The Grim Reaper's Investigation

 Prologue

“Quote the Raven Nevermore” – Edgar Allen Poe

A figure shrouded in a black overcoat turned towards an alley that led to a courtyard with an abandoned taffy building.

Footsteps tapped onto the cobble streets. The moon reflected its beam onto the water and glistened the bright light into the midnight air. An earie breeze swept the streets.

“You there!” a voice called from behind.

The figure stopped and turned around to see a police officer coming his way.

“What do you think you’re doing this late at night?” the officer asked, lifting his candle light but failing to reveal the stranger’s face.

“Forgive me, sir. I had escorted a dear friend home,” the man replied.

“This late at night?” the officer asked, suspicious.

“He had gotten too drunk, and I would not have been a good friend if I had left him alone on the streets. He was somewhat of a hassle to get home; drunk people usually are, as you might agree. Now that I know he’s safe at home, I’m on the way back to mine,” the man in the overcoat replied, tilting his hat’s brim in courtesy.

The officer nodded his head. His posture relaxed.

“Very kind of you to do that for your friend, my good man. Would you like me to assist you home?” he asked.

“Unnecessary, officer. After all, you must help protect these streets.”

The officer grunted in agreement and looked around, somewhat on edge now.

“Right you are. There are some strange things happening around here the past few years.”

“Strange?” the man in the overcoat replied, now curiously engaged.

“People have been going missing around these parts. Anyway, I don’t wish to frighten you. Be careful on your walk home, and if you do run into trouble, I say the best thing to do is scream and shout your lungs off. We’ll be there in no time,” The officer spoke reassuringly.

The stranger bowed in thanks, and the officer left the way he came.

The man waited for a moment to be sure he was alone before entering the courtyard and opening the door of the abandoned factory, walking through.

On the other side of those doors, he found himself on a cliff overlooking a black ocean, and began walking toward a large stone castle. The salty air was mixed with something rotting- a smell coming from the castle.

As he entered the castle doors, he was surrounded by cobwebs and stone. Toward the ceiling, beneath its shadows, he noticed cages hanging from the dark rafters. Some were empty, but looking closer he noticed some were filled with people who seemed to shake violently. They were covered in black feathers that prodded out of their bodies as if they were becoming ravens. The stranger then remembered what the officer had said people have been going missing for the last year.

“What are you doing to them?” the man asked out of curiosity, no concern in his voice.

A shadow moved in the darkness around the man.

“Making some pets to see our plan through, sorcerer.” A deep and dark voice echoed within the castle walls.

“It’s about time we implement our plan,” the man replied, “Should I need to contact you further, I have what I need to do so.” He brushed something within his pocket.

“The time has finally come to escape this prison,” said the voice, which turned to laughter and caused the crows and ravens that had been sitting in the shadows of the ceiling to break into flight, chaotically flapping all directions.

“Death will come,” the stranger whispered amid the chaos in the room, “Let’s begin.”

Chapter One

“Death Comes to All” – Grim Reaper

It was a cold day, and the sun was out. Last night’s rain had left an impression of mud and musk in the air, but the many folks heading to work appreciated the wet week to be over. To all it was a happy day, except for one individual. Among the living stood a figure invisible to them. A shadow in a dark cloak. A bringer of souls, and a being of death that stood waiting patiently in a shop of a blacksmith.

The doors sign flapped “Closed.”

None looked forward to his presence, for all those who meet him have surely found their deaths. This was the Grim Reaper. He stood frightfully still next to the polished walnut counter, listening to the blacksmith talk and laugh to himself in the back of the shop. The Grim Reaper was waiting patiently, though not waiting for the blacksmith, which his presence would have suggested.

The Grim Reaper watched the people walking past the shop. Each going about their day and each at mercy of the death that would one day meet them. Over thirty thousand of these beings would die this very minute in the world. Each of them doing what these people were doing- living their lives until that final hand of that clock struck.

He would be there, guiding them. Pausing time was how he could get everything done. It was a gray view of the world, but the Grim Reaper didn’t mind it. Dealing with the dead was in his nature. To be alive was something unique but also a frightening feeling the Grim Reaper would never know. After the millions he had guided-, it was something he didn’t really want to know either.

His left hand grew awkward without the feeling of his scythe in his hand. He felt naked without it. Monty should be done with it soon, he thought. If the Grim Reaper had any feelings, he would find getting his scythe sharpened relaxing. Physically, it could never dull, but it needed to be spiritually sharpened.

