Deaths Door

He fought and struggled to escape his fate but he was subdued by two men, forced to his knees against his will. Never before had he felt so powerless and if only he could get the upperhand against the men who use to be his borthers. He was taken by his hair and forced to look up to this other brother who they called "War."

War dressed like a soldier, who would have guessed? Only he wore the combat style from the 60's. It was always an inside joke between them how he liked the classics more so then the blocky pixel styles of today. He wore the old green barret hat, something you don't really see anymore. More to the point he was holding an 8 inch blade to his lovers neck. He was to purpose in 3 days only for it to be cut short.

"I told you there would be consiquences for your insubordination brother, my offer still stands. Be the "Fourth Ridder" and join us." He said rocking the blade back and forth upon her soft pale skin.

War wouldn't wait for an answer pulling the blade quick and deep along her pretty neck. Blood sprayed everywhere and nearly touched him. "If I were to become the ride of Death, I would do it gladly just to mount your head on a pike and shove it up the back end of these two pricks." The one who would be "Death" growled with teeth, yet he kept his head. It pained him greatly to see his love fouled in such a way but he was use to seeing death.

"Thats the spirit brother!" He laughed at the whelps reaction. "As I told you before, no distractions and cut all ties. Now I just severed on of them for you." He looked down at the corps he had laying at his feet. "Such a pretty thing too, what a pitty." He whipped his blade clean on the white, silky nighty that she wore to bed that night and did it while whistling a happy medly. "Kills him..." War ordered. The other two looked at him in disbeliefe. "Again?"

"Sounds like I need to pull rank again." He drew his sidearm and pointed it at the man to the right of Death. "Kill him Strife or I'll kill you too." War cammanded pulling the hammer of the gun back.

Strife had to protested once more, "If we kill him we will not be at full streangth."

War was getting annoyed now and was loosing his cool with every passing moment. "We will find him again, we always have. Now kill him, maybe another centry will give him time to reflect."

"Fine..." Strife agreed finally and gave Death a swift knee to the head dazing him both Strife and Pestalince both drew their side arms. War smiled as he turned around and walked away hearing the sweat sound of two gun shots.

As he left the room he shut the door behind him and had a small laugh. "See you in a century my brother."

Time passed by with War and his two brothers spending the next 10 years creating chaos threwout the globe. War, famine and pleague all spread world wide wtih no death to give merciful release. It was as close to hell on earth as one could get.

War tapped his fingers on his desk out of boardom, he looked around the room in which he made his base of operations. Its walls were rittled with holes of various different sized bullets. Scorch marks up and down the walls and a few blood spatters that all had their little tails to tell. He picked up a detinator from the top of this desk and pressed the button, setting off small charges around the main wall nocking it down.

2 mintues later Strife walked in threw the newly made whole in the wall. "Ah I see your remodleing."

"Yes well, I felt like I needed a change." He keeped pressing the button know just for the sake of hearing the click.

"Looks like you need a pick me up." He slapped down the file he was carrying with him.

"I figured you had something under that snazzy suite of yours, why do you like white so much?"

"Its a prefferance, now to the file there." He was trying to divert his attentions back. "It seems someone is trying to play our dear brother. It hasn't been long enough for him to come back yet right?"

"Well we killed the last 3 people acting like "Death" that was the the wall with the specal splaters I just obliterated."

"Yes well people are dieing."

War rubbed his chin in thought, "Do we have a location on his imposter?"

"Not yet, this file was made up specificly for gathering intel of people dieing. So any of our men get wind of this we get a file like this, as of right now we have 50 sitings."

"Thats more then a fluke wouldn't you agree? Yet we don't have a single image?"

"Well we do but you and I know well that we arn't really photogenic, so anyone could look like a blur on a camera."

"Alright finally I get to go hunting." War finally got a smile on his face at the thought of going toe to toe with his deadly brother. Then he pondered a moment. "Oh and Strife, if this turns out to be Death you will die first." Strife paused any and all thought for a moment with that. It was true that he put one to his brothers temple, there was no way he could have survived two.

