Thank you for giving this fic your attention. I've been planning and writing drafts for this fic for nearly a year now, and am finally getting it out. It's a Kingodm Hearts fan fiction, with plenty of OC's, but really tries to take the settings ans terms of the KH universe rather than writing about the characters from the franchise. It lets me develope my own characters and use familiar objects, as you'll see in the following. Darker things like death and some gore and the notion of killing in general are what this story is based sround, so if you're not crazy about that then I don't recommend this. It should settle down after chapter 1 though, if that is any consolation.
After the initial semi-bombing of this story, though, it underwent some heavy editing and ended up beingin much better conditiion. It's a whole chapter-based story I plan on writing, and I'm very glad to get it all out here. Hopefully you'll all enjoy, and I apologize for any small errors in the areas or grammar or tenses. I have a bit of a problem with reading my own work so I often find editing a task. I am confident though, that this draft will be the final. Enjoy.
~~~~~
I - Impulse
Twilight Town. Nothing remotely twilight about it. Clouds and rain; barely a speck of light in the sky, nor in the hearts of those living there.
He sighed, boot splashing into a puddle on his first step out of the hotel. A wonderful way to start the morning; he could already feel the moisture seeping in through the worn leather. Hardly a man of nineteen, Gabryl had his squinted eyes peer up to the dark gray overcast, admiring the rustling of clouds, and blinked when a flash of lighting in the distance impaired his vision for a moment. He shivered, wishing that he had something with a hood. Crossing his arms, with teeth clenched, he walked on, ignoring the fact that his very presence went unnoticed by every civilian in the town. Any sounds Gabryl made, the way he looked, and his own feelings, would not be sensed. There was another shiver at that reflection, and his arms went rigid as he stopped walking, standing at the street corner. Zoning out, not paying mind to anything external, Gabryl waited for a feeling; a certain urge that would come to him every day around this time. He couldn’t be sure when exactly, and how he would react, but Gabryl only resented that it would have to happen.
Gabryl was not happy with his life as a Reaper; it wasn’t really a life at all, for more reasons than one. Being undead, in a sense, he was at a loss for a heart. It had been only a couple of years since he had died; not in any stunning manner, but seemingly fated for his duties in the afterlife. He would recall the happiness he felt in the hours before that moment of destruction; being surrounded by loved ones, hearing them laugh and doing so in return. It was over, though, in a few seconds, and the last two years had been like hell; which he found ironic. Gabryl shook his head, blinking up at the traffic signal, directing him to walk across. That feeling wasn’t the only thing he was waiting for at the edge of the street.
A lock of black hair fell over an eye from the sudden movement of his steps, and Gabryl took it in two fingers, tucking it behind an ear. His hair as a whole was messy and greasy, from not having bathed in days. He looked down at his feet as he made it to the other side; why care? Not like anyone had ever seen him, or would. Gritting molars, Gabryl attempted to cease all those thoughts. It was those regrets that stopped him from getting any sleep, so he needed to not think and go about his usual schedule. Every day Gabryl made his rounds in this bleak and boring area of the city, waiting for the impulse he knew would come; the impulse that lead to his killing.
A Reaper; bringers of death and sorrow to their victims and those close to them; Gabryl was ashamed of this. When he ever came close to one of these unfortunate people, he suffered from a painful lurch in his stomach, rising to his chest and burning his lungs. If he had a heart, it would be thumping madly, deafening him and heating his head. That horrible, maddening sensation would remain until the hearts of his victims stopped beating. It was funny, however, if he didn’t have his own heart, why did he feel such remorse for taking lives? Gabryl had always been told that it was the heart that controlled emotions and housed all the feelings he should be having. He knew that there were hundreds, maybe thousands of Reapers in the world, maybe Twilight Town alone; did they feel the same? How could so many people suffer and still go on? Maybe it explained the dreary atmosphere in the city, because of all the unseen beings doing their jobs; their depression radiating off. When Gabryl started his evil life after death, he expected that the bloodshed wouldn’t bother him a bit, as he had been told he’d feel nothing. Yet, every time he saw the looks in the eyes of a helpless man or woman fated for a gruesome end, he would give anything just to put his weapon down. The impulse wouldn’t allow it.
Gabryl came just to the middle of the next block, and nearly tripped over his own feet. He let out a small gasp, hand snapping up to his stomach, his eyes dilating, forcing him to close them from the light pouring in. Stopping in his tracks, trying to keep balance, Gabryl clutched at his cloak, wishing to rip out whatever it was that caused the burning, to stop the familiar urge from crawling upward. The pain, however, squirmed up his trachea too fast, nearly exploding in his throat.
“Alright, damn it, alright!” He choked, arm whipping out, horizontal, to his side. Tense fingers were tightened into a fist, and black smoke materialized about his wrist, forming on his hand and swirling into a thin column in his grasp. A shaft of deep, violet metal, reaching nearly seven feet in length, slowly forming from the compressing smoke; topping off at the peak with a long, silver blade, said smoke leaving the mythical icon of death. A classic grim reaper’s scythe, personalized for Gabryl in the slightest ways; the flat metal was long and smooth on top, but jagged on the lower edge. The blade even extended to the other side of the shaft, just as dangerous.
Breathing heavy, he used the long weapon to hold his weight up, leaning on it and gripping with his other hand to hold it tightly. His mind swirled; explosion of heat was making it’s way into his skull, like multiple tendrils of fire filling up his brain. The impulse would give him a sort of sixth sense to find his victim, and already a path spanning down a few blocks came into view, only in his eyes. It wasn’t even physically present, but Gabryl was somehow, able to just feel it there. Sighing with a heavy, exhausted breath, struggling to get to a full standing position, he lifted the scythe, giving it a good practice swing through the air before hefting it over a shoulder, and took a few steps before his sorrowful eyes swept the immense crowd. Muscles tightened in his stomach when a pair of heads appeared bolder in his vision.
The fingers on his left latched back onto his stomach, and Gabryl made haste, wanting to finish this quickly. Pushing through the busy and ignorant pedestrians, they turned their heads as they felt an invisible presence, only to shrug it off. Grunting at the fact that no one would move for him, Gabryl finally reached a clearing; another street crossing. His targets walked over the darkened asphalt, wet from the downpour of rain from the previous night. When Gabryl finally laid eyes on the heads, he locked on and made a brisker pace, making sure not to get too close; anything to not get too attached to the people he had to kill; a single sentence that would make him feel at all empathetic would tear him up inside, more so than the impulse was doing. Regardless, he’d need to be near them when the time came. Weapon in two hands, getting over the continuous, nauseating pain, Gabryl was now walking on a diagonal behind them, eyes trained at their feet rather than faces, but the single instant he had to look at them was enough to send his imaginary heart sinking to his own feet.
Oh, these were the worst sort of kills to make; and hearts to take. It was a young couple, not much older than himself, perhaps in their twenties. Arms around each other’s shoulders, not going to fast; seemingly in bliss, in love, in their own little world.. His chest lurched at the smiles on their faces he had seen before averting his gaze, hoping that something would jar his thoughts away from them. Too many times had he ruined the lives of so many, due to a single death, especially those that cared deeply for others. However, this time both bodies gave off a kind of pinkish glow that only Gabryl could see, much like how he was given the sense to track the two down. That meant they were both meant to die, and to think that they didn’t even know it; all the things they must have planned for the future. Families and friends would be torn over their mangled bodies, and who knows how many Reapers would get new impulses due to the resulting grief. He shuddered at the thoughts; all the death that would stem, the emotion from the heart that he craved to have for his own, causing more negativity than anything else. He felt his hands gripping his scythe tighter than before; he was confused to how he was feeling, but more confused that he was feeling anything at all. Were they just memories of how to feel in these situations? But how were they any different form feeling the real thing?
These wretched thoughts. These emotions boiling inside him; that he shouldn’t even have! It made him want to pass up ever killing again. However, Gabryl had tried this previously, and he had failed. He knew that it was nearly suicide to try and hold back, good as an escape that would be, if at all. For, those higher ranking would reprimand him in ways unavoidable and unimaginable. As far as Gabryl knew, there was no way a Reaper, especially himself, could ever get rid of his burden, he’d just have to wait for an end to it all. Not that he was sure what that would be, but he could only imagine It unpleasant. It wasn‘t worth pining over, he concluded, and checked the happy faces before him, only to look back down. Why would a being created to destroy still be able to feel remorse for his actions?
