Angel of Death

This is a short story I wrote over a span of a few days. Much of it is fictional, but I also implemented some aspects of Revelation from the Bible. Hope you all enjoy :)

Once upon a time, there was a young Warrior who had saved the entire world from the forces of evil. It had been such a long time since the beginning of the Golden Age, but the Warrior still lived, for he was immortal. He had golden brown hair that reached to the nape of his neck. His face still showed much youth as if he was still the teenager he’d been when he’d gone to war with the evil that had once ruled. His body was lean, but muscular; and behind his frameless glasses, his ice-blue eyes gleamed with wisdom and, at one time, good-nature. Many years after he had ended the war, people had paid him much homage.

But one day, the Warrior was no longer seen by the people of this world.

For centuries, kings and emperors have been searching for the potion to immortality, the Warrior thought as he trudged around the mysterious, shadowed forest he had inhabited since leaving his people behind. He himself had been born an immortal, the young man that would fulfill the prophecy of slaying the evil that had overtaken the world many centuries ago. But immortality was not such a blessing in the end. Though rulers of the kingdoms of this world continually wished to be stronger and reign for eternity, after a while, living forever became quite bothersome, as the Warrior only knew. For thousands of years he had been trekking the world; he knew its every crack, every crevice. Every living person he recognized by name. He could remember all of their birthdates and for some, death-dates. He had seen it all. And, in the end, the entirety of it was so painful. He had lost his parents, his siblings, even the woman he had loved. His children were all dead, even his grandchildren had left him behind. He himself was all he had left. Loneliness had stolen over him for quite some time, due to his immortality dilemma.

For years, the Warrior had been desperate to end his own life. After his one and only grandchild, who had not been able to bear children, passed away, he’d searched for something to take him out of this world. It first started with slicing open his wrists and soaking them in the warm spring water that pooled in the dark forest. For hours he would wait for his life to drain, but once he awoke from the unconscious state the lack of blood and oxygen had dragged him into, he realized it had all been superfluous. The wounds would be healed and his blood replenished. Every day he tried something new. But each result was the same: he was still alive in the end, injuries cured, or missing body parts replaced.

It was a new day, the sun just barely rising above the horizon. As the Warrior awoke from a short, restless sleep, he plotted more ways to take his life. He had once been against suicide, for one of his friends had hanged herself and it had put him in such a deep depression that he hadn’t escaped his bedroom for weeks. But now, he had a right, in his mind, to commit suicide. He had been living for far too long. No one deserved to carry on in this world this amount of time with no way into the afterlife.

But a curse had seemed to settle upon him, he realized as he started the day. He had run out of ways to die. So instead of plotting, he slowed his trudging, dropped to his knees, and lifted his eyes to the heavens.

“What must I do for my soul to part with my body and enter the Kingdom?” the Warrior cried out, tears of defeat trailing down his cheeks. “I’ve lived a grand life, but my time must come, for I cannot stand this loneliness any longer! Everyone I have ever cared for has died! There must be something I can do to see them once again….”

Once these words left his lips, dark tendrils of smoke curled out from around the trees that littered every inch of the forest. The smoke continued to roil, the Warrior glancing down and watching in wary surprise, his heartbeat hastening. The black gossamer strands snaked around the grass and the trunks of trees, continuing to grow and moving quicker until it came within inches of the Warrior. It then ascended until it was at least seven feet in height, and the Warrior then saw it take form.

“I am the Angel of Death,” it spoke in a slow, grating voice as it continued to morph into more of a figure. A black, ragged cloak with many holes burned into it formed into a floating hood that shadowed Death’s nonexistent head. The sleeves of the cloak enclosed around skeletal hands, and in one of the bony fists was clenched a warped scythe. Skeletal wings adorned the back of the cloak, the bones swaying in a sudden chilling breeze.

From where he was still knelt on the ground, the Warrior stared up at the figure with wide, blue eyes. His form was visibly trembling, but not because of the cold.

“The Angel of Death…?” he quarried slowly, his mind still processing what had just taken place.

“That’s right,” Death answered, a type of dark mirth sprinkled in its deep voice. The Warrior could almost see a smirk flash under the shadowed hood. “It seems you have tried many ways to take your life,” the Angel continued. “I can smell your blood everywhere in this forest. It stains almost every tree and blade of grass here.” The Angel leaned over him, the Warrior feeling as though under deep scrutiny, though no eyes could be seen under that hood. “You wish to die, is that correct?”

The Warrior watched Death silently for a moment, blinking in surprise. Would this be it? Was he finally going to part with this world?

“Yes…!” he blurted. “It has been my wish for many centuries!”

“Very well,” the Angel spoke, seeming to be pondering. It straightened. The Warrior watched the scythe in its skeletal hand closely, hopefully. “However…,” the Warrior looked from the scythe up to the shadowed pit in the hood, waiting for the Angel to continue. “However, I have four requests for you to complete before your life is mine.”

“Name them, Death!” the Warrior implored hastily. “I’ll do whatever you ask!”

The cloaked figure’s hood turned to him, and, once again, the Warrior felt as though under hard analysis.

“Are you sure you wish to make that proposition?”

“Yes, yes! I shall comply with your every whim! As long as,” the Warrior looked down at the ground. His blood even stained this patch of dirt beneath him. “As long as I can see my family, friends…all of my loved ones again….” He looked up at the Angel with determination shining in the depth of his ice-blue eyes and repeated, “I’ll do whatever you ask.”

Death, though it could no longer show emotion, smiled on the inside.

“Then let my requests be carried out, and I will grant your wish.”

The Warrior nodded, waiting with bated breath for Death to speak its initial task.

“First,” the Angel began, “I want you to enter the world that you had once saved and conquer it with this bow.” Death held out its free skeletal hand and in it a long, wooden bow formed.

The Warrior began to stand from the ground, staring at the weapon as the Angel held it out to him.

“But…,” he began as he straightened to his full height, hesitating in taking the weapon. “You want me to rule the world with destruction, like the evil I had once slain?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Death placed the bow in the Warrior’s hand. “The arrows you will be using are formed from energy taken from your soul. They shoot faster than any manmade arrow. They and this bow will serve you nicely in the task I have laid out before you.”

The Warrior stood there for a moment, pondering this mission he was now expected to carry out.

“I didn’t realize the tasks would involve me hurting the people of this world,” the Warrior whispered, looking up at the Angel in horror.

“I gave you a second chance in taking back what you said. You should never agree to do anything if there is still a task you are not willing to perform.”

After a moment’s pause, the Warrior whispered, “You’re…right…,” His insides squirmed in panic.

“If it makes it easier, I’ll let you take this cloak of invisibility.” Death held out his free hand again, a dark illumination appearing in its skeletal palm. When the shadowy light ceased, in its hand was the cloak, and it placed it around the Warrior’s shoulders, which disappeared. “That way, the people will be unaware that you were the one causing such havoc.”

The Warrior still felt disturbed even with the cloak on, but he realized it was better than the people seeing him as their destroyer. At least he could keep his dignity in once saving the world if the people didn’t know he was the one now causing its demise.

So the Warrior set out through the forest with the cloak of invisibility masking his form until he entered civilization. With a lump in his throat and a pit that had formed at the bottom of his stomach, he tried his best to ignore the feelings that welled into his heart. He tore down buildings and set flame to the towns with the arrows made from his own energy. With the elements of ice and lightning, he struck down the years crops and ravaged the towers that technology and science had built over time. The people had become dependent on technology. The towers were the source of all electricity; they were used to help the people travel, make meals, drink pure water. In a sense, they were what now helped the people live, and without them, they would surely suffer.

When the Warrior felt as though he could take no more and his heart would burst from the sorrow of the destruction he had unleashed, he escaped back into the forest and dropped to his knees in front of the Angel, tears springing to his eyes.

“I have done as you commanded,” he whimpered. He removed the invisibility cloak, revealing himself to Death, but kept his eyes downcast. “What is your next task…?”

“You have done well, young Warrior,” Death praised with dark mirth as it raised its bony hand and took back the bow it had granted the Warrior. “The next task I have for you is to take this sword and remove peace from the world. I wish for you to make the people fight and war as they once did. Breed discord and birth struggle!”

The Warrior looked up to the Angel and saw the bow transform into a sword that was now hovering in his free hand. Without a word, he took it.

“Also,” Death continued before the Warrior could leave for his next mission. “Along with the cloak, I will grant you the ability to fly.” Death took a bony finger, then, without warning, it vertically sliced open the flesh that protected the Warrior’s shoulder blades. The Warrior cried out in pain, and the agony only carried on as wings made of his own bone sprouted from the lacerations. He doubled up on the ground as the bone continued to form into what appeared to be twin sets of Death’s wings. Feathers black in color began to bud from the bone until the wings were thick and full. When the pain finally subsided, the Warrior shakily set his palms flat on the ground and lifted himself up. Blood stained his clothing and dotted the ground beneath him, and he sucked in each breath through clenched teeth as he bore the rest of the suffering. Once he had caught the breath he’d released with his screams of anguish, he replaced the cloak over himself, becoming invisible once again, and bitterly took flight out of the forest.

The Warrior flew to the pinnacle of the world, then stood there for a moment, watching out into the city he was about to unleash Death’s wish upon. Flames still licked at the town from his last assignment, and the towers that had once provided the people with everything they needed were lying in heaps amongst buildings and skyscrapers. Screams and sobbing of torment, anger, and confusion could be heard from all over, and the Warrior felt something like pity prick his heart. However, the feeling was not nearly as strong as when he had performed his first mission. His heart had formed a shield around itself to protect against feelings such as despair for these people. As the Warrior swallowed his shame, he raised the sword into the air and let the energy that emanated from his soul power the magic he was about to use. The sword’s tip lit in a bright glow, then flashed, sending a large ray of light across all of the towns and cities of the world. When the light subsided, war instantly broke out. The screams of agony and despair rose as people everywhere began to fight over territory and relationships. Strife engulfed the land and, soon, countries were fighting other countries for more power.

When the Warrior returned to the Angel this time, he was able to hold his stance, and no tear escaped him. His eyes had become dull, the light in them no longer shining, and his body had grown emaciated, as if the destruction of the world was causing him to lose weight.

The Angel, however, seemed to have gained weight, in a way. Though it possessed no body, the part of its cloak that would have covered a stomach was protuberant, as if it had engorged itself on a large feast.

“The destruction you produced today caused many deaths,” the Angel said sluggishly, as if speaking was too much of a task to handle with how satiated it was. “I was able to claim many souls, and, I must say, they’re quite delectable….” After announcing this, the Angel’s hood tilted, as if it was lifting its chin, and it raised a skeletal hand in which a silvery, translucent ball�"someone’s soul�"was clenched. It dangled the soul into the shadow of its hood. The spirit disappeared quickly into the shadow, and a small belch emitted from the Angel.

“What is the next task you have in store for me?” the Warrior questioned in a monotone voice. It seemed every second that passed, he was growing weaker. His golden brown hair had turned to the color of dead tree bark and his eyes had dark circles forming under them.

As Death inhaled another few souls, it held out its free hand, taking the sword of destruction from the Warrior, and transformed it into a set of translucent scales.

“With these, I want you to steal away the money of the world. Make the balance of currency different in every country, and cause the people to be greedy for more. They shall never have enough! The rich will grow in power, and the poor shall be trampled!”

The Warrior silently removed the scales from Death’s hand, and as the Angel continued to consume souls, the Warrior left the forest for the third time, the cloak of invisibility shadowing him and his dark wings taking him high.

Once again, the Warrior flew to the pinnacle of the world. This time, as he watched the people down below, no sentiment entered his heart. His mouth was set in a straight line, and his dull, emotionless eyes watched in nonchalance as the countries burned and the people fought. Raising the scales in his hand, he closed his eyes and powered them with his soul, then, as with the sword of destruction, a light emanated from them. The glow escaped from the scales and covered the entire world. Once it disappeared, the Warrior watched as the people not only fought over land and relationships, but they now clashed about money. Some were evicted from their homes, as they didn’t have enough to pay bills, while others lived in mansions, filled with enough food to feed the entire world. Greed encased the lands, and once the Warrior saw that his task was finished, he escaped back to the forest.

“Reveal to me your final task,” the Warrior said to Death once he had returned. The Angel had consumed more souls while the Warrior had been out and was now twice the size it had been before.

“My fourth and final task for you to complete is this:” The Angel moved closer to the Warrior, then handed him the scythe. “Take this, and with it, you shall become Death.”

Suddenly, the Warrior felt a negative energy engulf him. The invisibility cloak he still had on became black and was burned with holes, like the one Death had on. The wings that adorned his back shed their feathers, as if molting, until they were nothing but bone. The Warrior looked down at his hands and gasped. They had become skeletal, just as Death’s were.

“What have you done to me?!” he cried, rounding on the rotund Angel. “You said if I finished your four tasks, you would grant my wish of seeing my loved ones again!”

“I have kept my promise thus far.” The Angel smiled inside itself again. “But my final task is that you must take on my role. You see, Warrior, I was once an immortal, like you.” The Warrior watched Death with wide eyes, his mouth agape. “I was born without the ability to die. One day, while I was plotting ways to take my life, as you had, I met an Angel of Death. He had four tasks for me: conquer the world, take the peace from the lands, make greed for money flourish, and, lastly, become the Angel of Death. Now you are to take on the role until another immortal enters the world to save it from the destruction you have caused. Once the Warrior grows tired of being alive and you have given him these same four tasks as I had given you, only then will you perish and see the ones you love again.”

And with that, the Angel of Death dissipated into a cloud of dark ash, leaving the world behind for the first time. It had finally died.

And from this day forward, Death, who had once been the Warrior that had both saved and destroyed the world, searched endlessly for the new immortal Warrior that would one day fall to his four tasks and allow him to enter the afterlife to see the ones so dear to him once again.

Author's Note

I realize that in this short story I'm a bit repetitious with certain words. Being as I wrote this last year, I haven't looked it over for a while, but I think one of those repeated words is "world." You can ignore that if you're reviewing it :)