The Reaper In Black -- Chapter Nine

She staggered through the streets, hacking up blood. She couldn't find her voice, and could barely see through the blackened smog. The lower-class section of the city... it was... burning? Coughing again, she limped over to a grime-smothered cobblestone base of a rackety house.

"Mommy?" She rasped, her voice too quiet to even shift the ash and smog around her. Looking around, straining her eyes to see even inches in front of her, she searched desperately for her mother. Where could she have gone? Why would she leave?

Metal clinking nearby signified a group of guards. She briefly wondered if she should ask for help, and began to drag herself closer. Maybe they could help her find her mother; then she wouldn't be alone anymore. A soft wind pushed a small amount of the ash away, and as her eyes adjusted to the glint of their shiny armor a few yards away, she found herself frozen in place. A confusing, horrifying sight lay before her. The guards were pinning a boy with white hair down, beating him with wooden rods and kicking his ribs. The boy couldn't have even been seven years old; just two years older than her. He didn't cry out, however, but instead hissed and growled like an animal. He lashed out at a guard's arm in vain, the blow doing no damage. 

Why were they doing this? He was just a kid. He was just like her, probably alone and scared. Then his white hair processed in her mind, and the sinking realization left her sick to the stomach. She wanted to warn the guards, to tell them to stop making the boy angry, but she couldn't get her mouth to open. It was already too late.

With a ravage scream, he threw his head back. The action reminded her of a rabid wolf howling at the moon, his eyes wild and his teeth bared. His eyes illuminated in a bright silver light, and the next time his arm got lose from the grasp of one of the guards, he struck another guard's arm. The arm was completely severed from the guard's body in a gory mess, causing her to stagger backwards, as if she had been hit. Pressing her hands against her mouth to hold both coughing and vomit from escaping, the girl backed slowly away.

She turned and ran, tripping over herself as the shrieks of pain from the guards echoed through the streets. The ripping of flesh, the cracking of bone, and the glowing of silver eyes were all details that were now imprinted in her mind. She felt sick and dizzy, the smoke and the fear blinding her. There was no direction to her sprinting, and she soon became lost.

He was just like the others. Wild, uncaring, inhuman, and filthy; why were they like this now? Was it the disease? Had the plague done this to them? She wished her mother had spoken to her more on the subject; she was so confused now, it hurt. Where was her mother? Why wasn't she here?

Suddenly she rammed into something head-on, falling backwards onto the street. Looking up, a looming female figure stared back down at her. Shining silver eyes shed light on the ever-darkening city, and long white hair danced in the heated, smoke-filled air. Pushing herself away from the figure slowly, in hopes that the being hadn't seen her, the girl dared a glance back. In the distance, through a break in the smoke and ash, she saw the gigantic, menacing castle on the mountain, so elegant and pristine in its arrogance. Was the Queen in her castle, safe and oblivious? Or did she watch the carnage and smile in that cruel way she was infamous for? 

Firm hands lifted her up by her arms, but she remained limp. Maybe the figure would think she was dead, and would leave her be. Closing her eyes, she held back tears.

I don't want to be ripped to pieces. I don't want to be eaten. I don't want to die.

Strangely, a memory from the previous night came to her mind. Her mother, stroking her hair, had begged she sleep despite the dying screams that filled the lower-class section of the city. Everyone was dying, but she didn't know why. Young Mrs. Ender and her twin newborn babies had been found dead in the streets, ripped to pieces. There had been a rumor that one of the babies was still alive when the guards found him. His formerly bright blue eyes had turned silver, and his soft black hair had paled into a blinding white. Had they killed him? Because he was different now?

Her mother, holding her close, had pleaded for her to just close her eyes and sleep for a while. Deathly tired, she hadn't slept for almost three days. Her teacher, her friends, her older sister, her older brother, her father, her uncle, the baker down the street, the woman who owned the book store, the dogs and cats, all dead... all dead... Shredded without mercy or left shuddering alone with silver eyes and white hair. Why? Why?!

"Be a good girl, darling. Just sleep," her mother had rubbed her back and kissed the top of her head. Sighing contentedly, she had closed her eyes and snuggled into her mother's arms. "Everything will be alright if you just sleep for a while."