The couple near him spoke amongst themselves, and Gabryl decided to block their voices out and just follow, and grieve in his own dark philosophies, mumbling and waiting. The couple then turned on their heels, walking into an alley. It isn’t like it was one of those dark, dirty, and ominous-looking alleyways you see in cliché films, either. In fact, was wide, and about as bright as they come in the regularly gloomy Twilight Town. They strolled on though, without a care. It pained Gabryl to watch this, knowing that their end would be a few steps down. There was something terrifying about having prior knowledge of these things.
Closer to the imminent tragedy, Gabryl’s breathing unintentionally sped up, a bead of sweat coming around his cheek, which he wiped off, seeing that his knuckles had been whitened from holding the shaft so tightly. This wasn’t just from the anxiousness he had never gotten used to. It was fear, an emotion, which he didn’t understand for a variety of reasons. Black smoke, like earlier, spiraled from his shoulder, creeping down to his elbow, and finally to where the blackness made a ring on his wrist. A shiny leather band appeared, still morphing like the scythe had minutes ago, with blades snaking over each white knuckle, with other bands strapping them to his hand. They elongated, defiantly sharp, made for combat at in close areas. This was one thing Gabryl never understood originally; he only needed to kill for the heart of a victim, so a scythe made sense due to its obvious symbolism. But a blunt, gauntlet-like weapon? It just seemed ridiculous that he’d ever need such a thing.
The thought was a lot more funny, though, until he actually had to use it on someone; Gabryl was now familiar with he difficult it was to cut into human flesh with his own hand. Distracting himself, Gabryl swiped through the air out of curiosity, hearing a bit of a ringing as the empty space was slashed. They were like talons; each one going to a fine point without the faintest sign of dulling. Flexing his fingers, Gabryl let out a misty breath, and admitted to himself that it made sense, since he’d probably have difficulty swinging the scythe in a place such as this to begin with. Still, there are times when Gabryl thought that some enchanted pistol would be preferable to wrenching someone’s organs out, but such trivial ideas got him no where. He looked up, having to squint as his eyes let in more light, the murder scene playing out before him. Wincing, he glanced to a dumpster adjacent to the yellow brick wall. Movement.
A man jumped out in front of the couple, was now menacingly holding up a knife; this is what he was waiting for. That was the thing about Reapers, they didn’t kill anyone without it being set up for them. Gabryl would stalk those who would be killed shortly, and wait for the people themselves to instigate any deaths. All he had to do was reap their hearts, which required Gabryl to kill, but not in a way unrelated to the death at hand. Looking at the knife that the mugger grasped, Gabryl noted how he never came upon any deaths that wouldn’t seem unusual if the victim was slaughtered with something blunt or sharp. Maybe that is he was only equipped with his claw and scythe. Did that mean that there was a Reaper out there shooting people in the head? It certainly would be a lot easier than what Gabryl did, and a lot less messy. Not to mention less tolling on the emotions whether they be real or not. But, he had to concentrate on the deaths at hand, and not the perfect murders that went on in his head, morbid as the pleasure may seem.
It was usually, in such cases, the deaths were always set up, as it were. This way, it wouldn’t seem too out of place or suspicious to find a pair of bodies with stab wounds that looked as though they were from a machete. In the next five or so minutes, Gabryl would leave three slaughtered bodies, making it look like a murder-suicide, with ample struggle. What divine forces made it so the predator and prey fit together so well, without knowledge of the former’s presence? The idea that someone could be thinking such things up was disgusting. Kill them, take their respective hearts, and leave someone else for the blame. Wonderful.
The mugger took a step, pointing the rusty point of the knife at the woman while muttering some threats. Another thing Gabryl would tune out; he despised hearing the distress, the fear, the sheer agony of feeling your life on the brink. Then the events leading up to the triple killing began. The man struck out at the mugger’s arm, managing to knock the blade out of his hand and send it falling to the cracked ground. They both scrambled for it, punching and clawing at each other for the item of ultimate dominance. The woman stood back, against the moist wall in fear, tears mixed with the rain, just beginning to drizzle. She was in too much dispense to even scream. Gabryl, in a single moment of instinct, took his clawed hand, fingers flattened and formed like his own knife, and brought it up in an uppercut, driving it into her stomach. He was visible only for a moment when the life was taken, sliding the long nails out form the bloodying body, now sinking to the ground. The arm carrying the scythe sprung into action now, and Gabryl swung it behind him, one-handed, the tip of the blade stabbing perfectly downward into the male lover’s back. The mugger hadn’t noticed, and went for his discarded weapon as his opponent’s hand went cold. He was pointing it at him, smirking in pointless triumph, without noticing the writhing body.
Bringing the scythe out of the man, Gabryl’s narrowing eyes focused on the mugger, who could now seem him in Gabryl’s primal, killing state. It was now his eyes filling with fear for his own life. He wouldn’t stay visible for long, though, and would go back to being unnoticed when the third person was killed. In one fluid motion the weapon came from the corpse, gliding around in a crescent and making a quick slice to his throat. The swing of the blade was so amazing and precise; it hadn’t decapitated him, which Gabryl had figured was discouraged, most likely due to the rarity of decapitations in mere robberies, but it was understandable. Stealth played a large role in the killing process of a Reaper, and seeing a man with his throat slit with only a knife on the scene would no doubt make sense to any authorities.
Gabryl, with a firm grip, rotated his weapon once it retaliated from the cut, flipping it. The sharp pike, the thin blade that stood poised on the end of the scythe pointed directly at his chest. Gabryl felt a sort of vengeance against this person, amongst his cavalcade of other, ignored emotions, because this man had caused two others to die. If he had never decided to take up stealing from innocent people, then the two bleeding bodies at his feet wouldn’t be laying there. In an unanticipated burst of anger, he thrust the scythe-turned-javelin through the sternum, causing a sickening crack, followed by a splattering. Gabryl held it there for at least a second longer than he needed to, scowling, and twisting it as he pulled.
Without warning, Gabryl’s scythe went up in a sudden poof of the same black smoke from which it came, and he looked down to his left hand, a thump coming from the body hitting the pavement. More blackness came; this time circling on his gauntlet, and fading into the air, the weapon along with it. The triad of bodies, now without any sound or notice of life, glowed a pink-purple hue for a moment, the light gathering towards each of their respective chests increasing in brightness. Out of each corpse, a radiating, pink, heart-shaped item arose. Gabryl always saw these after he killed someone, it was the spiritual heart of a person. Those things, levitating gently, and rising just as much, were exactly what Gabryl craved for; and to think it was something no living person knew thy really had. Each one lit up the alley, casting the same colored light to the brick walls, and Gabryl stared on in awe. Every time he watched these hearts, they seemed simply beautiful. Whether or not it was his longing for one, they were stunning.
So pure, made of feelings and memories and what made a person whole. Floating higher, at least two stories high, by looking at the buildings. Gabryl felt the envy that he should have for not having one of his own, twisting in an empty chest. Damn, why did he feel this way then? The sadness and longing; those were emotions too, so why were they there? Maybe all the legends and beliefs that many in Twilight Town went by were wrong, and was the kind of thing only a deceased man could know for sure. As the hearts reached the third story, Gabryl saw that by the third window up, each one burst into a small cloud of purple; a mix of the darkness that acted as a shell around them, and light contained within. Gabryl walked, slowly; bloodied hands burrowing into the pockets of his tight, black jeans. He wanted to get out of what was meant to be a crime scene, even if he couldn’t be seen. If there’s one thing worse than killing a person it’s seeing the horrified reaction, and the wasted heart and the life it contains fade to nothing.
Gabryl made his way out of the alley, hoping to forget about what he had just done, but as he turned a corner, there was a scream echoing down the streets, no doubt someone had discovered the scene. Any screams, or yelling, or even sirens from police cars and ambulances coming to area, however, were drowned out by a series of numerous, long, deep rings. Gabryl recognized them, having been born and raised in Twilight Town. They came from atop the bell tower, at the church, nearly a mile away. That bell was ancient, so it was impressive that it kept up making such a loud noise up to this point in time. Gabryl counted the chimes; nine of them. It was so early, and already three people were dead by his hand. As said chimes were absorbed into the usual sounds of the crowd, Gabryl’s eyes closed slowly as they dilated once more, and he clenched both fists. Rapidly heating warmth expanded in his stomach once more.
