo has da power ta get da gods ta aid us." He scanned the massed thousands of faces before continuing. "Hey, where is Trace, anyway?"

Halycone stood up, near the back. "He's not come out of his room since earlier." She said. "And he won't permit anyone to enter."

Grim sighed. "Alright, you're comin' with me ta his room ta sort dis all out." Grim said. "Everyone else is ta go on with security routines and headquarters maintainence No one leaves!"

He waited for Halycone to walk up to him and they walked out. She, unwillingly, was being hit on by another Reaper; a snub nosed dolphin called Justyn Brenton. He considered himself quite the lady's man, tall, athletically built, and egotistical, his attitude gave him the opinion that no woman could refuse him if he had a chance to talk to her.

Eventually they came to their destination, and Halycone's patience was wearing thin, Justyn had been blurting one terrible pick-up line to another for the whole three minute walk, and now he was taking every opportunity he could find to touch her. Grim knocked on Trace's door with a bony fist.

"Trace!" He yelled. "Get out here!"

They heard Trace sigh. "What do you want, Grim?" He asked rudely as he stuck his head through the door before giving an angry look and pulling back in. Justyn had draped an arm around Halycone's shoulders, and Trace had clearly lost more morale.

"That does it!" Halycone yelled angrily, grabbing Justyn by the scruff of his robes. "Get off me you fucking sleazebag!"

Her knee connected with a tender location and she hurled him through the door. He tumbled through the room and hit the wall with a thump. He got to his feet growling.

"You'll pay for that, bitch!"

He stalked through the room, not even bothering to notice Trace stand up from his bed to stand behind him as he walked through the door. Justyn had a brief glimpse of Grim's cold stare before he was pulled back into the room and spun about. Trace's fist connected with Justyn's nose with an audible crack. Justyn didn't have long to react however, as another punch, this time to his chest, sent him back out of the room and into the waiting arms of Grim.

"I don't remember invitin' you ta join us, Justyn." He said as the sound of a scytheblade appearing came through the door. The blade swung through the doorframe, but Grim caught it in his spare hand.

"Get off!" Trace yelled.

Grim pulled Trace through the door without releasing the blade. "This is not da time for internal bickerin'!" He yelled, releasing the blade and throwing it to the tiled floor. He pointed a bony finger at Justyn. "You were not invited along here wit miss Heart, and instead all you do is hit on her da whole way!"

"Unsuccessfully I might add." Halycone growled through her gritted teeth.

Grim pointed at Trace. "You!" He yelled angrily. "Dis war ain't your fault; so stop whinin'! Da demons do dis every so often, it's just unfortunate dat dis time dey used us as da tool in gettin' another one started!" Now he turned and pointed right at Halycone. "And you!" He yelled, making her cower. "Dat was a dirty blow, hittin' Justyn in da nadgers; if only more o' da girls'd do it to him I'd be a happier man."

Halycone laughed lightly at his comment. "Thanks, sir."

"Now, Trace." Grim said finally. "I'm leavin' you an important role while I'm gone." He put a hand on trace's shoulder. "If everythin' goes tits-up, you're ta go to da gods and ask, nay, demand for deir assistance in protectin' dis place. I'm goin' ta be wit Azrael and Lowell fer a short while, I fully expect da demons ta attack while I'm gone. Yer all ta use every trick in da books when fightin' them, even magic. We don't want dem here, and dey aint' supposed ta come here." He paused for a moment. "Trace, your Nightmare will need ta be in da halls; havin' her in her 'pocket' only gives da demons another way in."

Trace nodded and walked back into his room. He was gone for a minute before he returned. Lilith popped into existance next to the group. She looked over the group disinterestedly before her eyes fell upon Justyn and she growled angrily. Justyn backed away.

"Unfriendly is it?" He hazarded.

"No;" Trace replied, "just an extremely good judge of character."

Grim laughed heartily and put a hand to Lilith's cheek. "I trust you know how ta breathe an element?"

