Death's Mantle 2

by Harmon Cooper

  It was perfect for what he planned to do.

  “Maybe if I just rested for an hour…” he said. “Hugin, can you wake me up in an hour or so?”

  “Time works differently here.”

  “Crud. Can you wake me up in the equivalent of an Earth hour then?”

  “I believe…” His crow bobbed its body left and right. “Sure. I will attempt to do that.”

  “I really need to make a healing potion,” Lucian said as he floated back to his workshop. He lowered onto his bed, resting with his hands over his chest. He fell asleep quickly, and woke up to Hugin poking him with its beak.

  “Just another… Twenty minutes…” Lucian said, pressing his spiritual creation away.

  “Sorry, we have to go.”

  Lucian checked his stats:

  “That’s a little better,” he said as he mentally added a quick nap to his repertoire. It occurred to him that he could do something like this in the real world, but then he remembered Old Death telling him something about leaving himself prone, that it was best to rest here.

  Maybe he hadn’t been such a bad instructor after all.

  “Here goes nothing.” Lucian pressed his thumb and pinky finger together, Hugin and Munin racing over to him.

  The three of them appeared on the beach in Portland, Maine.

  It was a cloudy day, the surrounding neighborhood cast in subtle gray tones.

  Lucian looked out to the sea, and as he did a light began to shimmer beneath the waves.

  Once that was set, he summoned a dozen of his sentry tripods. They scuttled forward, burying themselves in the sand at Lucian’s command.

  He then waited.

  Lucian waited long enough that he got bored.

  At some point, he thought about conjuring a television so he could play his game, that or a handheld unit, but he eventually decided against it, especially once he saw a man step onto the beach, a metal detector in his hands.

  Name: Brock Johnson

  Date of Birth: 01/17/1975

  Date of Death: 10/19/2052

  The man had a parasite similar to his brother’s, clear with yellow running through it. It definitely noticed Lucian, an eye peeling off the back of the parasite, a stinger starting to appear.

  But Lucian didn’t engage it.

  That wasn’t what he was here for.

  To get away from the parasite, Lucian floated toward downtown Portland, figuring he would lure them back to the beach if they came while he was exploring.

  He stayed mostly on the coastline until he reached a series of docks, which he hovered past, coming to a narrow, winding road surrounded by old brick buildings. A few of the streets opened up to larger thoroughfares, big enough for vehicles, but many of the streets maintained their old-school East Coast charm with their cobblestone appeal and walkability.

  As he glided around, Lucian noticed that dozens of people had parasites of all colors, shapes, and sizes attached to them.

  Some were clear with yellow running through them—the addiction parasite. He saw the leech parasite, as Yoshimi called it, the fat demon bug caterpillar-like with multiple legs, a hint of peach to its skin.

  He also saw the greed afflicted parasites—black, shriveled, no eyes.

  There was a homeless man with a mental health parasite, the demon bug clear with red filling, a vertical eye running down its back.

  Lucian also saw someone with a purple parasite, like Katy had.

  He’d seen similar things in New York, people and their demon bugs, but he hadn’t paid much attention to them, mostly due to being so focused on following his brother and future sister-in-law at the time.

  And looking out to the streets, Lucian was reminded of why he was here, why this role mattered.

  He could help people, if he so chose, or he could just go around getting stronger and stronger, creating new enemies.

  Perhaps there was a scenario in which Lucian did both, increasing his power and helping others. But first, he had to handle his brother’s situation.

  Of this he was sure.

  Lucian didn’t mind being a Death Hunter of Death Hunters, an otherwise pious Grim Reaper who helped those who were afflicted.

  But he needed to take care of his family first.

  After all, with the power he’d been given, it would be incomprehensible for him not look after his loved ones.

  Lucian saw a few other types of parasites as he floated back toward the beach, one on an older man in a red hat who carried a scowl on his face, a small, brain-like parasite with feelers hanging off his neck. He also saw a purple parasite that had yellow splotches on it, the demon bug covered in dozens of lips. There was also a sinewy parasite with shades of gray running through it attached to a young man.