Many didn’t know that the Grim Reaper’s scythe had a soul of its own. In the same way the Reaper might get tired, so did his scythe. Sharpening the soul of the scythe re-energized it, making it easier to tear souls from physical bodies. Truth be told, it re-energized the Grim Reaper too, a sign the scythe and the Grim Reaper shared a special connection. He’s found throughout thousands of years of service that some souls destined for the underworld might be a little tougher to get out—especially those practicing dark arts in the mortal world, or dark creatures in general.

Monty, a 452-year-old blacksmith and a descendent of wizards and witches, had been practicing his trade through years of wars and battles in the mortal and immortal realms. A dark-blue light lit from the back of Monty’s antique shop. In a small room, the man conjured a dark blue blob from the scythe’s blade. Monty slowly waved his hammer into the air and pounded the blob against his anvil below. The blue spirit slowly began to take the form of a scythe, its edges becoming stricter and firmer. The blacksmith took the blade from his anvil and began sharpening it against a moving grindstone. Blue freckles sparked into the air as the blade finally began to sharpen. Once he was done, Monty set the blue soul of the scythe into its physical body, and the two became one again. He wiped the pearls of sweat off his head.

Monty called the Grim Reaper to the back of his shop. The blacksmith was bulky with strong, rounded shoulders. Centuries of hammering with fire and magic brought a hue of amber against his skin, making it somewhat leathery. Monty was three times the size of a normal person and had toned muscles covering his body, but when he served the normal people around his shop his figure would transform into a slow and aged old man, since his usual physical form was intimidating to most. The blacksmith had his usual devilish smile on his face, seemingly proud of his work. The Grim Reaper couldn’t grin, but if he could he figured he would be. The staff was polished to perfection, and the scythe’s blade was at its spiritually sharpest.

“My dear, Monty. Excellent work as always,” said the Grim Reaper.

The blacksmith gave the Reaper the scythe. “It is a pleasure you always notice, Mr. Reaper.” He smiled with beaming pride, bowing in thanks.

The Grim Reaper took out his “To Do/To Die” list and checked off “Pick up Scythe.” The list of names after that seemed endless, but the thirty-five thousand souls seemed like a short work day. Time behaved differently for the Grim Reaper. He looked at next item on the list was to collect the twenty-six-year-old Timothy Geyser. The Reaper swung the scythe into the air and as if it was ripping fabric- a tear formed in front of him, a kind of worm hole, which made moving across places and worlds possible for him.

At the edge of Manhattan, Mr. Timothy Geyser stood in front of the mirror and admired his suite. His thick black mustache was neatly trimmed, and his hair slicked back. He knew he looked his best, after all it was a special occasion. Soon he was to be a host that evening for his visiting boss, Jonathan Zelton, head of Zelton Paper Company, who has been impressed with Mr. Geyser’s work as a junior editor. This was his chance to move up and be the youngest to join the senior editors.

The night went on in good company. Gloria, Mr. Geyser’s new girlfriend, had cooked a fabulous meal of chicken, stuffing, gravy, and coleslaw. She was proud of what she had cooked. Later that evening they had champagne and enjoyed each other’s company. A fabulous night, Timothy Geyser thought.

The Grim Reaper watched the celebration from the corner of the room, invisible to them. Although, Mr. Geyser’s dog frequently walked up to his robe and sniffed at him. Gloria repeatedly kept calling “Todo” over, wondering what he was doing. The Reaper looked at the meal and wondered what the chicken tasted like, even though he didn’t eat food. In the overworld, people ate and drank, but it was simply a social custom. None of those souls or spiritual beings needed to drink and eat.

Mr. Geyser finished drinking his champagne. Shortly after, the man’s face began to express a concerning pain. The Reaper knew this was the moment of death, and he watched Mr. Geyser carefully. The list he was given by the Time Keepers only showed him who would die, never how they died. The Grim Reaper would show up and would usually wait to see what would happen.

Without warning, Timothy’s face turned ferociously red as his hands covered his throat. He’s choking, thought the Reaper. Gloria got up and ran over to Timothy Geyser as Mr. Zelton leaned forward in shock. Timothy Geyser held his head up and mouth wide open unusually, continuing to gag. Gloria began to aggressively slap Timothy’s back, hoping he’d cough up whatever he was choking on.