She nodded before blowing down his arm, the bones going a chilly blue and ice forming on Grim's robes.

"Wonderful." Grim said. "I'm sorry ta say dis, Lilith, but I've gotta ask you ta look after da Reapers. Freeze anytin dat comes in da front doors, bite, claw, crush everythin' that opposes you; we have but one home, let's keep it ours." And with that he vanished into a dark cloud.

"Grim's right." Trace mumbled. "They're sure to come knocking on our door, so we should prepare for the inevitable."

"Well, I have a few spells to teach you before they get here." Halycone said. "And when they come knocking, we'll knock back!"

The front gates of the headquarters rocked heavily, the sound of the wood creaking under the weight of at least one thousand demons echoing through the empty hall. There were only two doors in this room, the massive front doors and the doors to the rest of the endless facility. The wooden double-doors exploded in a shower of woodchips and the demons made their way onto the threshold. They stood there for a moment, contemplatng why the front door would be so unprotected before Trace walked in through the opposite door. He walked with the air of someone with nothing to lose, completley calm and collected as he slowly strode into the room. Lilith was hanging from the roof, waiting for any airborne demons to come her way; compared to the monsters that had entered, she was at least twice their size and weight.

Trace stopped in the middle of the room and smiled. Other reapers stepped out from behind him- first four, then twenty, and eventually the entire force of Reapers stood in the room.

"You have finally arrived." Trace said. "We have prepared."

The army of reapers rapped their staves on the ground as one. "We have prepared!" They chanted.

One of the demons stepped forth laughing. "You have prepared for nothing but death." He said.

"Nothing but death!" The reapers chorused.

"We fight for our home." trace said coldly. "We fight for our lives, but most importantly we fight for each other!" He yelled his last words. He swung his scythe up above him, the blade shining impossibly bright. "We fight for justice!" The scythe swung down, and despite being at least ten metres from the demon, the creature split in two and evaporated.

"We fight for justce!" The reapers chorused, charging down the army before them. Some demons tried to fly away, but Lilith was waiting and their frozen bodies rained down and shattered against the dark marble floor. Fireballs flew across the hall in one direction, deflected by Reapers scythes and nothing but pure obliteration flew in the other. Demons were falling like dominoes, something didn't feel right to Trace. The battle was too easy, far too one-sided. It wasn't until the wall around the doorframe exploded that he knew why. Damizen, one of the best known demon lords came charging into the room. He was a Demon Lord of Warriors, his slightly taller build and thorn crowned head set his appearence across the room, and now the Reapers started to fall.

Damizen walked right up to trace and grinned smugly. "You thought that mere Reapers were a match for me?" He laughed. "Your stubborness is now your undoing."

Trace grinned wider, still with an ace up his sleeve. "Reapers?" He asked. "Who said anything about the plural?"

The air around Trace exploded in a flurry of blades, Damizen was too slow and lost an arm in the sudden whirl of magic. "W-what?!"

"You thought that your army of Demons is a match for an army of Reapers?" Trace replied. The reapers previously falled to warrior demon attacks stood back up. "We are dead!" Trace yelled. "And we are Death!" Trace, still giving off an aura of magic started to pace forward, and Damizen took a step back for each of Trace's steps forward.

"You barge into our home, attack our friends and family and expect us to simply lie down and let you?!" Trace yelled, now anger flared along the blade of his scythe. "You used me to start a war for you, and then expect me to simply lie back and accept it?!"

Damizen backed himself into a corner, and all the other reapers fled the room back into the hall; now Trace had the army's full attention. His form wavered as a dark mist flowed around him.

"GO TO OBLIVION, AND TAKE YOUR ARMY WITH YOU!!" He yelled, swinging his scythe.

The room of demons exploded, each one vaporising as the magic Trace had on his blade was magnified by his anger and frustration and filled the room. The walls and floor were splattered in demon blood and Trace opened the door to the inner chambers.

"We need some mops." He said. "Let's try to get this shit off the walls before Grim gets home."