  In time, Lucian would find out what these parasites were, and what they were capable of.

  But for now, he needed to focus on what happened next, and more importantly, surviving it.

  Lucian floated back and forth on the beach, itching for the showdown to get started.

  He knew he was prone, but he’d already been instructed not to do much of the battling, to operate along the outskirts.

  Still, he had some ideas of his own.

  And as Yoshimi had said, this could very well backfire. He didn’t know where that would leave him with Danira in the end, but he couldn’t worry about that now.

  It was too late for that.

  In the meantime, Lucian conjured more injurecrows, his black spherical IED’s lining up behind him.

  He also called forth his three Grim Mechas, all of whom hovered along the perimeter of where he assumed the Committee would show up.

  A sudden sense of sorrow bloomed in Lucian’s chest as he thought of Connor and his forthcoming death date.

  “Focus,” he reminded himself, also recalling that Yoshimi said she would help in the end if she needed to.

  So at least he had that.

  Even with her offer, he still wanted to do it on his own; he wanted to be the one who saved his brother.

  A portal signaled that the action was about to start.

  Gaspard was the first to appear, the androgynous Death loosening his hands, as if he were ready to attack Lucian.

  “I was wondering if you’d come,” the man said with a smirk, the Death barely able to contain his excitement at seeing Lucian alone, assuming that he had failed.

  “I’m here,” Lucian said.

  “It seems that you have brought some of your toys. Were you planning on doing something?”

  Lucian looked around at his injurecrows, and from there to his three Grim Mechas. “I’m just trying to protect myself in case you do something,” he said with a shrug.

  “You do realize that you are powerless against me, do you not? I understand that part of your nature, especially considering when you were born, is to believe that you are capable of something, that you have some uniqueness about you that will allow you to persevere. Poor child of the twentieth century. Let me assure you, Lucian North, that is not the case if you cross me. You have been given plenty of warnings, and I have continued to hold back. But all that can change.”

  “I’m just doing what you asked of me,” Lucian said, showing him his hands.

  Lord Lifton appeared, the handsome Death offering Lucian a firm smile. Next to him stood Mastima, a hood over her skull. They were also joined by the twins, the ones Lucian had yet to be introduced to.

  “So, you have made contact with your Cuthbert,” Lord Lifton said. “That is good to know.”

  “Have you been spying on me or something?”

  “I assume that you wouldn’t appear here, or at a place so accessible, had you not done what we asked,” the leader of the Committee of Luminaries informed him. “Care to tell us how to locate him?”

  “I thought it would be best if I just brought him here. You guys wanted him so badly, right?”

  “You’re bringing him here?” Mastima asked, taking a step back.

  “At least on
e of you has seriously threatened my existence because of this guy. Why would I not ask him to come handle this himself? I figured this was the best course of action, rather than letting you guys surprise him with whatever bullshit you were planning to surprise him with,” Lucian said with a shrug.

  “Very well,” Lord Lifton said, raising his hand to calm his colleague, who was just about to shout something at Lucian.

  “Temper, temper,” Lucian told Gaspard, smiling to the twins. “You two never told me your names.”

  “Mariah,” the black-haired twin on the left said, her voice matter-of-fact.

  “Destiny,” said the one on the right, a little more cordial.

  “I didn’t know people actually named their kids that.”

  Destiny started to frown.

  The two were identical, their faces pale, upside-down red triangles painted on their foreheads. The only thing that seemed to be different about them was the stitching on their outfits. Like the other Deaths, they wore all black, but the one named Mariah had an outfit with silver stitching, while her sister’s featured black stitching.

  “So you split your mantle?” Lucian asked both of them.

  “That’s not what we’re here to discuss,” Mariah said tersely.