Scrambling amongst a tangle of sheets, Gabryl eventually sat up, not wishing to have even woken up in the first place, and his blurry vision surveying another temporary bedroom. Blankets wrapped around him in a messy fashion, having tossed and turned as a result of haunting nightmares; blood splashed onto him from a previous victim, dyed them in brownish-red splotches. He brushed a few strands of black hair from his eyes, having a double-take at the layers of bloody fabric that covered him, for a moment forgetting his disposition as a harbinger of death. Dried blood, not belonging to him, covered his fingers, and he scowled at it, cursing under his breath. It didn’t just plague him of his killing, but was fairly unsanitary to boot. Sighing after a shower, he looked into a steamy mirror, wiping off the excess fog. His eyes were shadowed by black, sleep-deprived rings, which in no way complimented their blue color. Those eyes, which had not glinted, almost angelically, like they did years prior. One might notice that they were taking on a grayish tone, as if the life in them were dying slowly.
Slipping on his garments, he eyed his bare torso’s reflection, not yet with a shirt on. It was never really very sunny in Twilight Town, as the weather seemed to prefer darkness, and Gabryl’s preference to stay inside as of late didn’t allow for him to get any sun. The rest of his paling skin was bruised and scared from fights with tougher targets who managed a good struggle. Gabryl had no idea if Reapers were physically immortal, and he wasn’t big on finding out, for all he knew he could end up having to live many years with a few broken bones, which was the last thing he needed. He buttoned the leather vest that he normally wore over his black shirt, decaled in purple designs, and as he shook the water from his draping hair, made his way through the rest of the house.
Being naturally invisible most of the time, and having to constantly kill every few hours, it’s difficult for a Reaper to hold up a job and get a regular income. Perhaps it’s different for others, but Gabryl would never get any money or supplies without the troubles of his urges getting in the way, so it basically came down to living off of that the dead owned. In fact, the house that Gabryl was sleeping in was that of a victim from yesterday; his last of the day, and after killing he had fallen, out cold, on the luxurious bed. At least it provided some comfort, and was better than some cheap motel, that he might usually have to sneak into at the edge of town. He turned to a shiny new coffee machine, pouring in water, and then heaved a heavier than normal sigh once his eyes laid upon the multitude of exotic mugs. Why did the people he kill always have these little things to make his guilt grow even more? Gabryl finally decided on the least decorated one he could find, and brought the hot liquid to his lips. A particular odor didn’t leave the air however, despite the pleasing smell of ground beans.
Gabryl narrowed his eyes to the living room, in which a suede armchair sat an older man, noticeably overweight; this man was to have died of a burglary gone wrong. Fortunately it was while he was in his sleep, so there didn‘t need to be much of a struggle with potential offender, it made Gabryl glad that the last time he needed to kill in a day was simple, and would let him get to sleep a little easier. Still, it was immaterial considering what Gabryl had done in the past. These sort of deaths, at least, allowed for him to live the rich life for a night and morning, maybe more depending on the situation, though just the one was all he really wanted, even if it was just one in a single month. Under other circumstances he’d stay longer, but due to family photographs dotted around the home, there would most likely be people returning. Regardless, it was acceptable since Gabryl had only come to escape the ensuing storm that had thundered the other night, since apparently there couldn’t be a full twenty-four hours in this city without it raining. He gave a sarcastic chuckle at that. Still, a bed never felt so good, even if it was bloodstained. The empty coffee mug was left in the sink; no reason not to be courteous when he could. He stopped in the doorway; oh wait, there was.
Going outside, abandoning the cozy house, Gabryl brought his hand up to shade his eyes from a ray of sunlight. Thick clouds were still rolling around the sky, with light only escaping through cracks, one of which were over him through some ironic happenstance. The mix of dark and light sky was eerie and unattractive at the same time. Eyes settling, pointed downward like usual, all Gabryl had left to do was patrol the city until his impulses took over. It would just be another one of those days he had to grate through, one death after the next. Stuck in his cycle, he always secretly hoped for something exciting to happen, even if it was just some interesting play on a murder or death-related event. Puddles were deep on the sidewalks that he splashed in, upsetting him every time he misjudged their depth. So, he kicked away some of the water for revenge on the pools. And the darkness that came when clouds blew back in front of the sun only deepened his recent depression, or at least a greater one. He desperately needed some way out of this loop, some way to go on with a life that he lost unfairly. Gabryl wasn’t even entirely sure how to get out of being Reaper; he assumed that at some point he’d reach his limit of killing, or taking hearts, and that would be that; some sort of heaven or hell or shot at life again. Not that he could expect anything so flashy for himself exactly, but hope was one of the few things that he had left, even with it having mostly deteriorated.
A few hours later, Gabryl had dispatched a man that was bludgeoned to death by a pair of gang members; one of which were stabbed in the process. It turned out that it was much easier to just stab a person, that it is to hit them repeatedly with the blunt end of his scythe, or any heavy object he could find. Once again, Gabryl’s mind was drawn to wondering why he was stuck cutting up others, when it was much easier to shoot someone. Heck, why weren’t those people back there using guns in the first place? Gabryl was a bit of an expert on how convenient they would be in so many situations. He took a moment to stretch his neck back, craning it, with a small crick. Then it would be someone else’s job to take out those two, but, would Gabryl just be trusted with another person destined to die in a more crude way? It could even effect him in a deeper way than he could imagine. Gabryl sat on a park bench as he shuffled through such theories on his place in the world, watching as police cars gathered across the street; reporters and emergency vehicles gathering as well.
Perhaps it was the two years of killing people, but Gabryl began to lose interest in anything the media spouted out regarding death and distraught. It all meant nothing to him. He got up, groaning in tiredness from his sleep deprivation, and from this half of a day’s work. Getting back onto the sidewalk, he flicked the same piece of hair that plagued him yesterday out of his eyesight, and heard something else familiar; the bell from the Chapel Hearts rang out on the other side of the park.
The one place in Twilight Town he remembered a lot from his former life, Gabryl could see the clock tower rise over the trees. He saw the old hands point out two o’ clock, and he turned as the final chime went off. The old church, which the clock tower was apart of, was known as the Chapel Hearts. Probably the most ancient thing in the whole city, with enormous cogs inspected daily, and prayers spoken for centuries announced in sermons on the same schedule as the bells. You could set your watch by the knees of the people hitting the floor. Deciding to head towards it, Gabryl made it to one side of the building, walking around to the front.
He peered around a large arch, that supported the walls on that side. The use of buttresses such as these were an old technique in architecture, so it reflected on the antique that was the Chapel Hearts. The yellow stone wall ending, Gabryl met a wide, towering door adorned with stained glass. It was white, and still managed to glisten a little in the bits of sunlight that came through the clouds. Its size was almost comical in the uselessness of it all, however, it was for that reason that a side entrance was used. As for it’s name though, Chapel Hearts was believed, and still is by many in the town, to be a sort of gathering place for the spirits and souls of the deceased; namely, of course, hearts. Gabryl had always been skeptical to such stories while he was alive, but seeing those legendary hearts float around first-hand, he became a lot more open-minded to the idea that there could be a few of the little pink things caught up in high ceilings. Still, there had to be more important places for hearts to go then to please some devout cultists.
Gabryl shook his head, slowly, putting a hand to his forehead and wiping some perspiration. The humidity was getting to him, and ranting over and over in his head about some religion wouldn’t get him anywhere, but neither would thoughts about death and such. He stopped, holding his arms up in the air, yawning with a bit of rage behind it, looking up as the sun went away once more.
“Something happen. Something.” Huffing, his eyes averting to the large glass window on the bank to his right. It was pretty reflective, and Gabryl noticed how odd he looked with his arms up, and shyly brought them down, during which he realized with irony that no one saw him. He was allowed to have dignity while dead at least, which was more an assumption than anything, really. His focus shifting, seeing through the window now, Gabryl‘s eyes widened in surprise. There was some activity going on in their, the kind he recognized; murder. A noise he recognized; gunshots. Some bank robber, holding up a gun, a flannel sack in the other hand, had taken a shot at a security guard, who lay dead on the floor. Gabryl watched, eyes wide, and patted at his chest, stomach, then his sides. Why wasn’t his impulse going off…? He thought that he may have ignored the warmth in his gut, but no, there was none. Looking back up, nearly losing it, Gabryl saw a person, running, for some reason unnoticed by the gunman. This person had a bag in each hand, filled with stolen cash, and took at turn for the window. Gabryl almost took a step back on his heel, and the man inside jumped, arms crossed over his face; crashing right through the glass in a burst of shards.
