Alexander

"You're late." Toby narrowed his eyes at Aubrey as he handed out papers to the conference guests.

"I'm sorry." Aubrey gave the teal-haired senior a quick embrace. "I was riding with Evil Kenevil." This earned a look of death from his cousin. "Do you still need help?"

"Yes." He handed Aubrey a stack of papers rather forcefully, then left the room in a huff.

"What is he pissed at?" He half-heartedly rubbed the spot on his abdomen where the paper stack collided.

"It seems our darling patron of death has yet to arrive." Ashley stood against the doorframe, arms crossed.

"Dammit Tristan!" Aubrey pulled a compact, black cell phone from his back pocket, hit a button. Brought it to his ear. "He'd better not have his cell off."

"Probably will." Ashley chose this moment to flee the room. Witnessing family carnage was not part of his morning routine.


~~~~~
Things were not going well. A subtle, panicked sense of disturbance sat stagnant in the atmosphere. Tristan stood behind the gold cross, already crossed over. He glanced over the bleak, crimson landscape. Something was missing.

The blond closed his eyes, arms outstretched. An ancient incantation bled through his voice, almost awkward in its English. Aura flared, he opened his eyes as they rolled into the back of his head. It tilted back. In a slow free fall he full backwards through the roof as it was a Vegas show illusion.

Tristan reappeared through the ceiling of the cathedral. He landed feet first, knees bending slightly, his curls waved as the aftershock passed. His eyes opened as he stood upright from his half-bowed position. Turning, he now faced the altar, appearing like an outcast angel between pews of old dark wood. The stained glass windows on either side glowed with the unearthly light from the sky. A ripple sensation went through his taunt body.

"Breathe." He took three deep breaths, cleared his mind. Tristan felt the immense room with his mind. Something was wrong.

A steady, rhythmic sound, like the ticking of a grandfather clock echoed through the empty church. Cautiously, he approached the altar, his heart skipping at the echo of his own footfalls. His green eyes shifted back and forth between the pews, hands shaking. Five feet away, he could see something was indeed wrong.

There was a long, vein-like crack in the wooden altar. He ran the rest of the way toward it. Reached out and hand and traced it with trembling fingers. Halfway down, his nail-bitten fingertips stopped. A ripple crackled through the outside of the cathedral. Tristan's breath quickened as his heart thudded with a deeper octave. A slow, almost chalkboard screech rippled across the walls from the outside, sending tendrils up the teen's soul. Gradually, the searing noise multiplied and grew in volume. Then stopped.

Unlike the movies, the massive doors made no sound as they opened. Tristan slowly turned, his left eye reflecting the horror that was slowing unfolding at highspeed.

Without the slightest creak, the door glided open. Like a spider's legs, long, skeletal fingers scuttled over its edge. A half-choke, half-gargle escaped it as the creature's head came through; a skull shrouded in a moth-eaten hood. Even through eyeless sockets, Tristan knew the Reaper was staring right at him. It was then the teen kicked himself for forgetting his Beretta at home.

Please only be one. He hoped, extending high right hand. In the back of his mind, he knew better. If five were killed, more than would follow.

Another death-rattle breathed out of the Reaper as it glided into the bloodlight-lit cathedral. Tristan's green eyes locked onto it as he stepped away from the altar. He took a shuddering breath, already feeling heat in his right hand. His arm tingled as the kaleidoscope rod began to appear.

Then from three feet behind, he heard a louder rattle. Instinctively, he spun, driving the budding scythe into the nearest target. The blond jumped as he heard the bone crack, nearly falling off the steps to the altar. In under five seconds, he had the scythe out of his trembling body. By that time, two more appeared. They screamed like breaks on a train bracing for a fatal crash as they flew through the open door toward him. Tristan gripped the handle of his weapon tightly, bit down on his lower lip.

"I'm fucked." Tristan swung the scythe, hearing a crackle as is collided with another Reaper.

He cried out in pain as it grabbed hold of his arm, bruising just above his elbow. Kicking out, his heel crashed into its knee, knocking off the cap. It howled in pain and fell, just as Tristan landed the edge of his weapon's blade into it's back. A sound akin to a limb falling off a dead tree into an overcrowded forest erupted as its rib cage broke. In the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of white. In a whoosh, the blade of a crude, much smaller scythe came down in from of Tristan's face. He fell back, landing hard on his side.

"Shit!" Tristan clenched his right hand into a tight fist, felt a warming sensation as a dark light began to form.

The Reaper raised its scythe above it head. Breath held, Tristan waited, then threw the tennis-ball shaped ball of energy. It looked close to a blacklight bulb as it shot out, stopping three inches from the Reaper's face, the exploded. Only one of its arms fell off, it's lower jaw shattered. With an agony-filled cry it swung, the blade grazing the blond's side.

Tristan cried out, quickly pulled himself to his feet. Just as the back of a bantam scythe caught the back of his head, sending him back down. This time into a world of blackness.