  “Well, it has been good knowing all of you, but I guess we should get this show on the road.” Lucian smiled at the five of them, knowing full well that Gaspard was boiling in his skin at the moment. He started to turn away from them and stopped. “You know this could have been simple, right?”

  “Excuse me?” Lord Lifton asked.

  “I already told you what happened at the South Wind. It seems like someone in your ranks, or perhaps somewhat higher, actually believes this conspiracy that I, along with Yoshimi and Azazyel, of all people, teamed up with my predecessor to attack the South Wind. So they put pressure on you to get to the bottom of it. But there is no bottom, and by coming at me, you’ve only made it worse for all of us. And just a hunch here, but I’m guessing the five of you are smart enough to know that that isn’t what happened at all, right?”

  He paused, waiting for one of them to say otherwise.

  “Good, at least we’re on the same page then. Anyway, you could have just taken my word for it, but no, you proceeded to threaten me,” Lucian pointed a finger in Gaspard’s direction, “and my predecessor didn’t take very kindly to that.”

  A double-bladed scythe appeared in Mastima’s hand, armor starting to cascade down her body as it were made of silk.

  “She gets it,” Lucian said.

  As Lucian had been instructed to do, he pressed his thumb and middle finger together.

  Old Death appeared in a flash behind him, gripping his sword tightly. Leliel was with him as well, the angel carrying an ax.

  “Ha! If it isn’t a bunch of cock robins and stuffy crinkum crankums,” Old Death spit.

  Lucian stepped aside to see that his predecessor looked younger than he had before, a gleam about him he’d never seen before. He had an air of confidence to his demeanor as well, his posture one of a person ready to engage, to preserve his good name.

  “I see you have come to fight.” Lord Lifton cleared his throat. “It is not our intention in asking to meet with you, Cuthbert, nor has it been our intention in putting pressure on Mr. North.”

  “It’s Lucian. Mr. North was my father.”

  Old Death smirked. “That’s my boy,” he said under his breath, returning his focus to the five Committee members who stood before him. “You want answers?” he growled. “I got them. But you’re going to have to beat them out of me.”

  “The man is weak,” Gaspard said flatly. “Not only has he given his mantle to this poor fellow…” he stuttered over the words, as if he were trying to come up with an insult. “Anyway, the fool has also poured much of his mantlecore into creating an insanely large world. He presents no threat to us. Mastima?”

  The female Death took a step forward.

  “This is going to be fun,” Lucian’s predecessor said as he flourished his blade.

  “I can handle her.” Leliel brought her ax to the ready. “We have battled before.”

  “One on one,” Mastima said, her dark, soulless eyes now locked on the angel.

  “But maybe I’m coming at this too brashly,” Old Death said. “Maybe I should give you a little insight into my thinking pattern, and what happened at the South Wind. What do you think, Lucian?”

  “I don’t know, it’s really up to you,” Lucian said, now standing behind his predecessor and the angel, as he had been instructed to do. “They didn’t take my word for it, though.”

  “But you know what would be more interesting?” Old Death asked. “It would be more interesting to actually create the spark that produces the war. After all, isn’t that what you, and those that run the Committees want, Lord Lifton? Isn’t it? You can go ahead and be honest, if you’re even capable of rectitude.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lord Lifton said, barely able to hide his dire expression. Whereas before he had seemed quite passive, the man was absolutely seething now, just a few shades away from all-out rage.

  “Do I have to spell it out for you, you dandy prat?”

  “What do we do?” the twin named Mariah asked her sister.

  “Shhh…”

  “Yes, what do we do? A fair question indeed, young lass!” Old Death laughed. “You damn well know that this is because of your actions, and the actions of those above you, as well as the actions of equally-ranked members of the Progeny of Light, that our two spiritual forces have been at war for ages. But it has never been a full-fledged war, not for thousands of years. And that is the twist: we have been made to think that we are at war, to think that we should be trying to kill one another, when we have the same goals.”