"If he is I'll kill him again. Oh yes, should I call Famine in from the feild?"

"No need, hes never had the stumic for all of this, he would be useless to us now."

"Of coarse sir."

The sun shone threw and all could be heard was an anoying dripping sounds that echoed threw the halls. He tossed and turned on a old matriss he made gurggling sounds and his hands thrashed about looking for something. He started hearing screams of horror, female for sure, then children crying asking for their ma'ma. The noises only got louder and more definate till he found his mask and slipped it on as quickly as he could. He got up from his bed and streached. He started his routine for the day showering even with the mask on, the only thing to block out the noise of those in pain and suffering begging for sweat release.

He finished his shower, it was steamy and humid in the bathroom yet he got a chill on his skin and the hairs stood on the back of his neck. He looked in the morror to see the lover who parrished at the hands of his brothers, her skin was pail, her hair firey red, her eyes were green. She blew a lowly kiss in his ear and dissapeared in the fog. Inraged he smashed the mirror. Seeing tinny relections of him in his mask, a prison to his thoughts and salvation from the rest of the world. Shapped like human skull, worthy for the ridder of Death. He started his physical training from push up to sit ups then pull ups to practising martial arts with a training dumy. Preparing for the day when he would confront his brothers once again. He had to get back to 100 percent himself and more.

The harder he hit that dummy the brighter his eyes started to glow a deep red, no longer needing to hold back from embracing his full powers that he had.

He summoned "The Shroud of Death" which enveloped his body giving him streangth, power, and the mystic powers known to his mythos. As the sun fadded to the backdrop of the city. First thing on his agenda was to free the people from their long and suffering lives, all in which were over due to die. Most people last week who saw him might have mistaked him for something out of a story. His skull shaped mask, cloak, with heavy boots and gothic looking gauntlents that had sharp pointed finger guards. One Lord of the Rings nerd might have said he looked like one of those ring wraiths. Guess it depends on what kind of nerd he might harvest who would give reference to a book, movie, or game they might have played. In the end its all the same to him.

He made his route local to decrease the suffering around him and ease his sleep, the less dieing around him the less ghosts, wraiths, spirits specters and others related to the like, would lessin the aggony of his dreams. Men, women and children with all the ailments of his brothers spread. Due to Deaths appsence no one was free. He came across family after family who were sick, missing arms from the crulety of war and no food to go around thanks to famine. Death carried no weapon or any form of device that would scare more people away from him like the last time. He did that just fine on his own with his atire. He kneed down to one family who had nothing left to keep them going and gently placed a hand on the brow of a dieing child. Doing so left a mark on the boys arm and soon rest would follow just the same. It was a slow process and without the network of "Reapers" for him to cammand, this was the best way of doing things.

Death had just finished marking another soul to free from its torment when a man approached him, a thin man with ebony skin almost as dark as "The Pit" itself. His eyes were whited out from age and his cloths were old, torn and soiled to the point of no tollerance.

"Excuse me sir, are you the one? The rider my ma' told me about in those stories? The rider known as Death?" He asked with a gravely, dry voice.

"You know of me old man? Do you not fear me?" Death asked, his voice robotic and cold yet netrual in nature.

The old man replied and nodded his head. "My ma always told me to respect Death, never fear its comming and stand fast in the face of Death."

"Braver words couldn't be spoke old man, no you must not fear me, those who fear me are those who deserve to die. These people don't deserve their fate however it is my duty to give them the mercy of death. So what do you want of me?" His eyes glowed red threw the skull mask as he looked upon this poor wreched man.

"Please sir, allow me to aid you. Let me help you free these people from their fate. I shall serve you as long as you see fit." He kneeled before him offering up his life.

"Never kneel to me old man, I am not your saviour, your maker or your master.." Death breathed in slowly and thought about it for a moment. He did need help to aid the weak and put the wrongs upon this world right. He needed an army and not just any army, he needed the army of Death. If his face could be seen right now he would be cracking a smile at the thought of putting his brothers into their place.