She had slept. And when she had awoken in the dead of night to the stench of smoke and ash, her mother was gone. She was alone in a burning house, in a burning city, in a burning nightmare.

She was shaken from her memory when the woman with long white hair pulled the girl close to her, cradling her. "It's okay. It's okay," the woman whispered, patting her back softly. The girl, reminded of her mother, began to cry. The tears of agony and fear fell hard and fast as the realization set in. Deep down, she knew her mother was dead. Deep down, she knew she was alone. It was all too much.

All these people were dying. The guards were just gathering up the bodies, throwing them into the fires. Why were they being so cruel? Why didn't they bury the deceased, and give them funerals? They had been people once, too, so why were they being thrown out like dogs? No. Even dogs were treated better. And the people with the white hair and silver eyes... the guards were killing them. But why? Too many questions. She didn't want to hear the answers, deep down.

The girl began to lose consciousness, her face nuzzled into the woman's neck, her snot and tears dripping down her face. As she fell into darkness, she saw the bright silver of the woman's eyes fade into a dull purple color, and a smile spread on white-tinted lips. Smooth, warm tanned skin and a heavy cinnamon scent lulled her into a peaceful, silent, painless sleep.

Finally.

*****

Slipping a syringe into the child's arm, Theta frowned at the destruction and carnage around her. It saddened her heart to know that a child--hundreds of children, in harsh reality--had gotten caught up in this awful mess. A plague, uncaring as of to who died, blind to the orphans and childless parents it was leaving in its wake, was enough on its own. But at a fire--a poorly-planned way of containing the plague--and you got a chaos worse than death. The suffering bled from the ground and seeped out of the tainted homes. Screams echoed down the streets, but she saw no one. 

The city, burning to the ground, was a deathly symbol of what had happened to this country. Under the former King, the lower-class had been poorly treated. Theta recalled her brief visit forty-five years ago, in the middle of a scorching summer, and shuddered at the thought of the people suffering heat stroke and thirst. The people she passed, seeing her finer apparel, had scratched at her legs and clothes, begging for water, for relief, for mercy. Then, she hadn't cared. She had ignored them. All of them.

However, despite the awful education and healthcare and the measly pay, the King had kept their city clean and well-built, as a sign of appreciation for the hard work that was done by the citizens of the lower-class. The King recognized that they did most of the work for the products that brought wealth to his country. The lower-class slaved away in factories to make clothes, furniture, saddles, windows, and toys for people better-off than they, and without proper appreciation, the King had known they would revolt. The greed behind his 'kindness' had angered her back then. It still itched at her, even though he was dead.

Enter the new Queen, though, and things changed. The lower-class were given a better income and access to high-end products at lower prices. Medicine was dirt-cheap, and basic education was made free. Even higher education wasn't that expensive anymore. However, as the lower-class rose higher on the financial chain, they decided they would rather have more money to themselves than to better their section of the city. They didn't realize how much the maintenance positively affected the city. In one of the very few examples of voting, the people of the lower-class, aged eighteen and over, signed over their rights to a clean and updated section of city. The Queen, more than happy to oblige, had completely cut funding and let the lower-class keep their pay raises. A few months after the fact, the citizens had realized their mistake and asked for the annual repairs and monthly cleaning crews back. By that time, however, the Queen's mind had begun to deteriorate, and her patience with peasants had disappeared. She refused, and those who rebelled were decapitated by either the remorseful hands of royal guards or by her cold, uncaring Reaper.

The Queen was better in many ways, but she was also a terrible ruler. If a chance for a new leader was offered, the people would surely rebel. Or, at least, they would have. Now there was no chance, since the Queen had quickly taken control of all other countries, creating a worldwide territory. With the entire planet under the control of one woman; with an army of millions ready to ride into battle; none dared to oppose her. The few that had dared never lasted long. The last record was two days, and that had been a power-hungry man in his late twenties with several young Reapers on his side. Two days. That's all it had taken for the Queen to find and murder them. It had only taken her Reaper and Gladys. But now Gladys was missing, assumed dead, and the Reaper...