Gabryl took about five double-takes, looking for the robber, only to seem a man, about his age, dressed in black, ragged clothing, standing right in the middle of the mess of glass. His head darted side to side, and his fists clenched on the sacks. It was like no one else in the area could see him, and onlookers were simply shocked that a window seemed to explode out of nowhere. Attention drawn to the scene the scene inside, it was easy to assume it was the fault of a misfire. Gabryl knew that was not the case. With all in the immediate area looking right past the man, Gabryl was, for a moment, convinced even more of civilian idiocy. Watching the man look for a clear escape, he broke into a sprint, right in Gabryl’s direction. Gabryl, acting on habit, sidestepped so that this bank robber wouldn’t crash into the invisible man in his path, but to his shock, Gabryl was pushed aside before even moving himself.
“How…” His mouth went agape, and an arm raised. “Hey! Come back-” No, that wouldn’t work, he was running from the law or something. No, wait, wasn’t this guy invisible? Gabryl took a sharp breath and ran after him, arms pumping, and shouted multiple times to get his attention. Nearly falling over from his pursuing though, shoving people on the busy sidewalk out of the way; when was the last time anyone had made contact with him? This person had touched him, seemingly intentionally, and Gabryl wasn’t going to assume it as a coincidence. Hot on his trail, Gabryl heard a short, surprising clinking of some object with the ground, and, clenching his teeth, reached down and scooped something up in his hand; the mysterious man had dropped this, he could tell. They both came to a clearing, and even though the unknown didn’t know that he was being followed, Gabryl felt as if they were the only two in the large town square, dotted with benches and flower boxes with a marketplace at it’s center. Normally a sort of cultural center, Gabryl was ignoring the sights and focused on the man, hunched over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Thoughts raced through Gabryl’s mind, and he looked to the item in his hand.
The strange piece was made of metal, a chain stretching from one end; and judging by said chain, it looked as though it would be connected to something. Perhaps it was some stolen pocket watch, Gabryl would muse mockingly. He picked it up, looking at the shiny emblem dangling before his eyes. It was simple, silver-colored, and was made of three circles; two small ones connected to the largest, almost like the latter had ears. He wondered how special this was, or if it was just some trinket, however, the idea that someone could see him just excited Gabryl to such an extent. What if this person was a fellow Reaper? They could very well provide him the sustenance he needed in his dreary afterlife, socially and for his mentality. Almost smiling, blue eyes glowing, like they were returning to their original color, Gabryl took a step, but froze when something completely unexpected, and as he would see, quite unfortunate as well, occurred.
A flash of gold light came down in a column in front of the man. Both Reapers, as the unnamed man was, in fact, one, jumped, dead in their tracks, and Gabryl took cover behind one of the planted trees. He peaked around, gripping the chain of the item he found, seeing that his only hope for communication could be threatened, being stared down at with large, blue eyes. Those demeaning eyes burned on top of a dry-skinned, darkened face, and the expression was hardly that of delight. The most notable feature of this being, however, was the large pair of white feathered wings protruding form his back. They shone almost as bright as his eyes, both giving off an ethereal glow. Gabryl happened to know what this man was, rather than who. The only things he knew of with those eyes, wings, and that radiance about them, were Angels. Eyes narrowing, glaring, the man spoke in a deep voice, not suiting the angelic appearance, yet it didn’t seem like any other voice would.
“Lucre, being a little more careless this time?” There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone, like he was joking, but the stare he received was ominous. The Reaper, apparently Lucre, looked up in breathless surprise, free hand searching his clothing until he came to a pocket. Digging into it, he gasped when he discovered a hole, cursing under his breath,
“Where is…?!”
He was cut off. Gabryl’s wide eyes looked down at what he found on the sidewalk. Whatever it was, it was important, and he needed it.
“Your third offense; using your abilities for personal gain. I’ve warned you before, you know.”
Lucre nodded, solemnly bringing his head up. He was torturing himself on the inside for not checking for his Keychain earlier. The Angel brought up an arm, large fingers extended, and his palm generated a ball of light.
“I’m sure you know what comes next.”
Nodding again, faster, speaking quietly, in desperation that he tried to hide, almost whispering from a dry throat.
“Guy’s gotta live, not my fault we get these perks and can’t do nothing useful with them…”
The Angel, increasing the size of the energy ball, brought it over Lucre’s head. He winced as it left his peripherals, as he didn’t dare take his eyes away from the enforcer.
“You people do exactly what you have to. Do not think that you are useless, or that you’re special. And do not think that we do not know what you all do to get behind our backs.” He seemed to seethe, as if on cue. “We shall keep you under our rule, and assure you do what you deserve to do and only that. Now, your punishment.” And, not even giving a chance for response, the ball shone brilliantly, and a blast of light emitted, slamming down in a pillar like the Angel had appeared in. When it ceased, there was only smoke hissing from the air, and the two flannel sacks thumping to the ground. Passers-by saw the two bags appear seemingly out of nowhere; passing from the grip of someone non-existent to the realm of the living, only momentarily. Just like when he was visible to the couple, and criminal, for less than a second. Gabryl, wordless and horrified, had seen that man, Reaper or not, be vaporized on the spot. He was confused, and scared, and still his blood raced from the trauma of it all. Why had he been killed… but weren’t they already dead? What could be worse, and why did this even happen? The Angel had mentioned something about multiple offenses, but stealing something seemed so minor considering the consequence at hand. And what was the Angel talking about- Reapers doing things? So many questions flooded his throbbing brain, as the angel cracked the knuckles on his large, thick-fingered hand, which had been the source of the blast. His wings flapped out, and he began glowing, as if to leave. Gabryl rushed from behind the tree; pocketing his scavenged Keychain.
“You! Angel! What-”
The large, glowing man looked down as Gabryl neared; his eyes alone scaring him out of saying more. Those eyes, large and blue, seemed to scan Gabryl, seeing right into his mind.
“…Gabryl, is it.”
He gave the slightest nod, and couldn’t help but think that he must have looked just like the other Reaper, hopeless and without power.
“You’ve a single violation prior to this moment…”
That brought up the slightest recollection in Gabryl’s mind, but he didn’t dwell on it for very long. Just how did he know from looking at him? Gabryl clearly remembered his last confrontation with an Angel, and this definitely wasn’t the same man. The Angel went on, in deep monotone, raising on eyebrow on an otherwise expressionless face.
“I’m not normally lenient, but I‘m willing to let this particular one go.” Eyes narrowing, he sensed Gabryl was more oblivious than he originally thought, “’No prolonged contact with other Reapers. Yes? Good. Be warned, however, we will be much more sensitive to any future violation that may occur.”
Lifting one heavy hand, a beam of light, blinding, and similar to his vaporizing blast, emitted from it, prompting Gabryl to flinch, eyes closing from the brightness and fear of pain or death. But now, rather, there was but a weapon in his hand, not unlike an deformed, blunt, and what seemed like a rather impractical sword. It was difficult to get a more accurate read on it before the blade was pointed straight in his face, a three-pronged tip perpendicular to his nose. He could see that it was predominantly black, with red streaks up the shaft, curving with the rounded top. With the sharpness of the more demeaning end, and its shape, it gave the illusion of an elongated knife or axe, with the prongs making it more alien. At the bottom end of a guarded hilt was a small metal emblem on a chain, like the one made of silver circles Gabryl found on the ground, having belonged to Lucre. This one, though, from what he could see, took the shape of a small, black axe, almost a miniature version of the weapon itself.
“You know very well what may happen the next time I see you, should your troublesome record escalate by any means. The last thing we need is miscreants like you.” The blade disappeared, as did the Angel, in a final, radiating flash of white gold light. Gabryl was left to stand, his entire body quivering from fright, as people flocked to the apparent bags of free money left out of nowhere. Wanting to get away from the mess of greed and negative emotion, more so than he had already experienced this day, he staggered over, leaning on a lamp post. He had wanted something interesting to happen today, to break out of his prison of loneliness and grey skies. Someone had spoken to him directly for the first time in more than a year, and they were threatening to kill him. A person, albeit pushing him out of the way, has acknowledged his physical presence. And not stopping him or getting the chained thing to him on time is what killed him. Why did all of this have to happen at once; why did everything he wanted happen to all come together and scar him for the rest of his undead days. And now, that all of this had happened, what exactly would this change after today?