Lightyears away, Grim and Lowell shuddered violently.

"I guess that's the end of your home." Lowell said smugly.

"Not if I know my Reapers, it's not." Grim said. "You promised ta order your demons ta leave my Reapers alone, a promise you duly broke. Now we be where I promised we'd be."

Azrael, one of the Old High Ones, slowly came into contrast; bigger than universes. He looked down upon Grim and Lowell and waited.

"Azrael;" Grim started. "Lowell has started yet another war wit da angels. I wished for my Reapers and deir Nightmares ta be left out of it, but Lowell went back on his promise ta do just that. I ask for dere ta be one who can end dis war before it gets outta hand."

Azrael nodded "The battle for your home has been won." He said, this sentence took a very long time for him to speak, as did all of his words. "The demons shall leave the Reapers alone as they go about their duties." He added. "And the one with the power you ask for exists already; however you have not yet seen their true potential."

"Thank you, Azrael." Grim said, bowing as he vanished into another cloud of darkness.

"Hmph, showoff." Lowell mumbled, before getting a very stern look from Azrael. "Oh, alright, I'll make my minions leave the reapers alone! Jeez!" And then he too faded from view.

Grim reappeared in the front hall of the Headquarters. He wasn't too surprised to see the walls and floor mostly covered in blood, or that the entire doorframe was missing, but he was certainly impressed that none of the Reapers had fallen. They did falter, however when he cleared his throat.

"What 'appened 'ere?" He asked. "I came back expectin' you to be still fightin'."

Trace shied away into a far corner, Halycone and Lilith quietly talking with him; Lilith was doing her best to get the blood off the tile floor, licking it up. Nightmares are renouned for their durability, and their resistance to the high toxicity of demon blood was but one of many traits they had. A Reaper walked up to Grim and bowed in respect before speaking.

"They attacked the front doors, sir." The Reaper said. "It was a pitched battle, but one of the others somehow managed to kill them all in a single swing of his scythe."

If Grim could, he would have narrowed his eyes. "Which one?"

The reaper pointed over to Trace. "That guy over there." He said.

Grim moved silently but swiftly over to Trace, making sure that he had no time to get away. "Trace." Grim mumbled. "Report."

Trace stared at the wall, he knew that he was either in big trouble or Grim was going to praise him, something he dreaded more than punishment. "All demons dead, damage to headquarters minimal." He said.

Grim grabbed Trace's robes and spun him around. "You know dat's not what I mean!" He growled. "How'd you manage ta kill all da demons single-handed?!"

Halycone cautiously turned. "I taught him Phantom Egde." She said.

"You mean dat spell where you can cut anytin' with da magic up to a range o ten feet?" Grim asked.

"Correct." Halycone said.

"Phantom Edge only works inna straight line, and even den will only hit one target." Grim said. "But Trace encompassed da entire room!"

Trace stared at the floor dismally. "Rule #23: When using magic, do not lose control of your emotions." He said slowly. "Failure to do so can result in an overload, and the magic runs wild."

Grim stood upright and considered Trace critically for a moment. "Trace... You let loose your anger over bein' used as deir pawn, didn't you?"

Trace gave a slow nod. "Yes, sir." He sighed.

" 'Not yet seen deir true potential'..." Grim mumbled. "Trace, normally when magic overloads it does terrible things; Phantom Edge should 'ave ripped a hole in da fabric o space, but instead it did exactly what you wanted it ta do." Grim rubbed his chin with a bony palm, then grabbed Trace by the wrist. "Come wit me, I've got some t'ings ta show you." He pulled Trace towards the door, but he resisted. Grim found himself walking on the spot. 'Dat's weird.' He thought. 'Nothing has been able ta resist my strength before..'

Trace stood his ground, not budging an inch as Grim tried to drag him across the floor. He stared at the floor, his face matted with his tears as they rolled down his cheeks. Lilith turned and nuzzled him affectionately, trying to get his mood up but to no avail, even Halycone tried to lighten his mood.