Theta was amazed the Queen had lasted this long. Her control was wavering, and she was too dependent on her advisers and Reaper to get jobs done. The fact that she now had a planet at her fingertips, and that she wasn't dead yet was incredible. 

Curling her lip into a scowl, Theta swept a calculating gaze over the burning city once more before clenching the child closer to her chest. It didn't matter how incredible the feat was. The Queen was losing her mind; the people didn't see it yet, and she doubted even the Queen's own advisers could tell at the moment. And, even worse, something was off. There was a dark magic surrounding the Queen; it left Theta's mouth dry and bitter, and made her eyes water. Something was about to happen. She highly doubted it would be good for any of them. Not her, or the children, or the people, or even the Queen and her advisers. 

Turning on her heel, Theta carried the child out of the smoke and into the upper-class section of the city. Looking down at the child's raven-black hair that was slowly turning white from the roots, and at the faint glowing that had begun behind her closed eyelids, Theta figured it wouldn't be long. Pale Eye wasn't a pleasant plague at all, but she had a feeling it would be forgotten soon. An event like this would be swept under the rug, for fear of an uprising in surrounding cities. Theta wasn't blind; if the Queen faced a rebellion now, when her mind was weak and traitors were numerous, she would lose her throne. The scientist, Evora, was likely pulling more strings than she let on, and even the Reaper appeared to have something to do with it. Every time Theta thought of it, the situation seemed more complicated. Too many faces in control of too many pawns. Even the pawns had pawns. It was disgusting. She would have to look into it in more detail when she had the time, so she could form a solid conclusion.

Until then, it was time to drop this child off at an orphanage and go back to the dank alleyway two blocks from the child's house. It was the best--and only--place she could think of at the time to hide the child's mother's corpse. Everywhere else was already in flames. The poor woman had known she was about to die; her hopeful prayers for her daughter still hung around in her fading aurora. Theta, sympathizing, had thought it best to hide the body from the child. When she had returned, the child had awoken and ran. After she had tracked the little kid down, Theta worried she was too late to cure her; unfortunately, she had been correct. So instead of curing her, the best she could do was put in a good word for her at the orphanage, wipe her memory using her Demonic Luminex energy, and put her in a well-off place far from her former home. Hopefully she would never remember.

She had to get done quickly, though. She had a meeting with the Queen at the castle; her first day at work. How exciting to finally have a job, after thousands of years of boredom. This new Queen would prove to be entertaining in all of her crazed political games.

*****

Pain coursed through her in waves of agony. "Aww, cow dung..." she groaned out her best cuss word. Strangely enough, a thought crossed her mind that she hadn't been around for very long to learn any good ones. Queer.

"How are you doing?"

She flinched, unable to open her eyes. The voice was female and oddly familiar, but... something was wrong with it. It had a slight static-like disruption in it, as if it were a recording of some sort. Cracking an eye open forcefully, she glared at the voice that had disturbed her sleep. Well, the pain had disturbed her first, but still. "It hurts."

The room was bright white, the piercing colorlessness blinding. "I imagine so. Do you feel different?"

"Yes, I feel pain. A lot of it. Make it stop. Now." The girl growled, her voice sounding unfamiliar even to herself.

"I can't do that, doll. If you opened your eyes fully, though, I'm sure the pain might lessen."

Disagreeing, but opening her eyes anyways, the girl hissed out another cuss word she hadn't remembered learning. Sitting up from the semi-soft bed, she rubbed at her eyelids, trying to convince her eyes that they did want to open despite their protests. When her vision cleared, a headache began to thrum painfully. What in the...?

Something tickled her nose, and she tried to blow it away. As her eyes focused on it, she realized it was a black feather. Several, actually. "What is this?"

The woman laughed, making the girl glance at her. She was partially hidden by an abnormal shadowy aurora, but long, dark chocolate hair and velvety violet eyes twinkled back at her. The tall, thin structure of her body made the girl think of elegance, but the hard lines of subtly-built muscles made her edit her adjective to 'deadly'. The woman had a devious, dark air about her that suggested she was an important person.

"Why don't you explore a little bit? There's a mirror over there," the woman pointed a slender finger to the far left of the room. "And a bath in that room right there. I suggest you clean yourself well, then dress in clothing fit for cold, windy weather. We're going to do some tests after you're done." The woman gestured to the right at the bathroom, then back to the left at a drawer no doubt full of clothes. There was also a gigantic closet straight across the room if she didn't like anything in the drawer.

