~Book One~
Harmon Cooper
Copyright © 2019 Boycott Books, LLC
Edited by Andi Marlowe
Audiobook narrated by Andrea Parsneau and produced by Podium Publishing
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Death is before me today:
like the recovery of a sick man,
like going forth into a garden after sickness.
Death is before me today:
like the odor of myrrh,
like sitting under a sail in a good wind.
Death is before me today:
like the course of a stream;
like the return of a man from the war-galley to his house.
Death is before me today:
like the home that a man longs to see,
after years spent as a captive.
--From "Dialogue of a Misanthrope with His Soul" written around 2000 BCE, also known as "Dispute Between a Man and His Ba,” taken from a papyrus of the Middle Kingdom of Egypt.
Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Chapter One: The Day Death Came
Chapter Two: Taking the Mantle
Chapter Three: Drinking with Death
Chapter Four: Angel in the Backyard
Chapter Five: Soul Points
Chapter Six: Futuristic Grim Reaper
Chapter Seven: Date of Death
Chapter Eight: ICU
Chapter Nine: We are Inevitable
Chapter Ten: Portland by the Sea
Chapter Eleven: Funeral
Chapter Twelve: A Scythe and Some Game Time
Chapter Thirteen: Yoshimi and Pachinko
Chapter Fourteen: Obscure Parasites
Chapter Fifteen: Nursing Homes in the Desert
Chapter Sixteen: Mental Health
Chapter Seventeen: Crow
Chapter Eighteen: Things Fall Apart
Chapter Nineteen: Pink Reaper
Chapter Twenty: Life and Death
Chapter Twenty-One: Power-Leveling
Chapter Twenty-Two: Death Hunters
Chapter Twenty-Three: Wide Open Spaces
Chapter Twenty-Four: New Hampshire Casino
Chapter Twenty-Five: OD
Chapter Twenty-Six: Legging an Arm
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Shigatse
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Progeny of Darkness
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Golden Crows
Chapter Thirty: Imminent
Epilogue: Matter of Time
Back of the Book Content
Chapter One: The Day Death Came
Any day could have been Lucian North’s last day on Earth.
Doctor’s visits, hospital trips, constantly being poked and prodded, a few scares, a ton of scars, a couple of bouts with depression, time in a recovery ward—the doctors had given him one year to live, and it had now been two and a half.
At least Lucian North had a family that loved him.
His brother, Connor, stopped by all the time to check on him. His mother visited daily with tupperware containers full of food, oftentimes showing up with Lucian’s favorite casserole.
His family wanted him to move away from the dangerous neighborhood he lived in near Salem, Massachusetts, but Lucian was stubborn, insistent on living on his own.
He liked his independence, however short-lived it may be.
It made him feel like he’d actually make it through this, that maybe the doctors and cardiologists were wrong about his prognosis after all.
And besides that, he liked to keep his own schedule, including playing Zero Enigma until he fell asleep in front of the television.
“Here we go,” Lucian whispered to himself as the second to last bandit fell, the man’s body lit aflame. He’d been playing Zero Engima for several hours now, lost in a quest that had a ton of working parts.
Going after the camp was meant to be a palate cleanser, and as the bandit died, Lucian jammed his thumb on the [X] button while simultaneously triggering the left joystick, allowing him to do an enhanced attack that finished the final enemy bandit.
He was just starting to loot the dead bodies when an old man took shape before Lucian, standing between him and the television.
Lucian dropped his controller, his mouth agape.
After a break-in at his home while he was in the hospital, Lucian always kept a pistol nearby, especially the times he knew he was going to fall asleep on the couch.
And as the man took a step toward him, Lucian reached for his pistol.
“You can see me?” the elderly man asked, startled.
The man’s eyes were sunk into his head, his hair long and gray. He wore dark robes, not quite black, his hands clasped together in front of his body, death radiating all around him.
“Whoever the hell you are...”
Lucian knew his heart wasn’t going to make it, but if this was his last day on Earth, if he was approaching the last breath he’d ever breathe, Lucian wasn’t going to go down without a fight.
The desire to survive was the only leverage he had.
“I’m serious,” he said, his finger trembling as he clicked the safety off. “This is your last chance.”
A black mist swept into Lucian’s living room, seeping under the door and pooling at the corners.
The old man quickly drew a sword seemingly out of thin air, a look of terror racing across his face.
A screeching sound met Lucian’s ears as more dark mist filled the space.
The first creature to solidify wore blackened rags, its face covered with gauze, blood seeping through and pooling around its lips, its mouth visible under a cut in the gauze.
And as its jaw began to distend, jagged teeth popping out of its rotting black lips, Lucian changed the trajectory of his pistol from the old man to the entity that was morphing into a goddamn demon.
His first bullet tore through the demon’s bandaged skull.
Lucian’s heart contracted as the terrible being fell to the floor, landing at the old man’s feet.