After the initial semi-bombing of this story, though, it underwent some heavy editing and ended up beingin much better conditiion. It's a whole chapter-based story I plan on writing, and I'm very glad to get it all out here. Hopefully you'll all enjoy, and I apologize for any small errors in the areas or grammar or tenses. I have a bit of a problem with reading my own work so I often find editing a task. I am confident though, that this draft will be the final. Enjoy.
~~~~~
I - Impulse
Twilight Town. Nothing remotely twilight about it. Clouds and rain; barely a speck of light in the sky, nor in the hearts of those living there.
He sighed, boot splashing into a puddle on his first step out of the hotel. A wonderful way to start the morning; he could already feel the moisture seeping in through the worn leather. Hardly a man of nineteen, Gabryl had his squinted eyes peer up to the dark gray overcast, admiring the rustling of clouds, and blinked when a flash of lighting in the distance impaired his vision for a moment. He shivered, wishing that he had something with a hood. Crossing his arms, with teeth clenched, he walked on, ignoring the fact that his very presence went unnoticed by every civilian in the town. Any sounds Gabryl made, the way he looked, and his own feelings, would not be sensed. There was another shiver at that reflection, and his arms went rigid as he stopped walking, standing at the street corner. Zoning out, not paying mind to anything external, Gabryl waited for a feeling; a certain urge that would come to him every day around this time. He couldn’t be sure when exactly, and how he would react, but Gabryl only resented that it would have to happen.
Gabryl was not happy with his life as a Reaper; it wasn’t really a life at all, for more reasons than one. Being undead, in a sense, he was at a loss for a heart. It had been only a couple of years since he had died; not in any stunning manner, but seemingly fated for his duties in the afterlife. He would recall the happiness he felt in the hours before that moment of destruction; being surrounded by loved ones, hearing them laugh and doing so in return. It was over, though, in a few seconds, and the last two years had been like hell; which he found ironic. Gabryl shook his head, blinking up at the traffic signal, directing him to walk across. That feeling wasn’t the only thing he was waiting for at the edge of the street.
A lock of black hair fell over an eye from the sudden movement of his steps, and Gabryl took it in two fingers, tucking it behind an ear. His hair as a whole was messy and greasy, from not having bathed in days. He looked down at his feet as he made it to the other side; why care? Not like anyone had ever seen him, or would. Gritting molars, Gabryl attempted to cease all those thoughts. It was those regrets that stopped him from getting any sleep, so he needed to not think and go about his usual schedule. Every day Gabryl made his rounds in this bleak and boring area of the city, waiting for the impulse he knew would come; the impulse that lead to his killing.
A Reaper; bringers of death and sorrow to their victims and those close to them; Gabryl was ashamed of this. When he ever came close to one of these unfortunate people, he suffered from a painful lurch in his stomach, rising to his chest and burning his lungs. If he had a heart, it would be thumping madly, deafening him and heating his head. That horrible, maddening sensation would remain until the hearts of his victims stopped beating. It was funny, however, if he didn’t have his own heart, why did he feel such remorse for taking lives? Gabryl had always been told that it was the heart that controlled emotions and housed all the feelings he should be having. He knew that there were hundreds, maybe thousands of Reapers in the world, maybe Twilight Town alone; did they feel the same? How could so many people suffer and still go on? Maybe it explained the dreary atmosphere in the city, because of all the unseen beings doing their jobs; their depression radiating off. When Gabryl started his evil life after death, he expected that the bloodshed wouldn’t bother him a bit, as he had been told he’d feel nothing. Yet, every time he saw the looks in the eyes of a helpless man or woman fated for a gruesome end, he would give anything just to put his weapon down. The impulse wouldn’t allow it.
Gabryl came just to the middle of the next block, and nearly tripped over his own feet. He let out a small gasp, hand snapping up to his stomach, his eyes dilating, forcing him to close them from the light pouring in. Stopping in his tracks, trying to keep balance, Gabryl clutched at his cloak, wishing to rip out whatever it was that caused the burning, to stop the familiar urge from crawling upward. The pain, however, squirmed up his trachea too fast, nearly exploding in his throat.
“Alright, damn it, alright!” He choked, arm whipping out, horizontal, to his side. Tense fingers were tightened into a fist, and black smoke materialized about his wrist, forming on his hand and swirling into a thin column in his grasp. A shaft of deep, violet metal, reaching nearly seven feet in length, slowly forming from the compressing smoke; topping off at the peak with a long, silver blade, said smoke leaving the mythical icon of death. A classic grim reaper’s scythe, personalized for Gabryl in the slightest ways; the flat metal was long and smooth on top, but jagged on the lower edge. The blade even extended to the other side of the shaft, just as dangerous.
Breathing heavy, he used the long weapon to hold his weight up, leaning on it and gripping with his other hand to hold it tightly. His mind swirled; explosion of heat was making it’s way into his skull, like multiple tendrils of fire filling up his brain. The impulse would give him a sort of sixth sense to find his victim, and already a path spanning down a few blocks came into view, only in his eyes. It wasn’t even physically present, but Gabryl was somehow, able to just feel it there. Sighing with a heavy, exhausted breath, struggling to get to a full standing position, he lifted the scythe, giving it a good practice swing through the air before hefting it over a shoulder, and took a few steps before his sorrowful eyes swept the immense crowd. Muscles tightened in his stomach when a pair of heads appeared bolder in his vision.
The fingers on his left latched back onto his stomach, and Gabryl made haste, wanting to finish this quickly. Pushing through the busy and ignorant pedestrians, they turned their heads as they felt an invisible presence, only to shrug it off. Grunting at the fact that no one would move for him, Gabryl finally reached a clearing; another street crossing. His targets walked over the darkened asphalt, wet from the downpour of rain from the previous night. When Gabryl finally laid eyes on the heads, he locked on and made a brisker pace, making sure not to get too close; anything to not get too attached to the people he had to kill; a single sentence that would make him feel at all empathetic would tear him up inside, more so than the impulse was doing. Regardless, he’d need to be near them when the time came. Weapon in two hands, getting over the continuous, nauseating pain, Gabryl was now walking on a diagonal behind them, eyes trained at their feet rather than faces, but the single instant he had to look at them was enough to send his imaginary heart sinking to his own feet.
Oh, these were the worst sort of kills to make; and hearts to take. It was a young couple, not much older than himself, perhaps in their twenties. Arms around each other’s shoulders, not going to fast; seemingly in bliss, in love, in their own little world.. His chest lurched at the smiles on their faces he had seen before averting his gaze, hoping that something would jar his thoughts away from them. Too many times had he ruined the lives of so many, due to a single death, especially those that cared deeply for others. However, this time both bodies gave off a kind of pinkish glow that only Gabryl could see, much like how he was given the sense to track the two down. That meant they were both meant to die, and to think that they didn’t even know it; all the things they must have planned for the future. Families and friends would be torn over their mangled bodies, and who knows how many Reapers would get new impulses due to the resulting grief. He shuddered at the thoughts; all the death that would stem, the emotion from the heart that he craved to have for his own, causing more negativity than anything else. He felt his hands gripping his scythe tighter than before; he was confused to how he was feeling, but more confused that he was feeling anything at all. Were they just memories of how to feel in these situations? But how were they any different form feeling the real thing?
These wretched thoughts. These emotions boiling inside him; that he shouldn’t even have! It made him want to pass up ever killing again. However, Gabryl had tried this previously, and he had failed. He knew that it was nearly suicide to try and hold back, good as an escape that would be, if at all. For, those higher ranking would reprimand him in ways unavoidable and unimaginable. As far as Gabryl knew, there was no way a Reaper, especially himself, could ever get rid of his burden, he’d just have to wait for an end to it all. Not that he was sure what that would be, but he could only imagine It unpleasant. It wasn‘t worth pining over, he concluded, and checked the happy faces before him, only to look back down. Why would a being created to destroy still be able to feel remorse for his actions?