The woman left, closing--and locking--the door behind her. The girl looked down, finding herself in a loose white dress-like piece of clothing. She felt a breeze in the back, and walked over to the mirror to where she could look at her back. It was all so hazy, that it took a second for what she saw to process. Arcing black feathered wings, tinted faintly with silver dust, protruded from her upper back. The place where a section of her spinal cord had broken and regrown to support wings, and the nasty scars on her skin around the base of the wings, was proof that the addition had been painful, but certainly natural.

What. The. Heck.

It finally set in. A howling scream erupted from her parted lips, her eyes widening in panic. She saw her light blue eyes flash into bright, shining silver and her canine teeth elongate slightly at her fear. Her pupils turned to faded slits, and her short-cut fingernails grew just under an inch long in jagged, blade-like shapes. Her small child's body was still pale, but was now muscular, all of her fat gone. Her bones jutted out of her skin, making her look like some starved monster. Those wings... black as night and nearly twice her size, towering over her horridly.

"What did you do to me?!" She shrieked, pulling at her hair as she fell to her knees, hyperventilating. Her vision flashed in and out, and a dizziness overcame her. She heard the door slam open and several clicking footsteps rush toward her. Kind hands grabbed her shoulders, and through the mirror she caught a glimpse of two women and a man, all dressed in long white coats wearing strange masks that covered their mouths, trying to help her up. She lashed out weakly, falling to the floor helplessly.

What... what's wrong with me?

*****

"...Indeed you've fought too many wars; took for granted every breath," he whispered softly, watching her back as it rose and fell with each sleep-filled breath. She didn't stir at the sound of his voice, nor did she flinched as he put his hand to her forehead to push the hair out of her face. "Now you have your throne, my Lady..." he leaned over and kissed the top of her head gently, frowning at the stale scent of her hair. He would have to force her into a tub tomorrow... the woman hated water like the plague. "But I fear you also have your death."

It was an altered version of a gruesome poem that had haunted his dreams for many months. The final stanza, where the twist that the Queen has died is revealed, ate at his heart like a parasite. Why was he having these dreams? Was his Queen destined to die, or were other forces at work?

Recalling the figure dressed in black as it broke through a floor-to-ceiling window a few months earlier, his eyes flashed. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to see what he knew he had saw. That figure... The Reaper in Black... he had seen her before. The Queen had no idea who she was, simply because her own mind was blocking her from knowing the truth. Surely she must feel it by now; she knew she was pregnant without cause. She knew her own shadow fought her daily. She knew she was losing power quickly, and that a storm was on the horizon. That Reaper dressed in black...

Striking violet eyes, dark chocolate hair, tall, thin body, elegant facial features, cold aurora; it all screamed Larana. But not quite. That woman... that woman must have been--as impossible as it was--kin to the Queen. But the Queen had no kin. No sisters or aunts, nieces or daughters. No one who could have donned that deadly black hooded coat. No on who could have drawn that long, silver blade. No one who could have jumped out of that window on one of the highest levels of the castle, apparently surviving and disappearing without a trace.

that wasn't the only reason she seemed familiar. A striking memory slammed into his mind, and he recalled the sweet singing of a time long past.

And if that big black dog won't kill, you can be sure as Hell that Momma will.

The line stood out in his memory like a bullet wound to the chest. Touching his heart, feeling an aching pain starting up, he bit his lip. His eyes began to burn as small drips of tears began to fall down his cheeks. Yes, he knew who that woman was. Her scent, her movements, her voice, her laugh, her aurora... That Reaper in black...

"Momma," he rasped out, clenching his chest as he let his head fall onto the bed. He lay there on the floor, his head buried in mounds of pillows, his hand just barely touching his Queen's... His Queen, the closest thing to his mother that he had now. Why had she left? Why was she doing this now? When would she come back?

He feared he wouldn't be able to stop her if she tried to kill the Queen again.

He feared he wouldn't want to stop her; that he would rather take her side than protect his Queen.

And that scared him most.