  “We do not have the same goals as them,” Gaspard said, pointing at Leliel.

  “Look at that, Lucian, the Committee’s fart-catcher wants attention again. Please, if I dare say, fuck the fuck off, Gaspard, and let the adults speak.” Old Death blew a mocking kiss to the enraged Death. “What? You don’t know? He must know,” he said, returning his focus to Lord Lifton. “He must know what is actually going on here.”

  Lord Lifton’s shoulders lifted and suddenly, Old Death was lying on the ground, thrown backward by an invisible blast.

  “Yes, just what I was hoping you would do you,” Old Death said, baring his teeth. He looked up to the dark gray clouds, a smile forming on his face as gold columns rained down from the sky, seven angels appearing on the beach. “Impeccable timing, as always.”

  Chapter Thirty: Blasted Beach

  Lucian immediately recognized the blast that followed.

  It came from Danira’s enormous energy weapon, her shot skidding along the beach just to Lucian’s right, nearly cutting through one of the twin Deaths.

  Menor’s cannibalistic ax formed in Lucian’s hand, the weapon frothing at the mouth as he tossed it in the direction of the angels.

  Lucian was thrown backward once a spear hit his body, nearly breaking through his armor.

  That was another thing Lucian was ready for this time.

  As Old Death had given the Committee hell, he had grown his armor, all aside from his skull mask, which was now firmly over his face. Had he not, the spear of light may have torn right through him.

  And he knew who the spear belonged to, the angel known as Hashul appearing over Lucian, energy sparking off his wings as he beat them in the wind.

  Lucian’s cape swelled forward, his retractable claws growing from his knuckles.

  He delivered a punch straight into Hashul’s stomach, the angel retaliating with a fist to Lucian’s chin that made everything flash for a moment. His cape twisted forward; Hashul batted it away as Lucian took to the high ground.

  Floating just a few feet in the air now, Lucian equipped his gun that fired electric tripwire. He shot Hashul with it several times, his cape still distracting the man.

  He was just about to bore down
on him with his particle-beam cannon when another angel engaged him, hitting Lucian in the face with an enormous hammer.

  All Lucian could think as he flew back through the air, eventually smacking into a pile of rocks on the shoreline before the small cliff of his favorite beach, was why an angel had a giant hammer, and why he hadn’t thought of crafting one.

  It was a dumb thought, a thought that made him grin even while he was actively dealing with the Progeny of Light.

  One of his Grim Mechas came to the rescue, colliding with the female angel with the hammer while his injurecrows whistled toward her, exploding on impact.

  This gave Lucian just a second to turn his attention to the greater battle, seeing who was engaging who.

  Mastima traded blows with Leliel; Old Death took on Lord Lifton while Gaspard fought off some of the angels. The twins, each of whom had long, slinky swords, fought Danira, who’d gone with her sword so she could more easily engage her opponents.

  Lucian did a quick check of his Soul Points, just to make sure he had plenty to go around.

  His crows raced over to him, Hugin and Munin checking on Lucian before he waved them away.

  “I’m good,” he told them as he began conjuring huge fireballs rimmed in electricity. He aimed his palms at Hashul, three of his fireballs connecting, the angel’s wings catching on fire as electric shock moved through him.

  Lucian shot over toward the angel who had continued to be a thorn in his side, and just as he did, his remote sensory weapons began to come out of the sand, firing at anyone that came near them that wasn’t Lucian or his companions.

  Lasers going off, explosions, the sounds of weapons clinking together, cries of anger and anguish, poofs of magic, Menor’s ax twisting through the air while gnashing its teeth, searing blips of light, crows flying all around—the fight was starting to resemble what had happened at the South Wind, only more visceral and cantankerous with all of Lucian’s tech at full throttle.

  A wild look on his face, Hashul lunged at Lucian with his spear, the angel gritting his teeth as Lucian stepped beside him, anticipating his attack and dodging it completely.