The couple near him spoke amongst themselves, and Gabryl decided to block their voices out and just follow, and grieve in his own dark philosophies, mumbling and waiting. The couple then turned on their heels, walking into an alley. It isn’t like it was one of those dark, dirty, and ominous-looking alleyways you see in cliché films, either. In fact, was wide, and about as bright as they come in the regularly gloomy Twilight Town. They strolled on though, without a care. It pained Gabryl to watch this, knowing that their end would be a few steps down. There was something terrifying about having prior knowledge of these things.
Closer to the imminent tragedy, Gabryl’s breathing unintentionally sped up, a bead of sweat coming around his cheek, which he wiped off, seeing that his knuckles had been whitened from holding the shaft so tightly. This wasn’t just from the anxiousness he had never gotten used to. It was fear, an emotion, which he didn’t understand for a variety of reasons. Black smoke, like earlier, spiraled from his shoulder, creeping down to his elbow, and finally to where the blackness made a ring on his wrist. A shiny leather band appeared, still morphing like the scythe had minutes ago, with blades snaking over each white knuckle, with other bands strapping them to his hand. They elongated, defiantly sharp, made for combat at in close areas. This was one thing Gabryl never understood originally; he only needed to kill for the heart of a victim, so a scythe made sense due to its obvious symbolism. But a blunt, gauntlet-like weapon? It just seemed ridiculous that he’d ever need such a thing.
The thought was a lot more funny, though, until he actually had to use it on someone; Gabryl was now familiar with he difficult it was to cut into human flesh with his own hand. Distracting himself, Gabryl swiped through the air out of curiosity, hearing a bit of a ringing as the empty space was slashed. They were like talons; each one going to a fine point without the faintest sign of dulling. Flexing his fingers, Gabryl let out a misty breath, and admitted to himself that it made sense, since he’d probably have difficulty swinging the scythe in a place such as this to begin with. Still, there are times when Gabryl thought that some enchanted pistol would be preferable to wrenching someone’s organs out, but such trivial ideas got him no where. He looked up, having to squint as his eyes let in more light, the murder scene playing out before him. Wincing, he glanced to a dumpster adjacent to the yellow brick wall. Movement.
A man jumped out in front of the couple, was now menacingly holding up a knife; this is what he was waiting for. That was the thing about Reapers, they didn’t kill anyone without it being set up for them. Gabryl would stalk those who would be killed shortly, and wait for the people themselves to instigate any deaths. All he had to do was reap their hearts, which required Gabryl to kill, but not in a way unrelated to the death at hand. Looking at the knife that the mugger grasped, Gabryl noted how he never came upon any deaths that wouldn’t seem unusual if the victim was slaughtered with something blunt or sharp. Maybe that is he was only equipped with his claw and scythe. Did that mean that there was a Reaper out there shooting people in the head? It certainly would be a lot easier than what Gabryl did, and a lot less messy. Not to mention less tolling on the emotions whether they be real or not. But, he had to concentrate on the deaths at hand, and not the perfect murders that went on in his head, morbid as the pleasure may seem.
It was usually, in such cases, the deaths were always set up, as it were. This way, it wouldn’t seem too out of place or suspicious to find a pair of bodies with stab wounds that looked as though they were from a machete. In the next five or so minutes, Gabryl would leave three slaughtered bodies, making it look like a murder-suicide, with ample struggle. What divine forces made it so the predator and prey fit together so well, without knowledge of the former’s presence? The idea that someone could be thinking such things up was disgusting. Kill them, take their respective hearts, and leave someone else for the blame. Wonderful.
The mugger took a step, pointing the rusty point of the knife at the woman while muttering some threats. Another thing Gabryl would tune out; he despised hearing the distress, the fear, the sheer agony of feeling your life on the brink. Then the events leading up to the triple killing began. The man struck out at the mugger’s arm, managing to knock the blade out of his hand and send it falling to the cracked ground. They both scrambled for it, punching and clawing at each other for the item of ultimate dominance. The woman stood back, against the moist wall in fear, tears mixed with the rain, just beginning to drizzle. She was in too much dispense to even scream. Gabryl, in a single moment of instinct, took his clawed hand, fingers flattened and formed like his own knife, and brought it up in an uppercut, driving it into her stomach. He was visible only for a moment when the life was taken, sliding the long nails out form the bloodying body, now sinking to the ground. The arm carrying the scythe sprung into action now, and Gabryl swung it behind him, one-handed, the tip of the blade stabbing perfectly downward into the male lover’s back. The mugger hadn’t noticed, and went for his discarded weapon as his opponent’s hand went cold. He was pointing it at him, smirking in pointless triumph, without noticing the writhing body.
Bringing the scythe out of the man, Gabryl’s narrowing eyes focused on the mugger, who could now seem him in Gabryl’s primal, killing state. It was now his eyes filling with fear for his own life. He wouldn’t stay visible for long, though, and would go back to being unnoticed when the third person was killed. In one fluid motion the weapon came from the corpse, gliding around in a crescent and making a quick slice to his throat. The swing of the blade was so amazing and precise; it hadn’t decapitated him, which Gabryl had figured was discouraged, most likely due to the rarity of decapitations in mere robberies, but it was understandable. Stealth played a large role in the killing process of a Reaper, and seeing a man with his throat slit with only a knife on the scene would no doubt make sense to any authorities.
Gabryl, with a firm grip, rotated his weapon once it retaliated from the cut, flipping it. The sharp pike, the thin blade that stood poised on the end of the scythe pointed directly at his chest. Gabryl felt a sort of vengeance against this person, amongst his cavalcade of other, ignored emotions, because this man had caused two others to die. If he had never decided to take up stealing from innocent people, then the two bleeding bodies at his feet wouldn’t be laying there. In an unanticipated burst of anger, he thrust the scythe-turned-javelin through the sternum, causing a sickening crack, followed by a splattering. Gabryl held it there for at least a second longer than he needed to, scowling, and twisting it as he pulled.
Without warning, Gabryl’s scythe went up in a sudden poof of the same black smoke from which it came, and he looked down to his left hand, a thump coming from the body hitting the pavement. More blackness came; this time circling on his gauntlet, and fading into the air, the weapon along with it. The triad of bodies, now without any sound or notice of life, glowed a pink-purple hue for a moment, the light gathering towards each of their respective chests increasing in brightness. Out of each corpse, a radiating, pink, heart-shaped item arose. Gabryl always saw these after he killed someone, it was the spiritual heart of a person. Those things, levitating gently, and rising just as much, were exactly what Gabryl craved for; and to think it was something no living person knew thy really had. Each one lit up the alley, casting the same colored light to the brick walls, and Gabryl stared on in awe. Every time he watched these hearts, they seemed simply beautiful. Whether or not it was his longing for one, they were stunning.
So pure, made of feelings and memories and what made a person whole. Floating higher, at least two stories high, by looking at the buildings. Gabryl felt the envy that he should have for not having one of his own, twisting in an empty chest. Damn, why did he feel this way then? The sadness and longing; those were emotions too, so why were they there? Maybe all the legends and beliefs that many in Twilight Town went by were wrong, and was the kind of thing only a deceased man could know for sure. As the hearts reached the third story, Gabryl saw that by the third window up, each one burst into a small cloud of purple; a mix of the darkness that acted as a shell around them, and light contained within. Gabryl walked, slowly; bloodied hands burrowing into the pockets of his tight, black jeans. He wanted to get out of what was meant to be a crime scene, even if he couldn’t be seen. If there’s one thing worse than killing a person it’s seeing the horrified reaction, and the wasted heart and the life it contains fade to nothing.
Gabryl made his way out of the alley, hoping to forget about what he had just done, but as he turned a corner, there was a scream echoing down the streets, no doubt someone had discovered the scene. Any screams, or yelling, or even sirens from police cars and ambulances coming to area, however, were drowned out by a series of numerous, long, deep rings. Gabryl recognized them, having been born and raised in Twilight Town. They came from atop the bell tower, at the church, nearly a mile away. That bell was ancient, so it was impressive that it kept up making such a loud noise up to this point in time. Gabryl counted the chimes; nine of them. It was so early, and already three people were dead by his hand. As said chimes were absorbed into the usual sounds of the crowd, Gabryl’s eyes closed slowly as they dilated once more, and he clenched both fists. Rapidly heating warmth expanded in his stomach once more.