"I'm not your weapon..!" Trace mumbled, throwing Grim's hand out of his own. He looked up sharply, his face angry once more, grabbed his scythe and leapt at Grim. "I'm NOT!"

Grim narrowly dodged as Trace's scythe embedded itself in the tiles where he had been standing, and he caught the blade when Trace swung it again.

"Trace, control yourself!" Grim snapped, throwing Trace across the hall. Trace slid to a stop on the tiles and threw Grim an angry look; his eyes shone like silver. Grim sighed and reached into his sleeve. "I didn't want ta have ta do dis, Trace." He said in a somber tone as he pulled his own Scythe handle from his sleeve. Gnarled and made of purest mahogany, Grim's scythe was rarely seen by the rest of the Reapers; the joint at the top looked as if it was made of actual bone, a skull resting atop the blade when he smacked the rubber end against the marble floor. "Everyone out!" Grim yelled.

The other Reapers left their mops and washcloths on the floor in their frantic panic to leave, and Trace raced through them, using them as cover to stay hidden from Grim until he was sure that the ancient entity couldn't react in time. His blade was countered by Grim's own and Grim leant in close to Trace's angry face.

"If dis is da way you want it, Trace..!" He growled.

"I'm not a weapon!" Trace replied. "Least of all yours!"

Grim caught Trace's scythe up at the joint and swung him across the room. "Den show me what you've got, young Reaper!"

Trace swung a Phantom Edge at Grim, but Grim simply deflected it away with his hand.

"It takes more dan dat to kill a god, Trace!" Grim yelled.

Trace, his eyes still aglow, threw his hands forward and black tendrils flew forth from his cloak, pummeling into the tiles and wall. Grim leapt over it, barely dodging the dark energy as it plowed through the marble and wood. Grim caught a thrown piece of marble only to be struck from above. He readied his scythe for another blow and blocked a swung blade that came from nowhere. Grim would have smiled in a sly way if he could.

"So ya can use tha Dark Portals?" Grim yelled. "Good, I shan't 'old back then!"

Trace's scythe connected with nothing but empty space and broken tiles when he swung next, and the grip he had on his scythe was lost when Grim kicked it across the hall. Now it was bare fists that came Grim's way, and they were much faster than the scythe that had been so recently attacking him. He was barely able to block and dodge the flying appendages, and when Trace enhanced his swings with magic Grim found his own scythe out of his grip.

"That's it!" Grim yelled. "I've had it!"

The next fist Trace threw felt like it hit a brick wall when it connected with Grim's skull, and Grim grabbed Trace by his throat, slammed him into the wall and held him aloft. Grim watched with slight satisfaction as he watched Trace slowly suffocate in his hand. He didn't notice Halycone come running back in.

"Grim, stop!" She yelled, grabbing his skeletal arm. "Please! You'll kill him!"

Grim snapped his attention to her, collected his nerves and dropped Trace onto the floor. He stared at Halycone as she tended to Trace for a while before growling to himself.

"Dammit, it's not supposed ta be like dis."

End of a Futile Age.

Grim dragged Trace through the halls to his office and threw him through the door; after the sound thumping Grim had given him, Trace had been unusually docile. Grim grabbed Halycone and pulled her into the room with him.

"Okay." Grim announced. "You two are here because of what you are."

"We're Reapers." Trace said in a monotone voice.

Grim shook his head. "No, more dan dat." He firmly said. "You two are developin' a relationship, I can see it."

Halycone fidgeted nervously, fiddling with the cuff of her robe and shirt. Trace, however, stayed quiet.

"It's not a bad ting." Grim siad. "But it will only end up in tears. Reapers live forever, and yer relationship will probably lose its appeal long before the end of time." Halycone went to protest, but Grim held up a bony hand. "I aint done." He said. "You are also tha Reapers wit da power ta stop dis war before it gets outta hand; I shall tell you how, first by teachin' you the magics you need in order ta win."