The Grim Reaper’s interest peaked, and he took a step forward to look closer. There was something crawling out of his throat. The crowd at the table recoiled in disgust and surprise as a black beak then a raven’s head began to squeeze out of the young man’s throat. Before they could do anything, Timothy Geyser fell to his face onto the table in front of them.

Timothy Geyser was now dead.

The bird freed itself from the dead man’s throat and crawled onto the dinner table. The black, slimy bird stood up straight, looking at the dinner guests before flying out the open window.

Strange, thought the Reaper. He had sworn he saw this happen once before. It involved a young girl being killed by a dark sorcerer. It suddenly came to him—this day was an exact year from that murder. Could this be the same culprit? How curious… thought the Reaper.

His role was not to question or investigate, but when it came to murders it was a temptation he could not resist. A drive within him wanted to resolve it, not only for himself but mainly for the soul to feel rested knowing the truth. With a tap of his scythe, everyone froze. Time stopped, and the Reaper walked up to Mr. Geyser. With one slash of his scythe through Timothy Geyser’s body, his soul came flying out.

Mr. Geyser’s spirit looked around and tried to grip the events that were taking place, but then a heavy rasping breath began. It was as if he were gulping desperately for air. The soul was having a panic attack.

Immediate shock did that, the Grim Reaper knew. It took some time for the souls to realize what was happening. To this young man, he still felt like he was in his body with his brain trying to comprehend what was happening. The soul would eventually sooth itself and comprehend the situation naturally. Moments later, Timothy Geyser overcame the shock. Souls at this stage would now think their death was merely a dream. The soul was running through its cycle. The Reaper had seen it all before.

After the Reaper saw the shock was finished, he knew he could converse.

“You’re dead, Mr. Geyser” the Reaper said.

Mr. Geyser stood in dismay. “Dead?” He went to his girlfriend, who was frozen in time, and smirked. “Last thing I remember was choking, no doubt from Gloria’s cooking no doubt- that chicken was far too dry.”

“Unfortunately, not from Gloria’s cooking, no,” the Reaper said. “Mr. Geyser, do you know anyone using Black Magic?”

“Black Magic?!” Mr. Geyser said in surprise. “I don’t even know about normal magic. Do you think someone did some black magic on the food here?”

“You all ate the food. You’re the only one on my list,” the reaper replied, curiously trying to put whatever clues he could find together. “If it was the food, then everyone at this table would be on my list.”

“Maybe you forgot to put them on your list.”

“That’s not how it works, Mr. Geyser,” the Reaper replied.

The man shrugged and looked around the room, waiting for the Reaper to finish his investigation. Shortly he grew impatient. “Is there something I can help with, perhaps?” he asked, seemingly eager to move it all along.

He turned to look at Mr. Geyser, who looked back. The man couldn’t see the Reaper’s face, which was hidden in the black robe.

“Aren’t you just a bit curious how you died? Is there not part of you that burns at the question?” Reaper asked.

“Well,” Mr. Geyser admitted, “yes, you’re right. I apologize. I still can’t really believe I’m dead. I’m quite sure this is just a dream, so I’ll play along with it. Why do you think it’s Black Magic?”

The Reaper continued to look around the room, looking for any unnatural and magical remnants on the pictures and books around the room that could give any clue or hint of a sorcerer. He was positive it was the same killer; rarely did he see dark serial killer sorcerers.

“For one thing,” the Reaper began with a mimic of sarcasm, “you had a black raven climb out of your throat. I’ve seen something similar happen to a young girl a year ago to this day.”

There was a moment’s silence in the room. “Did you catch who was responsible with that young girl?” the young man then asked.

“I simply take and guide the souls to the Gates of Death, Mr. Geyser. My role is not to punish mortal sins,” replied the Grim Reaper.

The Grim Reaper held his scythe out and touched the tip of it on the oozing slime that was leftover on the table where Timothy Geyser’s body was. The blade slurped it up. Some of the slime had normal body fluids mixed in, but there was part of it that wasn’t natural. The Grim Reaper continued with the examination until he quickly jerked his head toward the window.

A shadow stirred reality. A movement outside. As time was still frozen, nothing could move, at least nothing human.

Something was here with them.

Before Mr. Geyser could blink, the Grim Reaper turned into a haze of black smoke stretching through the walls.

