Everlasting Death

Through the lurid gleam encircling the tiny flame shone two orbs, wildly flickering flames reflected in them. From the gloom surrounding them, a voice as soft as velvet that seemed to transcend everything else issued forth from a point somewhere below the orbs.

"Death shall come as a thief in the night and lay claim on thy soul," sighed the voice barely audible above the heavy breathing of its companion.

A tremor of fear slid down the spine of the voice's companion, and into the dim light the companion thrust his head and an alarming sight was he to behold. Anguish and Time had wielded their control over the pitiable man. His hair was unkempt and copiously streaked with dingy grey, his eyes were bloodshot and watery, and his pallid complexion often gave the impression that he never saw the light of day. When he spoke his voice was harsh and grating, "Madame Tiresias, please tell me! Tell me how to stop Death! You must tell me!" begged he whom the Heavens had deemed unworthy of life.

"Death shall not be outdone by a mere mortal man. It shall hunt you down 'til you join it on the shores of Acheron," came Madame Tiresias' whispered reply from the shadows.

The man covered his head with his arms, shielding himself from the shadows of Death and issued forth a cry of impending doom. He gripped his hair long hair and made as if too tear it from his head but the voice of Madame Tiresias stayed his hands. "My child there is yet hope for your soul." Now after all the time she remained in the shadows her own face cut into the light. A face shadowed with forgotten beauty, wrinkled and weathered by the relentless passing of time.

The man gazed into her dark gleaming eyes; spellbound. "Anything, I'd do anything!" He cried out, "Just tell me what I must do!"

Madame Tiresias pulled back into the ever-deepening night, but not fast enough to hide the silhouette of triumph that spread across her ancient features. "You must devour the allies of Death. Consume them; deceive Death. This you must do before the setting of the new moon."

"How many?"

"As many as it takes," Madame Tiresias said fiendishly.

"Anything, anything for Life," the man said rising to his feet. The flickering candle stretched his shadow against the wall behind him like a hunched phantom. "Thank you Madame Tiresias. I'll see you soon then?"

"But of course child. Anytime you need me, I shall be here." With that the man left and Madame Tiresias leaned towards the candle. For a moment there was no movement save for the flickering of the candle and the wild dancing of the darkness then Madame Tiresias smiled darkly and blew out the candle submerging all in obscurity.

Heaven had deemed the man unworthy of entry. There would be no magnificent palaces for the man, and never again would he be allowed into the company of the pure and beautiful. Instead he lived in squalor, unable to afford any of the common luxuries that most people of the era took for granted. Darkness, Pain, and Time were his only companions and they were neither cordial nor relenting. He was allowed not a moment of peace to sooth his wretched soul.

The man lit a candle that lay on a decorative table just inside the vestibule then looked up. Nothing about what he saw should have scared him as he'd seen it a thousand times over, but it never failed to send an icy shiver through his body. It was a ghostly image that stared back at him with eyes eternally burning Hell's fire. The image of demon; a demon who lingered there forevermore.

The man turned away and quickly marched through his home to his bedchamber where he whiled away the time until dawn when he could escape the endless terrors of night. It was here that he first allowed his mind to wander to the prophesies of Madame Tiresias. It was here in this very room that he'd carried out the first of his sins predicted by the psychic.

To this room he went and lit the seven candles in the room. They stood on candelabrum of black metal and their flames cast a bluish light about the room, giving everything in the room a cold, withdrawn demeanor. The windows were draped with black velvet, keeping the light of the streetlamp outside completely. The dresser was nothing more than a place for his clothes and personal items, of which there were many curiosities, and the walls were plain white, as were the tiled floors of the room. But the room was far from plain.

A majestic bed captured all attention but the owner's. It was fanciful; spread with black silk sheets embroidered with the golden image of the crescent moon and a smaller image at the bottom tip of the moon. But the most magnificent feature was the stand on which it rested. It was carved from granite, and the borders were coated with pure gold. On it was carved the image of the three faces goddess Hekate surrounded by the hounds of Anubis. But what purpose did such a lavish item serve the in such a lifeless room?

To most it would appear that it served none except to add a certain darkness and texture into the man's life. No one would guess the secret hidden beneath his subconscious, save the secret itself that would speak no more. The man laid himself down upon this bed and dreamt of past times, times that he would do almost anything to relive. Times that he could bring back as Madame Tiresias had once said by escaping Death.