Trace stood up, his eyes had a blank expression, as did the rest of his face. Grim eyed him wearily, grabbing the back of Trace's robes as he tried to leave and heaving him back into a chair.

"It's no good." Grim said. "He's got da 'eyes o' tha dead'; his mind has all but blacked out." Grim sighed. "He's been awake practically nonstop for days now, true dat he's done it before, but he's also been through more dan usual in dat time; his mind has given up."

Halycone looked worried. "Is there anything we can do?"

"No." Grim said, shaking his head. "Da only way ta snap him outta it is ta give him a big mental shock, try ta jumpstart his mind again; and even den dat'd only lead ta massive exhaustion. He'd be outta commission for hours."

"Let me try." She replied. "Being out of commission is better than losing his mind."

Halycone walked over and took Trace's hand. Wordlessly she led him to his room and pushed him through the door. She walked in to find him woving towards Lilith's cave and grabbed his hand again.

"Wait up, kiddo." She said, pulling him back across the room. She fumbled him into a hug, one that he didn't return, and looked into his face earnestly. "Trace..?" She asked quietly. He simply stared ahead, his eyes glazed and flat-coloured. Halycone started to tear up. "Please..!" She put her head on his shoulder and started crying, but Trace didn't respond to her in any way. After two minutes she lifted her head back up. "Goodbye, Trace." She mumbled. She kissed him on his forehead and turned to walk out.

She got to the door, hand still held onto Trace's, when she stopped. He hadn't let go; and she couldn't pull her hand out of his own. She turned her sorrow-filled face to see his. His eyes stared forward, but they had changed; she couldn't pinpoint it until she walked back over to him. He was crying!

"...Trace?" She probed.

His eyes returned to their usual look and he looked directly at her. "Ha-lycone..?" He mumbled. "Why am I so... Tired..?"

She shook her head and giggled. "Don't worry too much about it."

Trace ran his thumb over her face, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "Don't cry, now." He said. "You're so much prettier when you don't cry."

"Trace..." She mumbled back, throwing her arm around him again. "Don't do that again, dammit!"

"I won't, I promise." He said, holding a hand behind her head.

She pulled out of the embrace and pushed him into his bed. "Okay then, loverboy." She quipped. "You need some sleep, I'll come and get you in the morning." She waved goodbye as she walked out the door, Trace waving back until she was out of view. He put his head down on the pillows, pulled the covers over himself and drifted to sleep.

He awoke the next day to the sound of Halycone's voice. He slowly opened his eyes only to practically jump out of the bed when all he could see was a pair of massive teeth-filled jaws. Lilith scuttled over to the other side of the room as fast as she could while Trace recovered himself.

"Fuck, Lilith, don't do that!" He laughed. "You scared the shit outta me!"

"...Sorry!" She replied, trying desperately to crawl deeper and deeper into the corner. Halycone walked over and stroked Lilith's muzzle.

"It's okay, Lil." She said. "He's not angry."

Trace nodded. "She's right, I'm not." He said. "Now, Halycone, let's go see what Grim wants with us."

Halycone stepped over to Trace, took his arm in hers and they walked out of the room. They passed a fair amount of other reapers on their way to Grim's office, Justyn among them; he looked crestfallen when he saw Trace and Halycone arm in arm, and Halycone started to laugh when he was out of earshot. Once they got to their destination they walked in the door and right up to Grim's desk.

"You wanted us for something yesterday, yes?" Halycone asked.

"Yes, siddown." Grim replied. "I trust you all know each other?"

Halycone and Trace noticed the ten or so other Reapers seated around the room, even Marcus. They all featured the same robes as Trace and Halycone. The room nodded.

"Good." Grim continued. "Den it's nigh time I told you all, da most senior and destinguished of Reapers, what I plan ta do wit you. In a few short hours, Lowell will come burstin' through da front doors. He swore dat his demons'd not interfere wit our work, but he swore nothin' of himself. Dis entire war was started wit one thought in mind.