Panic rising in his chest, he aimed his pistol at the next demon and blew its head off too, splattering the wall with blood.
The third came, and Lucian did the same, ending the demon’s life with a single bullet.
He blew the head off the fourth as another formed in the mist.
Lucian only had two shots left.
The next blindfolded demon came from the kitchen, and even as Lucian’s heart threw in its flag, sparking a spasm in his left arm, he still managed to fire on the creature, the demon screeching as the bullet tore through its neck.
The final demon stepped out of the mist and the old man took care of this one, cutting its head off with a swift gesture, faster than Lucian had ever seen any human move.
“Die, you foul shabbaroon!” the man said as he drove his blade into the demon’s chest for good measure.
Out of breath now, and barely able to stand in front of his couch, Lucian turned his pistol to the old man.
He clenched his other hand over his heart, his vision blurring, the floor cascading away as the room slowly started to spin.
“One bullet left, Lucian North,” the old man said as he lowered his blade.
“How… how did you…?” Lucian gasped for air now; he could feel every blood vessel in his body crying out in pain.
He swallowed hard and licked his lips, ignoring the sense of dizziness making his head spin. And even as he felt his heart convulsing, he tried to steel himself, to stay strong, his weapon still pointed at the man in the black robes.
“You saved me,” the old man said, his face now partially concealed by his long, gray
hair. “And for that, I owe you your life.”
“I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but… Stay right where you are, don’t move! Stay where you are!”
The man took a step forward and Lucian squeezed the trigger. The bullet passed right through his body, no entry or exit wound.
The old man sheathed his blade. “You cannot kill what is already dead.”
“This can’t… can’t be real.”
Lucian choked back a sob; something at the back of his mind told him that this was indeed real, that he was dying, and that this was it.
Another look at the man in his dark robes and Lucian had a different vision, his eyes going wide. “Are you… the Grim Reaper?”
A smirk took shape across the old man’s face. “I am, and I was about to help you pass when those injuresouls came. Miraculous as it was, you saved me.”
“Injuresouls?” Lucian could barely get the words out, his heart exploding, his eyes starting to roll into the back of his head. “Did you say… help me?”
The old man reached his hand out toward him. “It is time, Lucian. You have saved me, proven to me that you are worthy of this role. It is time that you become Death.”
Chapter Two: Taking the Mantle
“Where are we?” Lucian North asked, as everything solidified around him. He took in a deep breath, blinking rapidly as he tried to come to grips with what had just happened.
There was a city below, a vast metropolis full of saber-shaped skyscrapers, flying vehicles and an above-ground subway blazing with lights.
Flying vehicles? Lucian glanced again to confirm it.
Wherever they were, it definitely wasn’t somewhere on Earth.
“It has become one of my favorite places to call home,” the old man said, approaching the window and looking out. His long gray hair was now in a ponytail that Lucian didn’t remember him stringing up. “Not many distractions, either. Even better, I’m safe here from Life, injuresouls and Watchers, among other things.”
The lights of the city reflected into the Death’s sparse dwelling, which simply had a leather couch in the center of the room, a bookshelf on the other side of the room which was next to a heavy wooden door, and a stairwell leading down.
Lucian touched his chest, feeling for his heart as he often did and noticing that…
I have muscles now?
He’d never been very well built, not like his brother, Connor.
Lucian was always thin, and he grew even thinner after the diagnosis of a rare heart condition known as ventricular tachycardia.
Naturally, touching his chest led him to look down at the rest of his body to see muscled biceps, his forearms wrapped in black gauze. He also wore dark robes similar to what the old man wore. Lucian felt surprisingly light on his feet, and as he took a step forward, he noticed a bounce to his gait that he hadn’t felt since he was a child.
“What did you do to me?” he asked as he examined his hands. Lucian glanced around for a mirror but couldn’t find one.
Death stepped away from the floor-to-ceiling window and took a seat on the leather sofa. “I’ve already explained what is happening here: you are becoming Death, you are becoming me, but saying that aloud makes me think this warrants more of an explanation.”
“You think?”
The two stared incredulously at each other for a moment.
The old man grinned. “I suppose.”
“Yeah, it kind of does,” Lucian continued, “because I don’t know about you, but having a man appear in your home followed by a bunch of demons, and this same man tell you that he’s turning you into the Grim Reaper is… how do I say this?”
“Unorthodox?” the old man suggested. “Deathly exciting?”
“That’s an understatement, and I’ll go ahead and ignore the pun. What if I say no? What if I don’t want to become Death?”
“You haven’t said ‘no’ yet,” the elderly man reminded Lucian as a glass of water appeared in his hand.
“Are you magic?”
“You mean am I a magician? No.” He took a sip from the glass. “And don’t accuse me of being such a frivolous thing. Any other questions before we begin?”
“Did I just sign a pact with the devil or something? And where are we, exactly?”