The Grim Reaper stood outside in the blackness and watched for any moving figures. He could only see the trees’ naked branches stretching in many directions. The dark silhouettes of the headstones in the family graveyard stood out on the ridge. There was something moving outside the window, the Reaper thought. Something was out here with him.

Mr. Geyser came out the back door.

Something suddenly moved.

The figure was hiding as a tree branch. In that very moment, the Grim Reaper’s cloak moved like fire consuming gasoline. His cloak was made from the night—its very nature was darkness. No one escaped the Reaper in his domain of darkness.

The night got even blacker as his robe stretched in all directions, consuming space. Now the creature was trapped in the Reaper’s own dimension of existence.

The creature knew it was inside a cage. His master told him this would happen. It stayed very calm.

“Who are you?” The Reaper’s voice echoed into the darkness. Mr. Geyser stood silently, curiously waiting for the events to take place. I’m dead already, there’s nothing that need be worrying about, he thought.

There was a slight shuffling of noise, then a voice. “Within the Reaper’s Black Cauldron” the creature spoke, “this is a sight to behold, rather…no sight. Alright then…- ”

The Grim Reaper took out his scythe within the blackness, and it shined like the brightest crescent moon on the blackest of nights. It’s razor edge sliced thin sheets of air, and the whipping sound of wind filled the realm of darkness. It would have bursted the eardrums of any human caught with in. Dark Elves

The creature immediately spoke, “I am the black elf, Mr. Reaper. I was sent here to collect you.”

“Collect?”

“Invite,” the creature corrected with a grin slightly spreading on his face. The elf stood in the darkness. He respected the power of the Grim Reaper and kept still.

Mr. Geyser waited in blackness, unsure what the black elf was talking about. “Was it you who killed me?” he asked.

The thought did not enter the Reaper’s mind. Was this creature responsible?

“Not I, Mr. Geyser, but my master,” replied the black elf.

So, he did kill Mr. Geyser, thought the Reaper. There was a shift in the air.

“You killed a mortal, you’ll be sentenced to the Abyss,” spoke the Reaper.

The darkness around began to thicken as the Reaper spoke. The air was now heavier with his cloak’s magic and it became harder to breathe. The black elf’s lungs began to struggle to get enough air, and even Mr. Geyser somehow felt the suffocating force even though he was already dead.

“I apologize, Mr. Reaper. I am only the messenger. Please allow me to take you and Mr. Geyser to my master,” replied the black elf, rasping from the lack of air.

The Grim Reaper began to thin his cloak, and he withdrew it from the night’s air back into the robe around his body. Mr. Geyser now saw Mr. Reaper in front of him. He turned and saw the black elf. It was a short creature, its body covered in black skin with dark-red freckles. The elf’s clothes were torn. A pitiful sight, thought Mr. Geyser. He almost felt bad for him, but the creature had a certain air around him. An air of evil.

The Grim Reaper considered the offer, but this was not the time. He had obligations to the soul of Timothy Geyser to see through.

“Your master killed him?” asked the Grim Reaper.

The elf nodded.

Timothy Geyser looked surprised, “Who are you?! And what does any of this have to do with me?” he shouted. Panic started to sink into him.

Now this is strange, the Reaper thought, a creature hiring another creature to kill a human.

His soul felt a pull to its responsibilities. I am the Grim Reaper; I have my duty to collect and move souls.

“I have other business matters to attend to,” the Reaper said, “but do note that this offense will not go unpunished. I will be reporting you and this so-called master to the authorities.”

The black elf looked at the Grim Reaper in almost a rage. “I insist,” it finally said, trying to hold back its temper.

The Grim Reaper tensed in anger and authority, a clear answer to the black elf, who slowly wobbled back into the shadows and soon disappeared.

“Come, Mr. Geyser, you and I must end our journey together,” he said, ripping the fabric of space. The Grim Reaper motioned Timothy Geyser to step inside the tear. The Reaper then tapped his scythe onto the ground and resumed time around him. He stared at the chaos and fright that erupted within the house as Mr. Geyser’s body lied dead on the table.

There was an uneasiness about all of this that the Grim Reaper didn’t like. He stepped inside the tear. It was time to finish his work.