"Lowell plans ta wipe us out. I believe his toughts are dat if dere are no Reapers, den dere are no souls ta pass onto Judgement ta become Angels. Dis plan would work if it were not for da fact dat even he cannot kill me; merely incapacitate. even so, I cannot handle da Demon King on my own, and I need your help."

"What would you ask of us?" Marcus asked.

Grim looked about the room and stepped forth, through the desk. "Each o' you was selected by a deity ta become a Reaper, well, wit da exception of Trace. Dese gods, though dey are mostly 'minor' gods who don't handle judgement felt dat you had a purpose more dan you could ever fulfill as Angels. Today, I give you that purpose. Today I ask you ta help me kill a god. Tha deity who chose you for da position you are in now knew dis was comin' eventually, and so dey shall be here shortly ta lend you deir strength."

The Reapers all gave each-other rather pleased, yet surprised, looks. All except Trace, who looked kind of saddened.

"And what of me, sir?" He asked. "I was not chosen for this position, but rather thrust into it as I had nowhere else to go. There is no deity coming to enhance my abilities."

The room fell silent as all the others looked at Trace with a slightly worried look on all their faces; well, all except Marcus.

"We won't need a whelp to help us fight Lowell, you'd get in the way." He said.

Trace stared at his knees until he felt Grim's hand rest on his shoulder. "If it weren't for Trace, you'd all be dead in da hospital wing." Grim said. "And you were chosen; but not by any of tha regular gods. Trace, you have more control over magic dan I've ever seen; I'm positive dat dere is only one who could've chosen you."

Several gods flashed into the room, white mist flying off them as they stood infront of the Reaper that they had chosen. Eventually, the eleven other Reapers had a god chatting to them politely and Grim took Trace's hand.

"You're comin' wit me ta see our benefactor." He said, and they vanished into darkness.

They reappeared lightyears from any planet, stars were everywhere, but a giant entity stood before them. Azrael looked down at them cheerfully.

"Hello again, Grim." He said. "And greetings, Trace Echo; I have been expecting you."

Trace stood in amazement of the massive god that stood before him. "H-hello Azrael..." He stammered.

"Azrael, I have always done as I have known ta be right, and now I ask of you a favour." Grim said. "As you must know, Lowell is already on his way ta our home, and we intend ta stop him before he can do any lastin' damage. Wit da god's blessin, da other Reapers dat shall aid us will be unable ta die through his powers, but Trace has no such protection. Will you lend us your power?"

Azrael stared into the black abyss before them, pondering this request. In the amount of time it took him to think, stars were born, burned through their fuel, went supernova and shone no more. Azrael looked down at Trace and Grim.

"Yes." He said. "But know this. If I grant Trace my power, he shall be unable to give it up. He will become a god with power that rivals that of Thrum's. Do you understand?"

Trace nodded. "I understand, Azrael." He said. "But I must posess the power to fight for my friends, this is a fight we cannot lose."

Azrael put one massive finger to Trace's head and Trace's entire body shone like gold, for one brief second he felt as if his body was going to explode, but then Azrael pulled his finger away and Trace shone no more.

"Then fight well, young God of Death."

Trace and Grim reappered in Grim's office. The gods were gone, but the other Reapers remained; each of them had a luster to their skin or coat that wasn't there before, like they were shining. Halycone wrapped her arms around him the minute he appeared.

"Whoah!" Trace objected, before returning the hug. "Hello again." He said, before looking her over. "Look at you!" He cheered. "You're all glowy, and your arm is back!"

Halycone considered him critically. "Look at you!" She said. "You're... different somehow." She walked around him, eyeing him up and down. "It's like your entire body is made of shadows."

"It... Doesn't change anything; does it?" Trace worriedly asked. She shook her head.

"Nah, you're still you." She replied.

"Enough wit da reunions." Grim said. "He's here."

