§ 1

Sehun?

Sehun almost swerved off the gravel path, pulling the reins hard when he heard Death’s voice in his head. The hooves of his horse still echoed loudly in his ears. “What?” he gasped in shock, so focused on getting away. He had an encounter near the border of France with agents, but he galloped right by the man who had aimed his weaponry towards Sehun. But he had the scythe blade turned inwards and he ripped the man’s head right off his shoulders, the cracking of bones almost drowned in the screams of the other younger governmental officer. He just urged his horse to go faster, chucking off the blood on the blade before dematerialising it again.

Sehun! Sehun. My child, calm down.

Sehun obliged, pulling the reins of his horse to slow her down until she slowly came to a halt, her ventilation working at full blast. Resting his hands on the neck, inhaling deeply while he felt the core settling down.

“I am.” He was still a bit out of breath, standing most of the time in the stirrup like a jockey, raised to be more of a streamline.

I can sense you, but I can’t locate you.

Sehun smiled to himself. He had associated himself with a witch long before. An intimate he trusted with his undead life. He was still curious how Death never sensed them to be a moon child, but giving their experience, he understood. But Sehun also wondered how he never found out over him. They always visited him, when they were sure Death was out of immediate reach.

“I concealed myself, something I should have done earlier.” Sehun carded his fingers through his horse’s mane.

You can conceal yourself? I didn’t know you’d be able to hide from me, a black magic wielder? Death sounded genuinely surprised.

“It’s white magic.” Sehun used his heels to get his horse back into motion. Someone was waiting for him at the end of the path. “But yes, they're a black witch.”

You associate yourself with witches?

Sehun reached the fork where a crow was sitting on a road sign, regarding him with a tilted shake of its head. Sehun offered the crow his arm, who flapped its wings and jumped from the sign onto his shoulder.

“Yes, I associate myself with witches, sorry for never telling you. But they taught me a lot throughout the years. They promised to accompany me the rest of the way until Gibraltar, when none of you have time.” Sehun was genuinely sorry, he felt like he betrayed Death’s trust in him.

My child, I trust your ability to choose your companions wisely. I’ll be in Gibraltar by tonight. Stay safe, devoted child.

§ 2

“So, you and Kris?” The witch had been wrapped in Sehun’s cloak, shivering near the fire he lit for them.  They had their hands curled around a mug that steamed with some disgusting tea, a long pipe between their fingers. Sehun, sat upon a stone, was polishing and edging the outside of his scythe. “It’s in the past, but it was still so weird, like—I can’t place if I still like him that way or if it was just my body running rampage because I had a human appearance. I usually only have that when I’m collecting souls, or warning humans to be more precise.”

“Well, an ankou shouldn’t feel anything. But given your circumstances, you’re an ankou for five years now?” Sehun nodded his head while stirring soup in the little pod on the fire. “Well, ankou, I don’t want to lean myself too far out of the window, but I guess the universe doesn’t know what it should do with you. Yeah, yeah, Death being the sole creator and all that bull aside, there’s still a universe and I refuse to believe that he has anything to do with that. And anyway, the big bang is a thing and I’m pretty sure he was just one of the first homo sapiens that died and tainted the world.” Sehun let out an ‘oof’ and grabbed his chest. “I had already taken my God away from myself and replaced it with him, don’t place your salty finger any deeper in my wound.” 

They rolled their eyes and offered the pipe, the smoke turning golden when Sehun touched the pipe. “Dead giveaway you’re an undead.” They truly gave him finger guns. “Haha, very funny, such new information to me.” Lifting the pipe to his lips, he inhaled deeply and cross-eyed when the smoke hit his lungs. He inhaled the smoke from his lips through his nostrils, glaring at the witch. “What is it this time?”

§ 3

“You know, the usual stuff. Pine, Acorn, Sweetpea, Fir, Lavender, a dash of Iris, and a bit of Marigold, tobacco and, eh, weed?²” They looked somewhat sad and Sehun didn’t want to know what the flowers meant this time.

“I take the weed, witch. I don’t need additional information about what you crushed and infused the tobacco with. Leave me as an ignoramus.” He inhaled deeply again, his nostrils filled with the deadly smoke while giving the witch the pipe back.

“When do you have to leave again?” Sehun looked over to his horse where one imp was instructing a few gremlins to renew the core and oil the whole horse. It had been the witch's underling that had taken a liking to his horse when it settled down. Apparently the horse was also an innovation of a gremlin but the gremlin had never been acknowledged by his maker he helped. “Depends on how long they need.” With these words he stood up and slowly walked up to the pack of workers, crouching down next to the imp, offering him a slice of an apple the witch placed in his open palm. “Hey, do you have any idea when you’ll be finished?” The imp ogled the slice of apple and swallowed saliva. Sehun held him a clock under the nose and waited for him until he pointed towards ten. He gobbled down the apple afterwards. One gremlin looked him up and down, suspicious in nature until he saw the metal peeking out of Sehun’s pants. Sehun wasn’t dumb and he stood up slowly, not to frighten the small gremlins and rolled up the pants, crouching down again, revealing the prosthesis. The figure of 20cm was jumping down his horse and ran towards Sehun, almost slipping on the wet ground and Sehun scooped him up, placing the gremlin on his shin. 

“They like you,” the witch commented and had a coughing fit. 

“And you should stop smoking, you’re not immortal, witch,” Sehun answered and the gremlin made motions of standing up in Sehun’s hand. He didn’t understand what he wanted at first until it dawned on him. The gremlin held onto his fingers when Sehun stood up. He never learned the language of the creatures but heard him shouting something to the others and a little fraction was checking up on his prosthesis. Sehun set him down again and stood there motionless until the gremlins deemed his leg as good as new, that’s at least what he thought.

§ 4

“So, you’re telling me that the gremlins managed to pitch up the core to 95km/h top speed?” The imp nodded in confirmation. “And they checked my leg and cleaned it?” Again a nod. “And now you’re telling me you don’t want anything for it. Beside a thanks?” He sat with his legs crossed on the ground, a few gremlins sitting on his legs and the tallest on his shoulder. The imp stood before him and nodded his head. He refused to talk with immortals but Sehun understood it. Most immortals weren’t as friendly or approachable as him to the smaller and weaker ones. Especially to those shunned by human society because they either helped in their lives like gremlins and imps were supposed to do. But to Sehun, he always liked those more, even if they didn’t talk to him. He always tried to give back, but according to the witch, the gremlins were thankful enough to have worked for Sehun in the first place and it confused him to no end. A premonition crept up on him he decided to banish it the second it came up. 

“I’m taking my leave now, witch. Thanks for your help.” Sehun also bowed down to the gremlins and the imp. “I have to be in Gibraltar by 9 the latest. I should leave without delay. Until we meet again, witch.”

“Safe travel, Child of Death. Before you leave, you never gave me your name.” The witch stood there, a hand open in a motion of having something presented.

“Witch, I cannot give you my name, but you can refer to me as Sehun.” He smiled at them, being aware of what their call was. They were trying to save him, but he couldn’t let that happen.

“Sehun, it is, thanks for telling me, even if you haven’t given me your name.” The witch, the faerie, smiled at him in parting before turning around, leaving Sehun on his saddle before he stirred it into the opposite direction. Pressing his heels into the horse’s flanks, it started going into movement before winning in speed and almost flying over riverbanks and fields, closer to Gibraltar with every hoof.

§ 5

By the time he was four hours away from Gibraltar, blood was drying on his clothes and his inner self had been possessed by blood thirst. He had numerous encounters with governmentals crossing his path, trying to stop him. His concealment was losing intensity at an alarming rate and he would be visible and locatable at the exact spot once he arrived. Sehun knew something was wrong with him; his thoughts started to rot. His tattoos started to colour his body centimetre by centimetre. Force was interrupting his thoughts every once in a while, his consciousness dropping in and out. He felt like something was overtaking him, something stronger than he knew so far.

His horse was at its limit, but showing no signs of slowing down. The cooling system was reved up to a max, smoke coiling from the horse’s nostrils. In his clouded mind, Sehun recognised Death calling him, but he wasn’t able to answer. Maybe his time had come and the universe was demanding its tribute from an immortal like him. One that had defied space and time, gotten away from death more than once and now resisted his impending doom by four years. The gods were furious—as much as Death told him he was the Destroyer and Maker. There was something else out there that no-one was aware of and never could have been. Sehun felt their long and poisoned talons slowing reaching for him. Gibraltar wouldn’t save him.

He couldn’t stop now. His primal flight instinct was at full blast, fear. This wasn’t about the government anymore, it never was. The faerie had warned him, they had taken his name to safe him. But he would’ve only put them in danger. Death might be the only one that could save him. 

The gods, the demons, were out on a hunt for him.

§ 6

Somewhere near the border of Gibraltar crashed a mechanical horse with its jockey into a house wall. The horse’s front legs suddenly gave out without showing a sign of slowing down, the horse crashing headfirst into the stone wall while the jockey flew head over out of the saddle. He crashed into the wall of the house in a rural town, leaving broken crumbs of stone in his wake. His body was as black as his eyes, the blood on his clothes and black skin looking like it clawed its way onto his face, leaving it whiter than a sheet of paper, as white as the hair that seemed more translucent upon closer inspection. The young man’s whole body was spasming, his screams of agony pressing people into unconsciousness. The villagers called for their priest who paled upon seeing the man, seeing the almost invisible scythe stuck with its blade in the man’s chest. Making the sign of the cross, he called for the strongest men in the village to get the boy into the chapel as fast as possible.

He was tied up and undressed to his briefs. His tattoos were pulsating in an ominous red and his body felt like it was on fire. He was struggling against the bonds, but the boy was possessed by an Unspeakable. The priest felt the boy’s fears and prayers against the Unspeakable in him. 

§ 7

“... Fiat via illórum ténebrae, et lúbricum: et Ángelus Dómini pérsequens eos. Quóniam grátis abscondérunt míhi intéritum láquei sui: supervácue exprobravérunt ánimam meam. Véniat illi láqueus quem ignórat; et cáptio quam abscóndit,aprehéndat eum: et in láqueum cádat in ipsum. ...”³

The boy’s screams were ear piercing and it was a wonder he still had a voice, but the Unspeakable seemed to get weaker with each passing verse the priest recited. But it was persistent. The boy was bleeding black tears and the men who had helped the priest backed away, fearful of the monster at their hands.

In the middle of the night, there was a storm brewing, all communication in Gibraltar dead. A strong gust of wind slammed the doors open to the chapel, a thunder revealing a tall hooded figure standing in the doorway. It reeked of blood and death, but it had no material form. The priest felt his heart clenching.

The boy seemed to call on the figure, screaming and crying in a language the priest had never heard before, and the figure stood silent, but in his head, the priest heard the voice. The voice was calling him on to continue the exorcism, to follow through with it.

“... eradicáre et effugáre a Dei Ecclésia, ab animábus ad imáginem Dei cónditis ac pretióso divíni Ágni sánguine redémptis. Non últra áudeas, sérpens callidíssime, decípere humánum génus, Dei Ecclésiam pérsequi, ac Dei eléctos excútere et cribráre sicut tríticum. ”⁴

The holy water started boiling the closer the hooded figure strode and the boy’s body was trying to escape from his bindings, his whole body aching in the direction of the figure. His screams were pleas. The priest couldn't understand them, but he felt it, deep down in his core, where his silver cross was burning into his skin when the figure passed him, heading towards the boy.

The world outside was in a tumult, shootings, other wordly languages and screams. Outside the chapel was war. The priest realised Death had stepped past him, their hand reaching out for the boy who was still screaming and crying like a child for their mother. Death stood at the head end of the altar where the boy was lying upon, covering his eyes. The screams stopped immediately, but the boy was hiccuping and crying, shaking from the stress, but the cries had died down to sobs. He laid still and was so quiet. The priest had stopped reciting the exorcism and was silently reciting the E Nomine, his hand clasped around his silver cross that was burning his skin. Noone uttered a word in the chapel and the sounds from outside sounded suddenly so much more powerful and louder. It smelt like fire, the rain was pressing against the windows and it sounded like windows were bursting in the chapel with increasing speed towards the altar.

Death leaned down towards the boy’s face, whispering something until their lips met. The moment their lips touched, the altar window displaying the crucifixion of Christ burst into a million pieces. The sounds outside stilled and the world was no more.

“Sehun, my name is ...”

² Pine: Hope, Pity; Marigold: Cruelty, Grief, Jealousy; Fir: Time; Sweetpea: Good-Bye, Departure, Blissful Pleasure, Thank you for a lovely time; Acorn: Nordic Symbol of Life and Immortality; Lavender: Admiration, Solitude; Iris: Your Friendship means so much to me, Faith, Hope.
³ Latin: Let their way become dark and slippery: and let the Angel of the Lord pursue them.
For without cause they have hidden their net for me unto destruction: without cause they have upbraided my soul.
Let the snare which he knoweth not, come upon him: and let the net which he hath hidden, catch him: and into that very snare let him fall.
⁴ Latin: We command you, begone and fly far from the Church of God, from the souls made by God in His Image and redeemed by the Precious Blood of the Divine Lamb. No longer dare, cunning serpent, to deceive the human race, to persecute God’s Church, to strike God’s elect and to sift them as wheat.

Thanks for reading my story, I spent a couple of month on it and writing the end of the story made me somewhat truly sad, especially since i wrote the last few paragraphs with Towers by We Lost The Sea and it made it so much more impactful for me personally. Feedback and comments are greatly appreciated.
Thank you,
J.