Chapter 3

The Time Keeper

“Click, tick, tock goes the clock”- Saying from The Time Keeper

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

The old Time Keeper stood watching one of many clocks on the wall, all ticking throughout the room. . . It was an endless message of life and death. He listened carefully for the “tock” that came too soon after the “tick.” Such things would cause disaster if he weren’t there to fix it, but it had returned to normal. Within the million miles aisles of shelves, every living creature had its own clock, all ticking away. Some ticking slower, some faster, some just started ticking, and some ticking that had ended. He could hear every clock, no matter how far down the aisle, and knew exactly which clock the noise came from. There were even clocks for the undead, their ticking seemingly never stopping, but they would. All things, knew the Time Keeper, had only so much time. No matter if you were living or undead. It made him sad, but it also made him happy. Misery shouldn’t last long for those suffering, and happiness shouldn’t last long for those who find out true pain.

The clock he was glancing at was dark and frightening, the Grim Reaper's clock, which carried that extra tick, very unusual for his character. Must have been an excitingly grim moment, the Time Keeper thought.

“Ticky tocky tick,” spoke the Time Keeper, frequently mistaking his words for the clocks he heard every day. “Good for him,” he then corrected.

He continued with his business as he walked past the billions of clocks sitting on the shelves around him. He wound up the new clocks and began his reports. It was his duty to calculate the proper end of clocks, the moment they stopped ticking. He then would file the report, and the Grim Reaper’s list would be made. It was down to a precise science.

“Brother of mine,” a voice called out.

The Time Keeper looked down the hall. A figure of an old man walked down it toward him. A spitting image of himself—his twin brother, who others called Gerald. He himself was the brains of the operations, while Gerald was the helpful but irritating brother who got in the way.

He spoke a little louder, “Oh, brother of mine!”

The Time Keeper continued looking down the hall. His brother wasn’t paying attention ahead of him, obviously.

“Why don’t you just look up? I’m looking right at you!” he called back.

The twin brother looked up and saw his brother starring right at him at the end of the hall.

“You won’t believe what I found in the dungeon of broken clocks,” said Gerald, concerned.

His brother looked amused, “Ha, you’ve finally caught that forsaken rodent that calls himself king of the rats,” he replied, joyous to the assumption.

“No, no,” began Gerald, who rolled his eyes, “I found a clock, and it was ticking!”

“Impossible,” the Time Keeper replied anxiously, giving his full attention toward his brother. There was a slight urgency in his eyes.

Gerald then took out something from his robe which gave the Time Keeper’s clock an extra five ticks. The object in his twin brother’s hand was mangled and dusty, a clock made from bone and black feathers. A faint odor of decay lifted off it.

He looked deeply concerned at his brother. “Gerald, don’t tell me you wound this up!” he yelled in frustration.

His brother shook his head. “The strangest thing, I was trying to find that rat, but then I heard a crow on the clock jump in and out. Now the clock is working again!”

The Time Keeper took the clock from his brother’s hands. It was an ancient clock, an evil clock made in the darker days of existence.

The timekeeper tried hard to hold his calmness, but every bone in his body was chilled. Clocks didn’t just start ticking again, especially ancient demonic clocks like this one. He had no memory of who this clock belonged to. It was from the days long before him.

“You must cover my duties, brother. I need to tend to my studies and find out if the old Time Keepers had any record of this one,” he said, already walking off with the clock in his hand.

Gerald watched his brother trail off down one of the aisles. This was serious. Gerald had never seen his brother uneasy like that. That ancient evil clock was ticking again, which meant whoever it belongs to…was alive.

Chapter 4

Gates of Death

“Never weep for those who have yet to cross the Gates of Death.”- Gate Keeper

The Grim Reaper walked with Mr. Geyser down the path of death that resembled a stone path in the middle of a forest covered in a dense fog. The Black Elf had vanished, and there was no need to bring Timothy Geyser along to find out who was in charge. He had to finish transporting this soul to the Gates of Death before dealing with anything else. He couldn’t be escorting a wondering soul all day. His duty needed to see his work through.

Down the rocky path was a shallow tunnel made from stones of different sizes. Each stone’s size on the walls was relative to the importance of that particular memory. It made souls realize that every detail was important- a construction of a whole. Each soul built their tunnel; The tunnel reflected Mr. Geyser’s life, so it wasn’t long considering the young man’s age. It was rocky and unconstructive. There were good memories and bad memories. It was a burden the Grim Reaper was to bear as the Collector of Souls, walking each one down their own tunnel. He couldn’t see the memories, only the soul’s reaction. At the end was the Gates of Death.