The group walked quickly up the the Entrance hall. The doors, replace for now only with plywood panels, exploded and showered the room in woodchips. Lowell walked in, a smug look on his face.

"Well, well, well." He said. "If it isn't a welcoming committy. I'm so touched that you went to all this trouble for little ole me."

"I'll handle this, ladies!" Marcus said, charging forth with his scythe out.

"Marcus! No!" Grim yelled, but it was too late. Marcus swung his scythe and Lowell caught it casually.

"You think you are good enough to kill a GOD?" He asked. "Don't make me laugh!" He kicked Marcus in his gut and threw him across the room.

Grim stepped forth, unveiling the blade on his own scythe. "Lowell, I knew dis day would come."

"As did I." Lowell said. "And today you cannot stop me."

"We shall see." Grim retorts. "Shan't we? What are we prepared for?!" Grim yelled.

"Nothing but death!" The small group of Reapers chorused.

"Where do we fight for?" One of the Reapers asked loudly.

"We fight for our home!"

"Who do we fight for?!" Halycone yelled.

"We fight for our friends, our family!"

Trace took a step forth. "What do we fight for?!"

The other Reapers rapped their scythes against the tiled floor to reveal their shining blades. "We fight for justice!" They yelled, and all charged Lowell as one.

Lowell jumped back, pulled a sword from behind his back and started to deflect the swung blades. The nine Reapers hounded him relentlessly, and they all jumped back when he surrounded himself in fire.

"Is that the best you can do?!" He taunted.

Grim, Trace and Halycone rushed forth. Lowell ducked and blocked blades that swund his way, and even completley deflected a point blank Phantom Edge that Halycone swung his way. Trace and Grim continually oppped in and out, swinging and kicking at Lowell, but he seemed to know where they were before they even appeared. Finally Lowell grabbed Trace and Halycone's scythes and threw the hapless duo across the room into the other Reapers. He vanished as Grim swung again, and reappeared behind the hapless skeleton. Lowell plowed his sword right through Grim's spine.

"Grim!" Trace yelled.

Lowell smiled as he dropped his victim onto the floor. "And so ends 'da Great Grim'." He said. "Honestly, you thought you could kill something like me? You, such low beings thought you could kill a GOD? You fool yourselves! Only one can stop this war, Azrael said so himself; and that someone is ME!"

Trace rose, now his eyes shone like silver once more and his blade was once again edged with malice and rage. Tears ran down his face as he charged Lowell down.

"Don't kid yourself!" Lowell said smugly. "If the Grim Reaper cannot stop me, what chance do you have?!"

Trace swung his scythe, a Phantom Edge far more powerful than anything used by Grim or the other Reapers flew through the air and severed Lowell's arm from his shoulder with a smooth, silky sound. "More than you think!" Trace yelled, his voice taking on a new hamonic.

Lowell ducked Trace's next swing, but was met halfway down by his knee, the force broke his nose and threw him across the room.

"You're so up our own ass I'm amazed you don't taste your own hair!" Trace yelled.

Lowell threw trace a fearful, yet extremely angry look. "You will pay for that, you son of a bitch!"

Lowell ran forth and plowed his sword through Trace's head. Halycone screamed, but Trace simply smiled.

"Think again, God of Demons." He said. He kicked Grim's scythe off the floor and pushed Lowell away with it; the sword through Trace's head pulled out yet left no wound. Lowell looked down at the blade in disbelief; it was worn and rusted, like it had been left at the bottom of a lake for one hundred years.

"Azrael said something to me before we left him earlier..." Trace said, stepping forth. "What was it..? Oh, yes. 'Fight well, young God of Death'. Today I finally know what I am meant for; finally I know what I'm supposed to do." He heavily plowed the blade of Grim's scythe into the tiles. "You used me to start a war; now I end it."

Lowell took a fearful step back, but when he spun around to run, Trace was there infront of him, and caught him by his face. In one deft swing he plowed Lowell into the tiles. Trace stood in the same pose he held in the desert, arms holding the scythe expertly still.