Scrambling amongst a tangle of sheets, Gabryl eventually sat up, not wishing to have even woken up in the first place, and his blurry vision surveying another temporary bedroom. Blankets wrapped around him in a messy fashion, having tossed and turned as a result of haunting nightmares; blood splashed onto him from a previous victim, dyed them in brownish-red splotches. He brushed a few strands of black hair from his eyes, having a double-take at the layers of bloody fabric that covered him, for a moment forgetting his disposition as a harbinger of death. Dried blood, not belonging to him, covered his fingers, and he scowled at it, cursing under his breath. It didn’t just plague him of his killing, but was fairly unsanitary to boot. Sighing after a shower, he looked into a steamy mirror, wiping off the excess fog. His eyes were shadowed by black, sleep-deprived rings, which in no way complimented their blue color. Those eyes, which had not glinted, almost angelically, like they did years prior. One might notice that they were taking on a grayish tone, as if the life in them were dying slowly.
Slipping on his garments, he eyed his bare torso’s reflection, not yet with a shirt on. It was never really very sunny in Twilight Town, as the weather seemed to prefer darkness, and Gabryl’s preference to stay inside as of late didn’t allow for him to get any sun. The rest of his paling skin was bruised and scared from fights with tougher targets who managed a good struggle. Gabryl had no idea if Reapers were physically immortal, and he wasn’t big on finding out, for all he knew he could end up having to live many years with a few broken bones, which was the last thing he needed. He buttoned the leather vest that he normally wore over his black shirt, decaled in purple designs, and as he shook the water from his draping hair, made his way through the rest of the house.
Being naturally invisible most of the time, and having to constantly kill every few hours, it’s difficult for a Reaper to hold up a job and get a regular income. Perhaps it’s different for others, but Gabryl would never get any money or supplies without the troubles of his urges getting in the way, so it basically came down to living off of that the dead owned. In fact, the house that Gabryl was sleeping in was that of a victim from yesterday; his last of the day, and after killing he had fallen, out cold, on the luxurious bed. At least it provided some comfort, and was better than some cheap motel, that he might usually have to sneak into at the edge of town. He turned to a shiny new coffee machine, pouring in water, and then heaved a heavier than normal sigh once his eyes laid upon the multitude of exotic mugs. Why did the people he kill always have these little things to make his guilt grow even more? Gabryl finally decided on the least decorated one he could find, and brought the hot liquid to his lips. A particular odor didn’t leave the air however, despite the pleasing smell of ground beans.
Gabryl narrowed his eyes to the living room, in which a suede armchair sat an older man, noticeably overweight; this man was to have died of a burglary gone wrong. Fortunately it was while he was in his sleep, so there didn‘t need to be much of a struggle with potential offender, it made Gabryl glad that the last time he needed to kill in a day was simple, and would let him get to sleep a little easier. Still, it was immaterial considering what Gabryl had done in the past. These sort of deaths, at least, allowed for him to live the rich life for a night and morning, maybe more depending on the situation, though just the one was all he really wanted, even if it was just one in a single month. Under other circumstances he’d stay longer, but due to family photographs dotted around the home, there would most likely be people returning. Regardless, it was acceptable since Gabryl had only come to escape the ensuing storm that had thundered the other night, since apparently there couldn’t be a full twenty-four hours in this city without it raining. He gave a sarcastic chuckle at that. Still, a bed never felt so good, even if it was bloodstained. The empty coffee mug was left in the sink; no reason not to be courteous when he could. He stopped in the doorway; oh wait, there was.
Going outside, abandoning the cozy house, Gabryl brought his hand up to shade his eyes from a ray of sunlight. Thick clouds were still rolling around the sky, with light only escaping through cracks, one of which were over him through some ironic happenstance. The mix of dark and light sky was eerie and unattractive at the same time. Eyes settling, pointed downward like usual, all Gabryl had left to do was patrol the city until his impulses took over. It would just be another one of those days he had to grate through, one death after the next. Stuck in his cycle, he always secretly hoped for something exciting to happen, even if it was just some interesting play on a murder or death-related event. Puddles were deep on the sidewalks that he splashed in, upsetting him every time he misjudged their depth. So, he kicked away some of the water for revenge on the pools. And the darkness that came when clouds blew back in front of the sun only deepened his recent depression, or at least a greater one. He desperately needed some way out of this loop, some way to go on with a life that he lost unfairly. Gabryl wasn’t even entirely sure how to get out of being Reaper; he assumed that at some point he’d reach his limit of killing, or taking hearts, and that would be that; some sort of heaven or hell or shot at life again. Not that he could expect anything so flashy for himself exactly, but hope was one of the few things that he had left, even with it having mostly deteriorated.
A few hours later, Gabryl had dispatched a man that was bludgeoned to death by a pair of gang members; one of which were stabbed in the process. It turned out that it was much easier to just stab a person, that it is to hit them repeatedly with the blunt end of his scythe, or any heavy object he could find. Once again, Gabryl’s mind was drawn to wondering why he was stuck cutting up others, when it was much easier to shoot someone. Heck, why weren’t those people back there using guns in the first place? Gabryl was a bit of an expert on how convenient they would be in so many situations. He took a moment to stretch his neck back, craning it, with a small crick. Then it would be someone else’s job to take out those two, but, would Gabryl just be trusted with another person destined to die in a more crude way? It could even effect him in a deeper way than he could imagine. Gabryl sat on a park bench as he shuffled through such theories on his place in the world, watching as police cars gathered across the street; reporters and emergency vehicles gathering as well.
Perhaps it was the two years of killing people, but Gabryl began to lose interest in anything the media spouted out regarding death and distraught. It all meant nothing to him. He got up, groaning in tiredness from his sleep deprivation, and from this half of a day’s work. Getting back onto the sidewalk, he flicked the same piece of hair that plagued him yesterday out of his eyesight, and heard something else familiar; the bell from the Chapel Hearts rang out on the other side of the park.
The one place in Twilight Town he remembered a lot from his former life, Gabryl could see the clock tower rise over the trees. He saw the old hands point out two o’ clock, and he turned as the final chime went off. The old church, which the clock tower was apart of, was known as the Chapel Hearts. Probably the most ancient thing in the whole city, with enormous cogs inspected daily, and prayers spoken for centuries announced in sermons on the same schedule as the bells. You could set your watch by the knees of the people hitting the floor. Deciding to head towards it, Gabryl made it to one side of the building, walking around to the front.
He peered around a large arch, that supported the walls on that side. The use of buttresses such as these were an old technique in architecture, so it reflected on the antique that was the Chapel Hearts. The yellow stone wall ending, Gabryl met a wide, towering door adorned with stained glass. It was white, and still managed to glisten a little in the bits of sunlight that came through the clouds. Its size was almost comical in the uselessness of it all, however, it was for that reason that a side entrance was used. As for it’s name though, Chapel Hearts was believed, and still is by many in the town, to be a sort of gathering place for the spirits and souls of the deceased; namely, of course, hearts. Gabryl had always been skeptical to such stories while he was alive, but seeing those legendary hearts float around first-hand, he became a lot more open-minded to the idea that there could be a few of the little pink things caught up in high ceilings. Still, there had to be more important places for hearts to go then to please some devout cultists.
Gabryl shook his head, slowly, putting a hand to his forehead and wiping some perspiration. The humidity was getting to him, and ranting over and over in his head about some religion wouldn’t get him anywhere, but neither would thoughts about death and such. He stopped, holding his arms up in the air, yawning with a bit of rage behind it, looking up as the sun went away once more.
“Something happen. Something.” Huffing, his eyes averting to the large glass window on the bank to his right. It was pretty reflective, and Gabryl noticed how odd he looked with his arms up, and shyly brought them down, during which he realized with irony that no one saw him. He was allowed to have dignity while dead at least, which was more an assumption than anything, really. His focus shifting, seeing through the window now, Gabryl‘s eyes widened in surprise. There was some activity going on in their, the kind he recognized; murder. A noise he recognized; gunshots. Some bank robber, holding up a gun, a flannel sack in the other hand, had taken a shot at a security guard, who lay dead on the floor. Gabryl watched, eyes wide, and patted at his chest, stomach, then his sides. Why wasn’t his impulse going off…? He thought that he may have ignored the warmth in his gut, but no, there was none. Looking back up, nearly losing it, Gabryl saw a person, running, for some reason unnoticed by the gunman. This person had a bag in each hand, filled with stolen cash, and took at turn for the window. Gabryl almost took a step back on his heel, and the man inside jumped, arms crossed over his face; crashing right through the glass in a burst of shards.