Morning was only alluded to be the sudden ringing of an alarm clock in some distant room of the house. The man lifted himself up, stretching out his stiff muscles and carefully slid off the bed so that his body did not come in contact with the ornate bed stand. It did not take him long to get to work; no one else wanted to brave the gloomy January Sunday. He entered the office and was greeted by his many co-workers none of whom was the least bit disturbed by his appearance on this day. The feral glint in his eyes, the sudden tidiness of his normally careless façade. In fact they seemed to appreciate the change and throughout the day countless people were caught smiling at him.

The general good-feelings in the room ended near the ending of their 9 to 5 shift. There were only two people left by the end of the day and that count included the man himself. The other was one of his co-workers who had on occasion insulted the him publicly and threatened him openly numerous times. Mostly when the two of them were alone they did not address each other. But that night something was different. Not only in the appearance of the man but with his whole being.

"Hey Asher you think you could help me with this box?" The co-worker whose name was Troy. Asher got up from his desk and assisted Troy with the box silently. "You're one sick bastard." Troy said quietly.

Asher turned his blank gaze to Troy. "Why's that?"

"You know why, so don't play dumb with me. Annette just happened to disappear, did she? Right after she broke it off with you."

"She picked up and left, left almost everything behind too. The guy she left me for had more than enough to buy her everything she lost plus more." Asher said contemptuously.

"Yeah, so I heard, but I don't believe it. You killed her."

"Prove it."

Troy stared Asher directly in the eye and suppressed a chill. There was something ethereal about him, his eyes in particular. "Someone like you doesn't deserve to be alive." Troy whispered. "You're a-"

But what exactly he thought Asher was was never to be heard. He dropped to the clean office floors, lifeless. In Asher's hand was a blade used for cutting boxes, drenched and dripping with blood. "Ally of Death..." Asher licked the blade clean and before he thought anything through properly he consumed his enemy slowly until there was not a drop of blood left.

Asher got up and fled the office, on his way home he passed a bar and stopped. The metallic taste of blood gnawed at his core, and everything shifted in his view as he tried moved about. Shadows writhed about him and people stepped away from him horrified by what they saw.

Once inside darkness devoured him and gave him a moment's reprieve. He sat at the bar for a quarter of an hour and by that time he was completely wasted. Asher left the bar and a prostitute stepped hesitantly towards him. He gazed at her and she back at him, seeing that he didn't do anything she moved seductively towards him. "Hi honey, you need company?"

Asher simply shrugged in reply and began walking to his car. She followed him pouting, but when he opened the passenger side door and did not climb in she grinned and slid into the dark interior. He shut the door with a resounding click and moved slowly to the driver side. The door groaned as he opened it and got in. The car sputtered to a start and the two of them sat in virtual silence as he drove miraculously well for a drunken man.

"So..." said the harlot breaking the silence that threatened to cause insanity. "How do you like it?" Asher made no reply. "Hmm..." She suddenly brightened considerably and turned so that she faced him entirely and placed her hand on his thigh. She leaned in close to him and her lips brushed his ear as she spoke. A menacing smile passed over his face but he was still hushed.

Disappointed by his reaction, she pulled away and turned on the radio. "Ooo, I absolutely adore this song!" And she began to sing. "Death and pain shall come, like a thief in the night, your soul take flight. Beware, beware of the cloaked hooded man!" She stopped singing to play the air guitar but she never got to strike the first chord. Instead she fell back into the seat, her neck snapped and her body lifeless.

Asher held her neck in his hands, tightly his hands shaking tremulously. "Ally of Death," he shuddered and released her. Carefully he pulled the car into an alley and just as carefully as he had Troy, he drained her off all blood, consuming her into his own soul in hopes of deceiving Death.

He left the alley dripping with blood and managed to make his way back home. He glanced towards the image of the demon and was stunned. The demon was no longer there; instead it had been replaced with Asher's own reflection. His face ashen and his lips red with blood. His hair was darker and even healthier than it had been that morning and for the first time his own eyes burned with life. Death and Time were reversed! Thank the Lord!

Nothing further happened that night except when he slept it was dreamless. There was no more longing for the pains of the past, only the wonders of the future.