“What a strange feeling it is to live a whole life in just a moment. It really makes so much clear,” spoke Mr. Geyser.

The Grim Reaper didn’t reply, he knew never to. Just keep walking.

“It must be a pain to have to walk everyone through this, Mr. Reaper.”

“I do not feel any pain, Mr. Geyser” the Reaper replied, though he knew what the man meant. The Grim Reaper has walked murderers, saints, the old, and young down their memories. In these moments, the Grim Reaper was glad for his dead personality. Any other would have been crushed beyond hope.

Something kept troubling the Reaper as they almost arrived at the Gates.

“I must apologize, Mr. Geyser. To have you die as a way for someone to get to me is something I have never encountered before.”

Mr. Geyser walked quietly. He too couldn’t help but feel some sort of disappointment from it.

“But such a thing has been done, I’m afraid, and there’s no turning back from it,” the Reaper continued. “Do know, Mr. Geyser, that the elf’s master will surely pay for his crime. I hope at least that will bring you some comfort.”

Mr. Geyser cleared his throat to draw back the sympathy. “Yes, well, I am grateful to have at least gotten in a little excitement with the Grim Reaper. No living and I imagine a few dead could say such a thing,” he replied, smiling back.

The Grim Reaper thought the comment to be a good fit to Mr. Timothy Geyser’s youthful and gentleman-like character. If he could smile, he would have. Emotions were not something his being could express or connect with, but something inside of him had been changing. The strangeness of it was beyond his comprehension.

The tunnel opened, and on each side of them there stood large black pyramids. The path was paved in a dark purple jewel and gray stone and there were trees on each side of it. The sky was filled with billions of stars that shined brighter than Mr. Geyser had ever seen. Despite the starry sky, they could see around them as if it was a cloudy day. Not bright but not dark either. A poet’s light came to Mr. Geyser’s mind, majestic and somewhat calm. There was a sad feeling to the air. Mr. Geyser couldn’t help but feel some sort of warmth from it, but the sadness of death finally coiled over him. Now was the first time he felt his life was gone, and he was dead.

Out of the corner of his eye, the Reaper watched Mr. Timothy Geyser. He knew what this little path did for the souls. Some cried beyond control, some panicked, and some lost control. He could see Mr. Geyser struggling with these emotions flooding within him. Death was now real to him. It was best to just keep walking. The Gates of Death were just around the corner. His new life would begin beyond the Gates. Beyond the doors of death was something the Grim Reaper never thought about. It wasn’t his place to think about such things. His job was only to lead souls to it.

They turned the corner and reached the Gates of Death. Mr. Geyser’s eyes couldn’t help but widen at the sight. It wasn’t like anything he imagined. The gate was no more than a small metal fence—a child could jump over it. Beside the gate was an older man sleeping in a chair, the Gate Keeper.

“That’s it?” asked Mr. Geyser, who couldn’t help but feeling a little disappointed.

“You can’t imagine how many times I’ve heard that,” the Reaper replied.

“Michael,” spoke the Grim Reaper as they walked up to the gate, wanting to wake the man up.

The man kept sleeping, not hearing the Reaper.

“Michael, wake up!” he yelled louder.

The old man began to shuffle and then snored louder, which suddenly woke himself up.

He mumbled before he spoke, “Ah, Mr. Reaper. Yes, I am awake. I see you’ve brought a…” Michael looked down at his notebook. “Mr. Timothy Geyser, is it?”

Mr. Geyser nodded.

“A little late on time, Mr. Reaper, even if it doesn’t exist here,” the old man grunted half-jokingly.

The Grim Reaper made no reply to the elderly-looking man.

The old man stood up from his chair with the journal open, sighing tiredly. “Please sign here, Mr. Geyser.”

The old man handed him a quill, and Mr. Geyser wrote his signature beside his name. As the ink bled onto the parchment, an illuminating spark seemed to have sealed the ink dry.

“Looks to be in order,” added the Gate Keeper, who nodded approvingly. “I allow you to pass through the gate, Mr. Geyser.”

You allow, thought Timothy jokingly as he looked at the frail man.

The Gate Keeper wobbled to the gate but met some resistant as he tried to open it. The man’s feeble body shook the gate harder while grunting at the stubbornness of it. With one final swing, which almost made the old man fall back, the Gate Keeper managed to open it.