"I will allow it Samuel Creed...you will be my hand. Do you understand that if you become a "Reaper" you shall never know slavation." Death crossed his arms looking upon this old man who would be the first of his Reapers. "You will be guided by some very simple yet strickt rules that you will never waiver from. You will forever be stuck in a world of Neutrality."

"I do sir, I have lived a long life that my god may never forgive me for."

"Make no mistake Creed, this is not a way to claim redemption to any god."

"That is not the case sir, I mearly wish to surve and maybe partake in a little vengence against your brothers....sir." This time the old man looked up with his white eye as if he could really see and Death could see the rage in his eyes. "Give me this chance to aid you in the "Reaping" when the time comes to battle the other riders, I will join you in the fight."

"As much as I do appreciate your...guile Mr. Creed, that kind of anger would not suffice as a Reaper, if you wish to do my bidding you will know Mercy, Compassion, Understanding of those you collect. Your rage on the other hand, I will take from you." Death grabbed the old man by the hand and started syphoning the crimson color of rage that this man had held for so long.

"No sir, do not take my hate from me, its what keeped me going for so long..." He pleaded grabbing the hand of death but it was too late. In a few moments the old man was feeling "Different." His eye sight returned, his body was still thin and gangly yet he stood with ease. He could hear things, people, the wind, the sounds of crying all rang as clear as a bell. He was shocked and sadend by all he heard and the feelings he had before were just "Gone." Death lifted him up to his feet from his knees, Death tilted his head downward. The old man followed his gaze to see the old man's body on the ground. "I..I don't understand.."

"Only a spirit may do my bidding, in order to continue, you had to die." He explained then looked up to the old man. "Your cloths are now that of death." He released the old man and waved his hand to show him what he ment. The old man looked down and saw that he did not wear robes like the men of old times but more like that of a priest. "Make no mistake Creed, you may done the cloths of a priest but you are not one. You will guid the soules to the Judges, from there you go to collect the next soul no more no less. When the time comes I will summon you."

"Yes sir, I will start right away." From there on the priest known as Creed started walking the streets kneeling down offering release for their pain and sorrows being the most understanding and neutral as possable.

Creed would soon be the first of many who Death would recruite to be his Reapers, he gave the same offer to those who felt rage, hate and all the various emotions that he could use against his enimies. What he needed next were allies. With the amount of souls being taken from the torments of war, famine and pleagues, he was surtine his brothers would be looking for anyone who bore the death marks.

Death had lost a great portion of his power during his last confrontation with his brothers, to get them back he would have to collect the many suffering and angry spirits that still lingered without the genital embrace that would be him. Out of the four, he held more human emotion then the rest, only he could understand what death really meant. War, Strife and Famine could never understand the suffering they cause or cared how the people would worship Death in their time.

He walked from the ruined city that use to be the grand special of the region now home to the sick and decrepit mortals all sentenced for the judgement or so his job stated. His brothers did not follow the old creed any longer. Death would have to handle the three by his lonesome. So as he marched from the city he needed power, allies and his horse "Oblivion."

As he ventured out among the desert waist land, wrapped in only a few rags and his rage to cloth him against the sun and the heat. He kept reminding himself that no one or no thing could halt his approach, not even the gods could stop him from collecting souls of the dead. It wasn't long however that reality set in and he collapsed from exhaustion and thirst. What have his brothers turned him into? Was he not a horseman anymore? He asked himself before his vision went dark.

When he awoke he was in a strange place, it was cool and held just enough light to keep the shadows away with a few candles. He wasn't strong enough to move just yet but he still tried just the same by moving a hand, he was so weak that it felt like it weighed heavily on his muscles.

"Oh your finally awake." A young female voice spoke up for what he could tell. "We weren't sure if you were going to survive much longer." She dunked a rag into a bucket and dabbed cool water on his brow. "We found you unconscious out in the sand, you must be very reseiliant to try and make that journey during the day." She just continued to rant on and on and Death knew what being grilled for information felt like. She wanted him to tell her what, when, why and how he had decided to make the trip in such a treacherous place.