Asher woke up the next morning and got dressed but did not go to work. Instead he made his way to the basement of his house, with the light of one of the seven candles in his bedroom. There in the basement was an assortment of weapons that his family had collected throughout the generations. From this he chose a blade, easy to conceal beneath his black button-up shirt. Choosing this he exited the basement once more and made his way out of the house to go on the largest hunt of his life.

All day he searched for his enemies and the worst he came out with was the old guy who was always at the local deli staring at him in amazement. Night fell and his heart fluttered. The moon was already waning. He allowed his instincts to take over and soon found himself at a park near his home. It was empty save for three people; two girls and a guy. One of the girls was standing off to the side watching as the guy and the girl made out passionately on the other side of the park. Her eyes seemed to burn green with envy as she watched them. She looked up expectantly as Asher approached her and addressed him sharply, "What do you want?"

Asher held up his hands in surrender. "Nothing I swear, just wanted to watch the show," he said with a maniacal grin.

The girl looked him up and down then turned away disgusted. "You're way too old for me."

He found this horribly funny, because if he'd wanted that he would have gotten it. However he held his silence and simply watched as the two lovers laughed and kissed again. The girl who he was sitting by groaned and held her head in her hands. "Anything wrong?" He asked her softly.

"Go to Hell!" She shrieked suddenly. The two lovers in the park stopped and looked at them then ran out of the park as if Death were snapping at their heels.

What they had witnessed made their blood run cold. A black hooded figure hovered over a teenage girl, his arms lovingly on her waist and throat to his mouth. But the girl was dead in his arms, and blood trickled down Asher's mouth. He pulled away from her and whispered three words, "Ally of Death," against her neck then consumed her with no one at all to see.

He left the scene of his crime still hungering for more and began his search once more. The next few people however only wished him the best, and no matter how much he hungered he still was reluctant to kill those who were not allied with Death. He returned home aching for more.

For three gorgeous days he failed to find his enemy. He searched tirelessly, but to no avail. All he could do was hope for a better day. That day came on the third night after the last incident. It was raining and cold that night but he went out anyway.

There was only one person out there that night. A man, who was completely and utterly wasted. He stood there in the middle of the rainstorm cursing loudly. Asher walked up to the man, to see if he could possibly be talked to going home, so as not to injure anyone. The man turned on Asher angrily and lashed his fist out.

"STAY STILL SO I COULD CRUSH YOU!!!" The wrathful man roared.

"Ally of Death," Asher muttered reaching into his jacket for the blade. He removed it and slashed the man from temple to chin then drove it into the man's heart when he pulled reared back.

He took his time devouring the wrath of the drunkard. Then went about his back to his mausoleum.

Two more times he killed, then on the night of the new moon he returned to Madame Tiresias. The psychic was there as usual surrounded by darkness and Asher took his seat opposite her. He leaned into the light, no longer the pitiful man that he had been a mere seven days before.

"Hello Madame Tiresias. I did as you said. And I feel great, Death isn't after me anymore." Asher said with a heartfelt laugh.

Madame Tiresias chuckled along with him for a moment then sloped towards the flames. Like with him, time had been reversed. Nothing about her suggested that she was old. There was only beauty, immeasurable beauty. "I do believe you missed one child."

With that she stood and the shadows themselves cloaked her. She raised her right arm over her head and brought it down into his back repeatedly. He shrieked in pain and died on the seventh blow. "Ally of Death," Tiresias simpered, then she proceeded to consume his soul.

After several days, Asher's landlord reported him missing and the police forced themselves into his home. The first thing they saw when the entered was the image of Asher. It was a startling image, his mouth opened in an everlasting shriek, his eyes wide with terror. The police officers forced their eyes away from the image and searched the whole apartment.

There was no sign of him. But they reckoned it was a good thing, seeing that he had a disturbing collection of weapons in his basement. The only room unsearched at the ending of an hour was his bedchamber. Together the police tip-toed into the room and stopped dead in their tracks. The granite bed stand had caught there attention and they moved to it as one.

"What do you think it is?" Whispered one.

"I don't know but whatever it is looks like it opens." It took seven cops to push away the bed and open the lid and they all jumped back. There under the bed had been a tomb, and lying inside it was the perfectly preserved body of Annette. The only person Asher had ever loved, the only woman to have broken his heart beyond repair, the only woman who he wanted back more than anything else, up 'til his dying day.