~~~~~
"That was a fucking waste of time." Alexander leaned against the elevator wall and watched the doors close.

With a small lurch, the elevator began its climb. The Russian reached into his pocket, pulled the artifact out. It didn't look that impressive; it was a dainty, gold chain, designed to fit around the wearer's head like a headband. Although it appearance said it was frail, it power was so immense it almost burned for him to touch it. As the elevator came to a halt, he hid it back in his vinyl coat. Some of the other guests walked around him with room to spare. Others stopped and whispered to each other in his wake. They all knew from his aura what he was. Yes, you could dance the faeries and call the light of the moon, but what just walked past you commanded what made everyone in that hallway shudder at night.

Alexander paused in front of his door, keys in hand. Part of him wanted to rush in and pull the artifact away from his hot flesh where it indirectly made contact. Instead, he waited a handful of seconds before turning and looking over his shoulder at the busy guests. They all but scattered. The Russian rolled his eyes, nearly slamming his door shut behind him.

The room was modest-sized, only a single bed occupied a corner near the room's only window. Surprisingly, it was large enough even for someone of his height. The only other furniture was a small bureau with an oddly-place microwave on top and a mini fridge. Everything he could need to avoid people between classes (not that he intended to attend all of them). But all of that would have to wait.

He could already feel the pull of exhaustion on his eyelids as he eyed the bed from where he stood against the door. He shed his black shirt as he locked the door with a resounding click. All of his clothes, except his boxers, fell to a heap beside his bed he gracelessly collapsed into. The covers barely had a chance to touch his bare skin as he curled into a ball and finally submitted to sleep. And hoped the three days' insomnia would stop the nightmares lurking in the corners of his mind.

~~~~~
A small trickle of blood began to stain the stone floor where Tristan's head rested. Sticking in his hair, it began to dye it crimson in a macabre fashion. His scythe had disappeared, absorbed back into his unconscious body. Roughly, a skeletal hand grabbed hold of his curls, lifting his head. The Reaper with the cracked skull had risen, scythe again in hand. It brushed the blade of it against the boy's throat, creating a thin cut just below his adam's apple. Like an executionist, it raised the scythe above it's head.

Before the blade was brought down, it stopped. A loud echoing of click-clack rang through the chapel. A distinct sound that could only belong to a horse's hooves. The Reaper turned, lowering the scythe to waist-height. If the reapers had any color in the their faces, it would have been drained.

What would have appeared as a tall, black horse calmly walked down the wide isle. The stallion was tall, about sixteen hands, it's large hooves adorned with long "feathers". His entire body was an ink black, save for four tear-drops on his Arab-like face. All facing away from the long silver horn they encircled. This was a black unicorn. The creature stared at the scene before him as he approached, lowering his head slightly. Stopping only ten feet from the Reapers, the unicorn began to paw at floor, his ears flattened and nostrils flared.

The Reaper with the cracked skull lowered its scythe, the other let go of Tristan's hair, his head falling to the floor. Both nervously eyed the unicorn before they hoovered off the floor and flew out of the church.

The unicorn payed no mind to the fleeing Reapers and kept his gaze set to the boy. His ears stood up again. Sighing through his nose, his lessened the gap between them, the sound of hooves soon turned into the silence of bare feet.

A man who looked close to 26 kneeled beside Tristan, his blind, scarlet eyes reaching forward. He closed his eyes, the tiny, four teardrop birthmark on his forehead glowing a moment. Soon, the bleeding stopped, wounds sealed and ceased to be. The teen's eyes opened, finding the man.

"Jessa?" He slowly sat up.

The sable-haired man shook his head. "I swear someday I should kick you in the head."