Chapter Text
You have seen almost everything in your life, after all, the world was full of magic and the most diverse tales. And yet, the last thing you expected was for Death to stalk you. Literally.
It was supposed to be an easy job, after a lifetime — not a very long one, by the way — of various and dangerous works. But your contractor apparently forgot to warn you that magic was involved, and nothing, nothing was easy when magic was involved. So, you shouldn't be surprised when things started to go downhill. At first, everything went according to plan, you and your team — four companions, deadly and trustworthy — easily broke into the mansion where the Last Tear of a Star was kept; it was said to be the remnant of a star that fell to earth to live with its beloved and had incredible healing powers. However, when you arrived at the lobby and managed to get past all the obstacles, you were ambushed.
Witches.
A bombardment ensued, and amidst the sadistic laughter all around, the crashes and fires. You saw the life drain out of each of your companions until it was your turn. Witnessing your entire life being reflected in the consuming flames.
You grew up on the streets, and the only paternal love you ever received was from the bakery owner on the corner where you lived. Ms. Angelita, who, deserved her name more than anyone; a complete angel. She taught you about kindness and love while the rest of the world taught you about selfishness, pain, and above all else... Survival. You saw the worst and the best the world had to offer, but you still believed in the greater good.
In the end, working as a mercenary seemed like the logical path for a street kid. The drunks and soldiers in the taverns taught you everything you knew about defense and combat. But out of respect for Ms. Angelita and your own morals, you vowed never to do work that would harm the people. Call you another "Robin Hood", but it was the truth. Still, you were no saint. You had your share of sins as you walked the fine line between good and evil.
Because of these factors, the debate between life and death was a constant in your life. In the stories or the tales of other mercenaries in a tavern late at night. Death was a faithful companion; painful, unfair, but faithful, and that was somehow a comfort to many. The one thread that connected everyone in this profession. You never came to a conclusion about what death meant to you. The fear was there, you thought it existed in everyone in one way or another. But at the same time, there were other things you feared much more.
One of them was never finding a purpose, a dream. A home. You wandered from place to place and nothing seemed right.
Perhaps that is why when you were confronted with death and what it meant. The fear of the unknown lasted only for an instant and was replaced by acceptance seconds later.
You closed your eyes and swore that in your final moments, you saw a flash of red eyes flicker into the flames.
Only you didn't die. At least you didn't think that either of the two likely places you could go, hell or heaven, would look like a small-town doctor's office.
Upon waking up, your whole body aches, breathing is difficult, and a headache already greets you. A movement to the right catches your attention. Soon you hear someone - who you assume is the doctor - gasp in surprise. And then, a smile. "You woke up! It's a miracle !"
His voice echoes in your skull, causing a buzzing sound that makes you feel like you might explode at any moment. "Easy, easy ." The doctor approaches, his hands resting gently on your body. "You have several burns all over your body. "
You close your eyes and then try to focus on his words, but nothing seems to make sense and once again you feel terror creeping through your body, chilling you. Red eyes flash in your mind.
You want to scream, to cry. Being dead would be better than all the pain you feel right now. You hear the doctor talking and moving around the room, but you are too preoccupied with how completely exhausted and overwhelmed you feel. The doctor hands you a glass of water and you drink it quickly, your dry throat begging for some relief, but there's a hint of something sour in it. You cough and open your eyes. The doctor looks at you with sympathy.
"Some medicine. It will help with the pain."
You try to say thank you, but all that comes out is a grunt.
"It's okay, don't force yourself."
You nod, and no matter how hard you try to fight it. Consciousness begins to fade and soon you are in the arms of dreams.
You wake up the next morning; the pain is still there, but it is more bearable. You make a quick inspection; your head is bandaged, as are parts of your arms and legs.
The doctor reappears minutes later, Dr. Martins is his name. You thank him and ask how you ended up in the clinic, still alive.
The last thing you remember was your imminent death. He tells you everything he knows; the villagers found you on the banks of the river leading to the mansion, they assumed that the impact of the explosions had thrown your body out, saving you from certain death — after all, there was nothing left but ashes and ruins of the old mansion — You, however, were in a coma for four days, and there were times when he thought you would not survive.
A week passes, and you recover quickly, in a way that was apparently abnormal according to your vague conversations with Dr. Martins. After a month. You are almost completely healed. The burns, which once ranged from mild to deep, are now just scars on your skin. “Lady Luck must love you.” Dr. Martins tells you.
You, however, were not so sure. Apparently, cheating death had used up all the luck you had left for the rest of your life.
Ever since you woke up, the world seemed to have turned upside down. You were constantly hurting yourself, tripping over nothing, bumping into almost every shelf, and knocking over glasses and plates. Dr. Martins didn't know if he was angrier because broking every one of his utensils or because he was fixing you all the time. Eventually, he just handed you a small first aid kit that had become your best friend over the past few days. Still, it was strange. You were a person who was a little forgetful sometimes, but not clumsy, you could not be in your line of work.
But the situation didn't stop there.
As you walked around the city, all sorts of disasters seemed to occur in your path. Barrels came loose from carriages and turned in your direction; flower pots fell from balconies and almost hit you on the head. Poles collapsed; craters opened in your path.
It was as if the world itself was trying to kill you.
Still, you didn't consider these events to be the worst of all. After all, they didn't compare to the nightmares you had. Several times you woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of a song, a whistle that was frightening, yet melancholy and welcoming at the same time. The sky outside was crimson red, as were the red eyes that seemed to be all around you, oppressing you, tormenting you for days and nights. But there was something else, sometimes you could see things through the window that shouldn't be there. You couldn't describe it, because when you woke up the next day, you could never remember the figures, only the feeling. One that made you shiver just trying to remember, accompanied by a pang of deep sadness and fear. Fear you never felt in your life, not even in the face of death.
Never one to believe in the supernatural, you spent the next few days in denial. After you were released, however, things got worse. You went back to your hometown, to Ms. Angelita, not only because you missed her, but to hug her and tell her how grateful you were for everything she did for you. After all, you were alive when you probably shouldn't have been. And then, you started seeing them.
Ghosts.
In the streets, in the markets, everywhere. Sometimes accompanied, sometimes alone, camouflaged among the people, living a life at a distance of the living and at the same time in community. They reacted when they realized that you could see them, some got scared, others tried to get closer. You didn't give them a chance, and ran every time.
You tried again to ignore them, to think logically. Surely you hit your head in the accident and were hallucinating You thought about talking to Dr. Martins again, maybe he could help you understand. But you gave up when he showed up.
The white wolf.
The red eyes, the same ones that haunted you. It had taken shape.
The first few times, you thought your hallucinations were getting worse. He would appear when you looked into the dark corner, as if he were the darkness itself, with only his glowing eyes to alert you to his presence. But each day he seemed closer, more real, more tangible. The darkness no longer hid him, you could see the White Wolf. However, somehow this brought relief to you, for if he was real, it meant he could be fought.
You didn't like to kill, but you did it when a bounty hunter or two came after your head for pissing off someone powerful. And you would do it again, if necessary, especially after your recent near-death experience. You girded yourself, daggers at your belt, a hand's length away, eyes ever watchful.
Nevertheless, you would wait; so far, he has done nothing but watch you from afar. You would give him time to act first, to show his tricks or reasons, or any supernatural power.
The trigger for you to finally react is when you see him a few meters away from Angelita's bakery. Your blood boils, and your body shakes as you feel an inexplicable sense of dread in his presence. And yet the feeling of protection you had for the woman was stronger than your fear.
You decide to face him.
He seems to be aware of your actions, for his smile widens, teeth bared, along with a smug expression, as if he had been expecting this. knew this would be your reaction to seeing him so close to Angelita. He moves in the alley, his steps are light, elegant. He seems to be one with the shadows, for he soon disappears. But this time, you don't run away.
You take a deep breath, daggers in hand, and crouch down, carefully sneaking into the alley.
You feel his breath on your neck before you hear his footsteps, and immediately you turn your body, pinning him against the wall. Daggers pressed tightly against his neck. A laugh reverberates and you feel it over your body. Eyes meet, and the sea of red seems to consume you, to sink you in sensations you can't describe but feel. Your hands tremble against your will, and even though you have the upper hand at the moment, you feel like a sheep about to be slaughtered. "Who are you? What do you want ?!" You ask, voice wavering with weakness in a way you don't want it to.
He laughs again, his eyes drooping with contempt. "Aren't you feisty, little lamb," he adds sarcastically.
You see no humor in the situation and press the dagger closer. "Answer me! Who are you?! Why are you following me?!"
He grins. "Ah, I follow everyone, and ironically, I am everyone's destiny."
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, not having the slightest patience for the wolf's enigmatic words. You narrow your eyes, tightening the grip of your daggers to the point of pain. "I will not repeat this a fourth time... Who are you?"
His smile somehow widens, and he takes a deep, delighted breath, as if in front of a delicacy of the gods. "You are afraid..." He starts, and in an instant, you feel your vision spinning. Paws grab your arms, and he slams your back against the concrete. You let out a hiss of pain and soon the positions are reversed, a hairy leg pressed in the middle, separating and immobilizing yours. A single paw holds your hands above your head; a sickle below your neck.
Your wrists ache as you try to wriggle free, but the grip is too tight and soon you lose your strength, dropping your daggers. They flicker on the floor, the only sound echoing in the deadly silence. You stare, your mind trying to think of ways to escape, but you are too drenched in fear to rationalize or act. "...I love that you are." He finishes, coming closer, his muzzle almost touching your face, tilting his head and you feel his breath over your ears. You turn your head, trying to create as much distance as possible without taking your eyes off him. He laughs again. A lazy smile spread across his lips. The bastard was enjoying every second of this situation in a way that could only be described as morbid sadism.
"Do you want to know who I am?" the whisper is so sweet that for a moment it sounds like the voice of an angel. An angel of death promising the most delicious fruit of sin.
You swallow dryly and answer with a slight nod.
"I am Death. Straight up. And you... you should be dead."
You blink, once, twice, three times; your mind, which was in chaos, stops. Everything makes sense now. You remember stories, the legends passed down from the common people to the mercenaries. Tales of people who swore to have seen Death. A ravenous predator, the reincarnation of your fears. A ray of red and white. Cold and deadly as snow, eyes bright and enticing as blood. At this point, you could no longer deny it, not after all that had happened. You know it’s the truth, and the realization again brings a certain relief. Being left in the dark is far more frightening, both figuratively and literally.
You stir, still feeling Death's breath on your neck, his leg on yours. His face carefully analyzes each of your reactions. "But I'm not. Why?"
"That's a good question, little lamb." He steps back a little, lifting your chin with his scythe. His face is unreadable, his smile no longer there. "I saw you die in that mansion, and I was about to collect your soul when I felt the air fill your lungs again. Then the explosion happened..." He narrows his eyes and moves closer again, your wrists ache. "Then I thought you were finally dead, but no ! There you were, sleeping peacefully by a river. How lucky you are." He says dramatically. His red pupils flicker. "Did you think you had cheated death?"
In a way, yes, but you certainly wouldn't provoke the wolf who holds your life in his hands.
"But you see, you are not dead, but you are not fully alive either. You are in limbo ."
You let out a sigh. That explained the spirits. You are connected to the world of the dead because you should be with them.
"Is that why everything around me seems to want to kill me?"
He hums in agreement. "Yes. You are an anomaly and the world is trying to fix the mistake. Get things back on track. As they should be."
Well, you thought things were going too well; it's not like you caused or wanted this. You had accepted death, even if you had regrets and wishes, you were okay with it. But now, looking at him and how debauched and overbearing he is, you find yourself wanting to challenge him, wanting to prove him wrong. To not give him the satisfaction of taking back this second chance that shouldn't have even existed in the first place. The fear is still there, in every fiber and hair on your body, but it wouldn't stop you, not completely. You narrow your eyes, raise your chin, and face him with determination. If he really wanted you to be afraid of him, he should have stayed in the shadows.
"So, are you going to kill me? Finish the job?" Because if he truly came to take your life. You would fight, tooth and nail, until your last breath, just to wipe that annoying grin off his face.
He growls, his face moves closer to yours, but you don't budge. And the two of you go on like this for what seems like an eternity, until he pulls away, releasing you from his grip and grunting in frustration. "I'd love to, but the last time I made something personal... Life gave me an earful."
You blink, surprised, your hand going to smooth your sore wrists as you keep your focus on the Wolf. You would not let your guard down, not against Death himself. "But..." He returns, scythe pointed in your direction. His face was a mixture of boredom and anger; "I can speed up the process, hurt you. Life can't blame me directly if you die of blood loss." He smiles again, but it's wrong. It gives the exact opposite feeling of what a smile should bring. Fear. "So, little lamb...pick up. " He finishes, kicking the daggers towards you, sickles already spinning in his hands.
You could not win. Despite your earlier brave thoughts about wanting to prove him wrong, you knew deep down that you didn't stand a chance. Not in a straight fight. You never considered yourself a good fighter, your specialty was stealth. You had to think fast. He couldn't kill you, at least not completely. But he would certainly hurt you to the point of no return. Besides, even if you were victorious, the world itself would surely keep trying to kill you. And then there was the ghost shit that would always be present in your life now.
You had to have a way to escape, to at least take him out of the equation. You flexed your hands, your eyes going from the dagger to the wolf as he taunted you, smiling insolently as if you were less and he already knew the result.
The idea hits you like a bolt of lightning. It could work.
His pride would be his own downfall.
You take a deep breath, open a smile as cheeky as his, and he notices the change, his own grin fading a bit while his eyes look at you again with a certain curiosity. "How about a deal? A challenge, Lobo?"
He raises an eyebrow, nods for you to continue, and you gladly do, crouching down, picking up your daggers, twirling them in your hands. And mimicking his own movements, you point them in his direction, head held high despite the tremors that still plague your body. "We fight. If I can hit you or at least touch you. You stop trying to 'hurt' me."
After all, if you had to fight one way or another, you could at least try to get something out of it.
"And why should I accept this 'deal'?"
"Because no one challenges death and comes out victorious, right? But is this saying true if Death is not willing to accept when challenged?"
He narrows his eyes, analyzes you once more, and then his grin widens and a laugh emanates from his chest, deep. It sends shivers down your spine for more than one reason. Because in the midst of all this fear, you admit, you couldn't help but be fascinated by the situation. Even more so by the eyes that seemed to dissect you to the core.
You curse yourself mentally, this was not the time to pay attention to these unwanted thoughts!
Damn it, your life on the line!
"You have courage, little lamb. I accept the challenge."
You nod, your throat is dry, your lungs are burning, and the fear is still at the edge of your consciousness. Still, you use all your strength not to think about it.
It was fight or die.
Sighing, you get into position and the wolf follows.
Silence.
The next moment, your blades clash, sparks roaring, and metal echoing. His crimson eyes stare back at you, close, tangible. You almost feel like you're in a trance, like you're being sucked into this sea of blood. Fortunately, the spell is short-lived. Soon you crouch down and try to strike him from below, but he fends you off again with both scythes, pushing you back and sending you staggering. Leaving your guard open, which, he takes advantage of every second. A cut to your right arm, a kick to your stomach that throws you far away, a raw scream escapes from your lungs. You have only a few seconds to recover because soon he is charging at you full speed, a predatory grin on his face, your arms move instinctively and you deflect his attack, the impact propels you again, but this time you use the inertia of the momentum to somersault backward, out of his reach.
He laughs as you circle each other, preparing, looking for an opening. The blades dance in your hands as you narrow your eyes, and adjust your breathing. He was good, fast, and flexible, but you would not give up.
He moves forward again, tries to strike you once more, this time in the ribs, you turn quickly and land a kick to the knee.This knocks him off balance, he growls, and you try to take your cue, to hit him right in the head, but both of his claws wrap around your wrist, stopping you.
Mierda.You were so close, so close.
The grip is unbearable, though, and you try to pull away, but he holds you, pulling you forward. Your faces are almost touching again. He cracks a smile and looks up and down your body before he focuses on you again and whispers; "You know, it's a waste that someone like you has to die. Malice taints every word. Blood drains from your face.
It must have been some kind of a joke. Your incredulous expression draws a laugh from the wolf, who then releases your wrists and draws his scythe again to attack you, almost catching you off guard. But you block it and leap back.
The two of you continued this dance for hours, how many, you couldn't tell. But the sun was long gone, and you began to get tired. Unlike the wolf. He seemed to become more ferocious, more eager with each passing minute. At first, you thought it was because he was fed up and wanted to end it all at once. But then you realized it was just the opposite. He was having fun. As if the fight was just a little game to entertain him.
"Faster."
"Stronger."
"C'mon little lamb, give me more ."
As if your life wasn't at stake!
That was the last straw. Clutching the daggers, you scream from the back of your throat and charge at him, unleashing a flurry of quick blows, one after the other, which he blocks with ease, each blow pushing him backward. You don't stop your onslaught, sliding underneath him as he tries to trip you, and that's when you see it; the tail, wagging like a puppy on Christmas Day. You don't even question it, acting on pure instinct as you drop the dagger and grab it, feeling the wolf flinch for a moment.
Everything is silent for a moment, neither of you moving or acknowledging what has happened. And honestly, you would say it was even anticlimactic. Your hands are still wrapped around the furry tail, while your heart pounds like a locomotive, and a single thought echo in your head; You did it, you touched him.
You won.
You have challenged death and you have won.
At least for a while.
The wolf turns his head to look at you. His tail is still in your hands, you blink and let go, which, swings and hits you in the face, making you cough.
"The tail. Really, little lamb?" He utters, displeased.
When you recover, you give him an accusing look and get up. You wipe your hands on your pants and collect your daggers. "In my defense, holding your tail was not part of my original plan. But you don't miss an opportunity when it presents itself, do you, Lobo?"
He puts the scythes away, disappearing under his cloak, and crosses his arms, a dissatisfied look in his eyes. And yet you expected a much more aggressive reaction. "A deal is a deal. I won't try to hurt you anymore..." He pauses and you sigh, already feeling the "however" in the air. You squint at him. " But I will be around until the world kills you. Or you find a way to sever the connection to Limbo."
Great, you think with a sigh. You thought you could at least get rid of the wolf now that he could no longer hunt you. But apparently, you really had used up all your luck and nothing could be simple.
"Good luck, little lamb. You'll need it."
You turn around, wanting to question him, several questions on the tip of your tongue. But when you do, there is not a trace of his presence in the alley, nothing but the shadows on the walls.
As you leave the alley, you are almost run over by a wagon, thank goodness for your reflexes. You sigh, you were tired and apparently, this was your life now. You're a disaster magnet, and Death is literally stalking you.
He watches you from the shadows. You've decided to spend the night with the bakery owner, and he sees you smile and relax for the first time. Half an hour later, you hit the bathroom floor. Having slipped on the foam that filled every corner because of a faucet that broke seconds before. You spend another hour cleaning, and when you leave, you nearly break a vase. He laughs because he found the situation as tragic as it was funny.
Frankly, he was a little intrigued. At first, he saw the situation as a major headache. Who knew that even Mother Nature could make mistakes? Now he would have to hunt again, which reminded him a bit of the last time, a few years ago, with the cat. But that time was personal and fun, this time it was his job. He had watched you from a distance at first, to see if you had done something, a forbidden spell or a contract with some entity, but he soon realized that you were as confused about the situation as he was, if not more so. When he saw you openly trying to just ignore what was going on around you, unwilling to accept the strange reality that was now your life.
That was when he finally decided to end this charade once and for all, he had other places to be, even if he could be in all of them at the same time. It was exhausting.
In the first meeting, he called you fierce, sarcastically, but as the conversation and then the fight went on, he stopped being sarcastic. You were fierce, even in the face of death. Even when you were trembling with fear, you did not run away, you chose to confront him. To challenge him.
He respects that.
He would have won the battle if you hadn't used that little trick to catch him off guard.
Unfortunately for you, he would be around now. His days would be much busier, but at least he could enjoy your suffering.
He wanted to see you break.
And the mere thought of it intoxicated him far more than any fear could.