“Don’t be fooled” spoke the Reaper. “He’s quite nimble when he wants to be.”

Mr. Geyser smiled. He looked at the Grim Reaper and thought to give him a handshake but figured it would be more appropriate to bow, a universal sign of respect. The Grim Reaper didn’t bow back but acknowledged the man’s actions. Timothy Geyser began to walk toward the gate but then stopped as he heard something.

The distant sound came closer. “What is…” began Michael, hearing a rising noise from the distance. It was coming from within the gate. As it came closer, the noise became clearer. Hundreds of feathers flapping, hundreds of ravens flying.

“Impossible,” whispered the old man, who looked in shock.

The Grim Reaper couldn’t help but feel curiosity surge within him. Nothing could come back from the Gates of Death, yet these ravens passed over.

Mr. Geyser looked at the Reaper, wondering what would happen.

“What is going on?” the Gate Keeper remarked. “This is absurd.”

A raven then directed itself at the Gate Keeper, followed by several others. They began to dive toward him, sharp beaks at the ready. The Gate Keeper looked at the approaching birds but didn’t make a move. Mr. Geyser watched what was happening before him, unsure what the old man was standing still for. The Grim Reaper tightened his grip on his scythe, bracing himself for action.

Moments until the birds were about to spear the old man, a bright light radiated off the Gate Keeper. In a blink of an eye the old man was nowhere in sight. What stood in his place was a being of unnatural appearance holding a sword. His body was large and muscular, and it radiated some sort of aura. An angel came to Mr. Geyser’s mind. Things are never what they seem, Mr. Geyser thought.

More birds kept dive-bombing the Gate Keeper, and at every strike from his sword clouds of smoke began to condense around him. The Reaper looked at the guardian, who suddenly began coughing. The black smoke, the Grim Reaper could see, was toxic.

Before the Grim Reaper could do anything, a raven slowly landed in front of him. It stood still watching us, until it began to twitch its body in every direction violently.

Timothy Geyser watched the bird begin to grow in size, its body now changing horrifically into a skeletal figure the size of a man. It had black skin and feathers freckled across its body. It coughed, trying to speak as if it bones were still forming within its throat.

“Grim Reaper,” the creature spoke with a raspy voice. Its black head had feathers and a beak- curiously waving into the air as adjusting its sight. Suddenly its head violently motioned to the Grim Reaper, seeing him for the first time.

“Grim Reaper, my master would like to introduce himself to you,” the creature said.

The Grim Reaper didn’t feel fear, but the uneasiness within him grew. He looked back at the Gate Keeper who was twitching in pain and coughing on the ground. “What have you done with him?”

The creature tilted his head awkwardly toward the Gate Keeper, “Come to my master, Reaper, and his life may be spared.”

“I could end you right now, creature. What makes you think I won’t?” replied the Grim Reaper, his scythe at the ready.

The creature coughed and coughed. “Many more will come if I die. The poison may not affect you, but that Gate Keeper will die and surely the human soul next to you will die before you escape.”

Timothy Geyser didn’t understand how he could “die” again, but swallowed hard. “Maybe we should see this out,” he finally said nervously.

The Grim Reaper stared for a moment before coming to a decision. “Leave the Gate Keeper in peace, and I will come.”

“You both will come,” the creature replied.

“What does the soul have to do with this?” asked the Reaper. Timothy needs to get to safety, he thought.

“You both will come,” the creature said again in the same rasping tone.

The Gate Keeper began to wheeze and vomit.

There wasn’t time to argue, the Reaper knew. He nodded.

The creature then lifted one of his claws and sliced a vein on his arm. Black tar-like blood dripped out, and then his whole body began to melt onto the ground, forming a puddle. Upon closer look, the puddle reflected a cabin in the woods.

Before the Grim Reaper jumped into the puddle, he went over to the Gate Keeper, who was now in a cold sweat.

“I will send help, Michael,” said the Grim Reaper, who then whispered into the scythe. Blue smoke leaked out and flew out into the air and vanished.

The Grim Reaper knew there was nothing he could do to help and immediately stepped inside the portal. Time to meet this master of theirs.

Chapter 5

The Black Raven

“The songs of a raven sung upon the soul is as sharp as the Grim Reaper’s scythe.”- Text from the Ancients.