"May Judgement have mercy, for I will not!" Trace yelled, and swung his scythe through Lowell. The God of Demons screamed as his body was split in two and he exploded into a thousand glowing embers.

Grim came back to his senses a day later, huddled in his chair in his office. He reconstructed himself and stood up, pulling his robes back over his shoulders. The room was empty, only the furniture and his scythe cluttered the clean room. He reached over for the scythe and opened it, checking himself in the reflection of the blade.

"Welcome back, Grim."

Grim looked over to Trace, who had walked in through the door. "Ah, it's only you, Trace." He said. "I trust all went well?"

"Indeed." Trace replied. "Lowell is dead, I killed him myself." He reported.

"Good." Grim said. "Incidentally, Trace, you sound different, is dat anytin' ta do wit your new powers?"

"Kind of." Trace replied. "It is difficult to handle, but I am trying to get my voice back to how it was."

"Ah." Grim said, walking over and putting a hand on trace's back. "Try dis." He said, and slapped his throat, making him cough. "dat any better?"

"Uhh.." trace wheezed. "Yes, thank you."

Grim went back to checking himself in his reflection, barely noticing as Trace stepped closer.

"Your fifteenth vertebrae is upside-down." He said, nonchalantly.

Grim lowered his scythe and gave a stare that only a bare skull could give. "Don't you have other things to do?"

"Actually, I was here for the list." Trace said, coughing on the last word. "Gods dammit!" He rubbed his throat and thumped his chest.

Now Grim was confused. "Trace, you're a god, aint you supposed ta be doin' stuff up in Judgement wit da rest o' da gods?"

Trace shook his head. "I don't want to be with the rest of the gods." He said. "My home is here, with the rest of the Reapers."

"But-" Grim tried to protest.

Trace raised his hand. "No, Grim." He said. "I want to do what I was born to do, what I've spent my whole life doing, and I'd like to be able to do it with Halycone if it's possible."

Grim sighed. "If you wish it, lord."

"Don't call me that!" Trace snapped. "I'm still Trace, I don't want special treatment!"

Grim nodded. "Alright, Trace." He said. "I'll write up a list and get it ta you as soon as I can."

"Thankyou, sir." Trace said, before walking out.

He met Halycone outside the door, and he took her arm in his.

"Well, he's awake." He said.

"That's good." She replied.

They wandered aimlessly for a minute or two before somehow managing to end up back at Trace's room. He eyed the door absent-mindedly for a moment or so before making up his mind.

"Well, we have a few hours or so, want to go watch a sunset or something?" He asked.

Halycone chuckled. "You've some nice taste, kid." She said. "But, this time? Sure, let's go." They walked into his room.

They stopped dead when they heard a rustling in the room, something moved. Trace pulled out of Halycone's arms and flicked the lights on. In the middle of the floor there was a little basket with a letter with golden edging and writing that was undoubtably Thrum's own. Trace grabbed the letter and opened it, and skimmed it as Halycone reached into the basket and pulled a small furry bundle out.

"Heh;" Trace chuckled. "Thrum says that he wants me to take care of him, the puppy is supposedly your Nightmare to be."

"Why do I get a Nightmare?" Halycone asked.

"I asked Thrum if you could get one, he's a surprisingly nice guy for someone with so much power." trace replied. "Let's get a look at him-" He gasped.

Halycone showed Trace the little wolf; still a puppy yet he was already the size of a Jack Russle. He had red fur and brilliant blue eyes, and he was nuzzling Halycone like she were his mother.

"Now we need to name him, or he'll never get his full potential." Halycone said, running a claw through the puppy's fur.

"Thrum's got that on the letter too;" Trace said, showing it to her, "here."

Halycone stifled a laugh as she read it. "Clever bastard." She said, lifting the puppy's face to her own. "Hello, Lowell."

Up in Judgement, Thrum stroked his beard as Azrael moved a chesspiece across the board.

"Checkmate."