Gabryl took about five double-takes, looking for the robber, only to seem a man, about his age, dressed in black, ragged clothing, standing right in the middle of the mess of glass. His head darted side to side, and his fists clenched on the sacks. It was like no one else in the area could see him, and onlookers were simply shocked that a window seemed to explode out of nowhere. Attention drawn to the scene the scene inside, it was easy to assume it was the fault of a misfire. Gabryl knew that was not the case. With all in the immediate area looking right past the man, Gabryl was, for a moment, convinced even more of civilian idiocy. Watching the man look for a clear escape, he broke into a sprint, right in Gabryl’s direction. Gabryl, acting on habit, sidestepped so that this bank robber wouldn’t crash into the invisible man in his path, but to his shock, Gabryl was pushed aside before even moving himself.
“How…” His mouth went agape, and an arm raised. “Hey! Come back-” No, that wouldn’t work, he was running from the law or something. No, wait, wasn’t this guy invisible? Gabryl took a sharp breath and ran after him, arms pumping, and shouted multiple times to get his attention. Nearly falling over from his pursuing though, shoving people on the busy sidewalk out of the way; when was the last time anyone had made contact with him? This person had touched him, seemingly intentionally, and Gabryl wasn’t going to assume it as a coincidence. Hot on his trail, Gabryl heard a short, surprising clinking of some object with the ground, and, clenching his teeth, reached down and scooped something up in his hand; the mysterious man had dropped this, he could tell. They both came to a clearing, and even though the unknown didn’t know that he was being followed, Gabryl felt as if they were the only two in the large town square, dotted with benches and flower boxes with a marketplace at it’s center. Normally a sort of cultural center, Gabryl was ignoring the sights and focused on the man, hunched over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Thoughts raced through Gabryl’s mind, and he looked to the item in his hand.
The strange piece was made of metal, a chain stretching from one end; and judging by said chain, it looked as though it would be connected to something. Perhaps it was some stolen pocket watch, Gabryl would muse mockingly. He picked it up, looking at the shiny emblem dangling before his eyes. It was simple, silver-colored, and was made of three circles; two small ones connected to the largest, almost like the latter had ears. He wondered how special this was, or if it was just some trinket, however, the idea that someone could see him just excited Gabryl to such an extent. What if this person was a fellow Reaper? They could very well provide him the sustenance he needed in his dreary afterlife, socially and for his mentality. Almost smiling, blue eyes glowing, like they were returning to their original color, Gabryl took a step, but froze when something completely unexpected, and as he would see, quite unfortunate as well, occurred.
A flash of gold light came down in a column in front of the man. Both Reapers, as the unnamed man was, in fact, one, jumped, dead in their tracks, and Gabryl took cover behind one of the planted trees. He peaked around, gripping the chain of the item he found, seeing that his only hope for communication could be threatened, being stared down at with large, blue eyes. Those demeaning eyes burned on top of a dry-skinned, darkened face, and the expression was hardly that of delight. The most notable feature of this being, however, was the large pair of white feathered wings protruding form his back. They shone almost as bright as his eyes, both giving off an ethereal glow. Gabryl happened to know what this man was, rather than who. The only things he knew of with those eyes, wings, and that radiance about them, were Angels. Eyes narrowing, glaring, the man spoke in a deep voice, not suiting the angelic appearance, yet it didn’t seem like any other voice would.
“Lucre, being a little more careless this time?” There was a hint of sarcasm in his tone, like he was joking, but the stare he received was ominous. The Reaper, apparently Lucre, looked up in breathless surprise, free hand searching his clothing until he came to a pocket. Digging into it, he gasped when he discovered a hole, cursing under his breath,
“Where is…?!”
He was cut off. Gabryl’s wide eyes looked down at what he found on the sidewalk. Whatever it was, it was important, and he needed it.
“Your third offense; using your abilities for personal gain. I’ve warned you before, you know.”
Lucre nodded, solemnly bringing his head up. He was torturing himself on the inside for not checking for his Keychain earlier. The Angel brought up an arm, large fingers extended, and his palm generated a ball of light.
“I’m sure you know what comes next.”
Nodding again, faster, speaking quietly, in desperation that he tried to hide, almost whispering from a dry throat.
“Guy’s gotta live, not my fault we get these perks and can’t do nothing useful with them…”
The Angel, increasing the size of the energy ball, brought it over Lucre’s head. He winced as it left his peripherals, as he didn’t dare take his eyes away from the enforcer.
“You people do exactly what you have to. Do not think that you are useless, or that you’re special. And do not think that we do not know what you all do to get behind our backs.” He seemed to seethe, as if on cue. “We shall keep you under our rule, and assure you do what you deserve to do and only that. Now, your punishment.” And, not even giving a chance for response, the ball shone brilliantly, and a blast of light emitted, slamming down in a pillar like the Angel had appeared in. When it ceased, there was only smoke hissing from the air, and the two flannel sacks thumping to the ground. Passers-by saw the two bags appear seemingly out of nowhere; passing from the grip of someone non-existent to the realm of the living, only momentarily. Just like when he was visible to the couple, and criminal, for less than a second. Gabryl, wordless and horrified, had seen that man, Reaper or not, be vaporized on the spot. He was confused, and scared, and still his blood raced from the trauma of it all. Why had he been killed… but weren’t they already dead? What could be worse, and why did this even happen? The Angel had mentioned something about multiple offenses, but stealing something seemed so minor considering the consequence at hand. And what was the Angel talking about- Reapers doing things? So many questions flooded his throbbing brain, as the angel cracked the knuckles on his large, thick-fingered hand, which had been the source of the blast. His wings flapped out, and he began glowing, as if to leave. Gabryl rushed from behind the tree; pocketing his scavenged Keychain.
“You! Angel! What-”
The large, glowing man looked down as Gabryl neared; his eyes alone scaring him out of saying more. Those eyes, large and blue, seemed to scan Gabryl, seeing right into his mind.
“…Gabryl, is it.”
He gave the slightest nod, and couldn’t help but think that he must have looked just like the other Reaper, hopeless and without power.
“You’ve a single violation prior to this moment…”
That brought up the slightest recollection in Gabryl’s mind, but he didn’t dwell on it for very long. Just how did he know from looking at him? Gabryl clearly remembered his last confrontation with an Angel, and this definitely wasn’t the same man. The Angel went on, in deep monotone, raising on eyebrow on an otherwise expressionless face.
“I’m not normally lenient, but I‘m willing to let this particular one go.” Eyes narrowing, he sensed Gabryl was more oblivious than he originally thought, “’No prolonged contact with other Reapers. Yes? Good. Be warned, however, we will be much more sensitive to any future violation that may occur.”
Lifting one heavy hand, a beam of light, blinding, and similar to his vaporizing blast, emitted from it, prompting Gabryl to flinch, eyes closing from the brightness and fear of pain or death. But now, rather, there was but a weapon in his hand, not unlike an deformed, blunt, and what seemed like a rather impractical sword. It was difficult to get a more accurate read on it before the blade was pointed straight in his face, a three-pronged tip perpendicular to his nose. He could see that it was predominantly black, with red streaks up the shaft, curving with the rounded top. With the sharpness of the more demeaning end, and its shape, it gave the illusion of an elongated knife or axe, with the prongs making it more alien. At the bottom end of a guarded hilt was a small metal emblem on a chain, like the one made of silver circles Gabryl found on the ground, having belonged to Lucre. This one, though, from what he could see, took the shape of a small, black axe, almost a miniature version of the weapon itself.
“You know very well what may happen the next time I see you, should your troublesome record escalate by any means. The last thing we need is miscreants like you.” The blade disappeared, as did the Angel, in a final, radiating flash of white gold light. Gabryl was left to stand, his entire body quivering from fright, as people flocked to the apparent bags of free money left out of nowhere. Wanting to get away from the mess of greed and negative emotion, more so than he had already experienced this day, he staggered over, leaning on a lamp post. He had wanted something interesting to happen today, to break out of his prison of loneliness and grey skies. Someone had spoken to him directly for the first time in more than a year, and they were threatening to kill him. A person, albeit pushing him out of the way, has acknowledged his physical presence. And not stopping him or getting the chained thing to him on time is what killed him. Why did all of this have to happen at once; why did everything he wanted happen to all come together and scar him for the rest of his undead days. And now, that all of this had happened, what exactly would this change after today?
Last edited:
