Chapter Eight - Part Two

Irene Albion

For being alive, I sure as hell felt dead, drained, and most certainly exhausted. But no, the frenzied chase for our lives wasn't enough to satisfy the Reaper because I now stood face to face with him, a pen in hand (which I was so graciously given by his majesty the Reaper) as we were about to face off in a battle of wits and reflexes. A duel.

I couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. For starters, I was given a pen, a pen as my weapon. Not a fancy fountain one but some basic ballpoint one without the power to wield a mysterious sword. Trust me I've tried. This pen was useless. This was all so useless.

And don't you dare get me started on the fight. I was just about as strong as a baby kitten and as fast as a snail's dead mother. If this was a battle of artistic abilities then this would be a completely different story, one I would most certainly win. I hope. Maybe. Okay, probably not.

We stood in the Throne Room, spikes darting out of the floor in a circle surrounding us creating an atmosphere so tense a bulldozer wouldn't be able to create a dent. The ceiling chandelier shone even brighter, the candles flickered in time with the drafts of wind that occasionally swept through, ruffling my hair in the process.

"Are you ready?"

No.

"Yes."

He lunged, probably laughing to himself as he flawlessly sent me rolling on the floor.

Pitiful. I was just pitiful.

"Try again."

I'd rather not.

I stood up shakily after leaning on my arm to hoist myself up. Back on my two feet, I raised my hands in self-defence knowing I'd still get my ass handed to me.

Here he came,

I dodged his first punch. Then the second. Maybe I wasn't that bad after all.

"Ow!" I exclaimed as I fell flat on my backside. What was even the purpose of this trial?

Then I remembered.

"Beat me with this pen and I'll allow you to join Squad Archie."

A strange deal especially since it was near impossible. Me, beat the Reaper? The literal deity of this world in the afterlife. As if.

I looked at the little pen in my sweaty hand, I was breathing hard taking in deep breaths of air as I gasped heavily. What was so special about this pen?

Bam!

I was on the floor again, this time from a slap to the face. Books made fighting seem way easier, and way cooler. Now I just feel like an idiot.

"Do you want to beat me or not?"

I don't know. At this rate, my anger would take over and I'd be in a fitful rage just to slap him back for his annoying personality. Children shouldn't be so badly behaved.

He took my arm and forced me up, looking up to me as he said, "This time, you attack me."

Oh, Hell no.

He was poised, walking around in a little circle as he waited for me to come at him. I wasn't going to rush this embarrassing battle, I'll take my time before humiliating myself. So to waste time, I evaded his gaze and stared longingly at the pen. Come on Irene, think!

What could be so special about this pen?

"You're gonna play without a scythe?"

"It would put you at a disadvantage, dear."

"Stop calling me names, you child."

I shook the pen, listening for ink. A stupid move truly since my ears could only pick up the Reaper's daunting footsteps. One, two, three seconds passed. Nothing.

Argh….what was so special about this stupid pen?

In my panicked state, I threw the pen at the Reaper who dodged it easily. As the pen fell, I spotted black smoke erupting in its path. Just some small specks as the pen made contact with the ground, its sound echoed through the vast room like pennies against the floor.

I looked over at where the rest stood, stationed outside the fighting circle I spotted Archie, tense and worried. Her eyes were glazed over, staring at the pen in disbelief. That black smoke meant something, it must have.

Then it clicked.

"Again. Try again," repeated the Reaper like a robot. He threw the pen over at me with one smooth swing, and I caught it in one fell swoop.

If my assumption was correct, I might just stand a chance at winning. And thus victoriously join Squad Archie. He didn't suggest what would happen if I'd lose. I was too preoccupied with my fear to think about it.

This time I was first to attack.

I didn't necessarily lunge forward but rather ran as fast I could, feet beating the ground as I closed the distance between us. I was larger and therefore moved slower than I'd have liked, unlike this teasing little shit who manoeuvred with inhumane agility.

I ditched the pen, leaving it in my pocket as I grabbed the Reaper's head with both hands and shoved my knee up to his crotch. His eyes bulged slightly as he hollered a small cry. Buying time I shoved my hands into his eye sockets blinding him momentarily. Remembering how heroines beat men in books, I continued to disable his knees and weak spots opting to stall my demise as I'd thought of a way to use the bloody pen.

Or rather, the Aether Relic.

The ballpoint pen was clasped in my hand, and in my fright, I pointed it at the Reaper, who was just about to recover from my strenuous string of attacks. Inside, I felt that same icky feeling fill me up like a bottle of water about to overflow. Just before it could, I let go and in doing so let the Aether energy spill forth from the pen in a strong blast, almost strong enough to knock the Reaper off his feet. But he dodged it, more precisely the Aether dodged him, moving in a zigzag line bouncing off the walls and roof until it broke the glass ceiling and went on its way off into whatever lay beyond the sky. Glass rained down, however just when it began to break the ceiling fixed itself of its own accord. Staring up, the ceiling looked perfect, as if a stray burst of energy didn't just penetrate it until it shattered.

So yeah, that happened.

I tried again, pointing at the Reaper as that sick feeling swelled inside me, then, like a hose, I emptied myself dry, pouring all that welled up in me out into a huge word floating up in the air. Aether sparkled black and red as if it were made of the night sky.

S T O P

The instruction melted away. Like ice cream, it folded over itself and in huge clumps gathered on the floor. Then in sudden lagged movements, it slithered across the ground and wrapped itself around the Reaper's foot. He shook the weak clutch of the Aether off of him, and like it were an insect he easily threw it across the room and watched it vanish. More precisely, it evaporated into a cloud of black smoke and disappeared as soon as it appeared.

He approached me.

"Good," he sang, pleased with himself. "Your progress has me shaking in my boots."

Liar.

I raised my pen, my supposed Aether Relic, back at him. Where I expected that disturbing well of magic to come, I felt nothing. Again I tried to summon that distressing feeling but found a boundless plain of emptiness. I could feel my heartbeat pick up speed, felt it pulse right up in my throat where my voice fell silent.

I was frightened.

Unnerved, I froze; my feet stuck in place as the Reaper sauntered towards me, hands in his pockets. The closer he got the harder it was to move. I could feel that fear as my instincts screamed for me to run, hide and escape.

My pen was useless now. Unable to summon anything, I could feel the exhaustion take over, battling the same urges that fought to keep me alert. To keep me alive.

My breathing quickened, sharp breaths inhaled as he now closed in face to face with me. He extended a hand. Time slowed, his hand felt large, full of potential power hidden beneath his skin. I cowered, unable to do anything. I forced my feet to move backwards, and backwards, and backwards, until my shaking body fell over itself, tripping over nothing.

I stared up at the hand that continued to follow me as I continued to rush backwards on all fours. Still facing him, I fled. Faster and faster until my back was against the cool wall. Petrified I forced my back into the wall with a sheer force that would most definitely result in bruises. I was almost desperate to claw onto the walls hoping to find some miraculous way out. Now unable to escape I closed my eyes shut, terror-stricken as his hand came into contact with me.

Tap.

A light tap, a dainty tap, a soft tap.

I opened an eye to find the Reaper had crouched down to my level, pen in hand as he calmly patted my head in a soothing manner. He had a plastered smile on his face, a genuine toothy smile full of pride.

"Well done. Irene."