“My home. And no, you haven’t signed a pact with the devil! I’ve never met the guy, but he and his counterpart get a lot of credit for things they have no say or control over. But this doesn’t concern you, not yet anyway. What concerns you is your new role.”
Lucian ran his hand through his hair and noticed it was thicker than before, longer too. Not long like Death’s, but thicker than it had been just ten minutes ago when he was in his apartment back in Salem, Massachusetts.
“I will make this brief because you, my boy, need to get to work.”
“Work?” Lucian looked around at the dimly lit room.
“People need Death; they need you and me. Otherwise, they can’t successfully pass to the afterlife when they should. And you need people to get stronger. So it is a mutual relationship.”
“I still haven’t agreed to any of this.”
Death nodded, considering what Lucian had said. “I wish there was a manual for this. I’ve been at it for so long that I’ve forgotten what the first days are like. Three hundred years?” He looked up at the coffered ceiling, counting his fingers. “I believe it’s coming up on my anniversary…”
“Won’t you die if you transfer your powers to me?”
“Eventually, yes, but that’s the point.” A sad smile ran across the man’s face. “A good life deserves a good death. And I’ve lived a fairly good life.”
With that, his form started to filter away, the room expanding into a long hallway with a carpet cutting straight through it.
Please, come with me, a voice said at the back of Lucian’s head. It is time for the test to begin.
The room grew even longer, the red carpet in the middle stretching into the distance, the ceiling expanding, darkening.
A white light materialized into existence, a sparkling energy oscillating around it. The light was followed by the roar of a terrible creature, its body becoming more visible as Lucian approached.
His hands tingled once his eyes fell upon a monstrous demon dog with three snarling heads, the scales of a dragon and a wicked trident on its tail. The demon dog dipped its head, snorting clouds of smoke, gnashing its three sets of teeth.
“Fuck you,” Lucian said, a shotgun taking shape in his hands.
His mind was so focused on the terrible creature in front of him that he had no time to consider the weapon that had appeared seemingly out of thin air, nor that he had conjured it.
The weapon was simply there, and not a moment too soon, either.
The monster pressed off its back feet, its tail whipping behind it.
Click, click, boom!
Lucian blew off one of its heads, the shell flying to the right as he took another shot, this one cutting into the creature’s shoulder.
It kept charging, blood misting out of its new wounds.
He got the notion that a bladed weapon might be helpful, and as if it had been in his right hand all along, Lucian noticed the glint of a broadsword, the hilt shaped into the face of a screaming demon.
Lucian jumped over the now two-headed demon dog, higher than he’d ever leaped before, and landed behind the monster, flourishing his blade as he sliced through its tail.
The creature roared out in pain, blood squirting from the space where its tail used to be, claws taking shape on its paws.
The possessed killer canine barreled toward Lucian in a mad frenzy, trying to swat him down with its claws.
Lucian rolled right and came up with his sword, which he used to beat the monster’s claws away.
Wondering just how far his magic could go, Lucian ran to the right of the room and springboarded off a wall. He turned to the creature, unleashing a blue fireball filled with daggers.
The dagger
s cut through the beast, charring its flesh, smoke risng off its body.
The demon dog took a lumbering step forward.
It let out a final wheeze and fell to the side, its stomach moving in and out as its last breath exited its body.
“Not bad, my boy, not bloody bad.”
The man with long white hair now stood next to Lucian, as if he’d been standing there the entire time.
“What the hell was that?” Lucian asked, just starting to catch his breath, his hands still trembling. He was too shocked to notice that the weapons he’d conjured were gone, and that the two now stood in a blackened space far removed from the room he’d just been in.
“Just a simple creation; I wouldn’t let it bother you,” the old man said with a smirk.
“A three-headed demon dog? That’s not supposed to bother me?”
“What made you decide to fight in this manner? I wasn’t expecting that—then again, you are a Death of the twenty-first century.”
Lucian shrugged. “I just sort of freestyled it.”
“In my first trial, I was killed ten, no, fifteen times,” the elderly man said, his bushy eyebrows pressed together. “Maybe it was seventeen times. Old Death wasn’t very impressed, but this future Old Death, he’s very impressed.”
“Old Death?”
“Aah, he had a name, Merek, I believe. But he was Death before me, so I generally refer to him as Old Death. And soon I will become the Death before you. So you can refer to me as Old Death too.”
“I haven’t agreed to any of this,” Lucian started to tell him.
“You agreed when you decided to fight back.” Old Death smiled at him, his teeth white and shiny. “I know you’re still processing this, but trust me, everything will make sense soon enough.”
The elderly man turned, and as he did, the background began to melt away.
Lucian and Old Death now stood in an apartment block which looked like it was somewhere in Asia, the tall buildings adorned with red characters, a haze hanging over the city. There were children playing outside, a few of the older boys dribbling balls.
Death's Mantle Page 1