Mr. Geyser shivered conspicuously. They had transported themselves into a forest, seemingly in the middle of winter. The branches were naked and slim, standing as though frightened. The black elf they had met earlier stood on a rough stone path in front of them. Behind the elf was a stone cabin. The Grim Reaper knew that something was off about this place.

The black elf bowed but did not receive any kind gestures back. He turned around and led the two down the path. As he followed behind Mr. Geyser and the elf, he noticed Mr. Geyser’s skin constrict from the cold air, and sign of dark magic. Souls were not supposed to react to temperature. He couldn’t tell what it was, but something here was affecting even himself.

“I know all corners of the world, black elf, yet I am unfamiliar with this place,” spoke the Reaper. Unfamiliarity was not something the Grim Reaper came by often. Frankly, it was not something he enjoyed either.

The black elf looked back at the Reaper but kept walking forward. “Though it looks it, it is not upon the world of men, Mr. Reaper,” he replied. “This place is within the world of the dead, and only a few among the dead know of it.”

The black elf led them inside the cabin. The interior was dusty and filled with cobwebs. Mr. Geyser looked at the shelves, which supported multiple rows of glass jars of all sizes, animal parts of different kinds floating in liquids. Some parts he could faintly recognize as mice, possums, and snakes. Other jars had strange creatures he had never seen before. The man looked at one with a peculiar object within, a raven head larger than he’d ever seen. It seemed to be shrouded in a black hood.

“Mr. Reaper, you must come and…” Timothy Geyser began until something caught his attention. The face inside moved. He looked closer at the creature in the jar.

“Mr. Geyser, is it?” the large head in the jar spoke. Mr. Geyser jumped back in freight, nearly tripping over the tables behind him.

“A talking head?!” gulped Mr. Geyser, holding himself steady on the tabletop.

. The Grim Reaper turned to see what the man was talking about.

The black elf bowed. “I introduce you sirs to my master, the Black Raven.”

Mr. Reaper and Mr. Geyser then noticed that the head wasn’t inside the jar but attached to the body standing behind it.

“Leave us, Cleaver,” the raven figure demanded. His voice was dark and shallow.

The black elf bowed again. The Grim Reaper noticed a half grin on the creature’s face. The Black Raven came out from behind the shelves. He stood in a cloak of Black Raven feathers. His face was hidden within a hood, almost like the Reaper’s hood. A black beak drew from within the darkness of its face.

“The almighty Grim Reaper,” the Raven creature spoke. “Please, both of you, come and sit.” He walked over to a desk.

The Grim Reaper’s scythe all of a sudden began to twitch in his hands, something that has never happened before. The Grim Reaper wondered why it was behaving strangely.

Mr. Geyser sat in the chair facing the desk, and Mr. Raven sat in the head chair, noticing the Grim Reaper choosing to stand. Within the dark hood, the raven’s black skin formed into a grin.

The Grim Reaper noticed it in the darkness of the cloak and was not amused at the creature’s grin.

“You have gone into the mortal world and killed an innocent. By breaking the natural laws of death, you have committed a crime. I have only come to know who I will be reporting,” he replied. “I have been the Grim Reaper for some time, Mr. Raven. I know most creatures. How is it that I’ve never met your kind?”

“How sad it is to be forgotten,” sighed the Black Raven. “I’m rather new, well to you at least, Mr. Reaper.” He tapped his sharp black nails onto the wooden desk. “New.” Tap-tap. “New.” Tap-tap. “New.” Tap-tap.

Again, his scythe began to tingle in his hands. He tightened his grip on it, which immediately grabbed the Raven’s attention.

“Well, you’re a criminal,” chimed in Mr. Geyser. “New or old, it doesn’t matter,” he said.

The Grim Reaper shot a glance at Timothy Geyser. He was getting too cocky. Perhaps he thought he couldn’t die anymore. How foolish. Despite of that, he was becoming an amusing fellow to be with. It was strange, the Grim Reaper thought, he usually didn’t feel this way about souls. These curious effects with himself and his scythe were becoming a strange realization of something unbalancing him. I need to focus, the Grim Reaper thought.

“Yes, I am a criminal,” replied the Black Raven. There was no concern in his voice. He spoke as though it was the least of his troubles. He stood up from the desk.

“What happens when you don’t collect souls, Mr. Reaper?” he asked, watching the scythe in the Reaper’s hand as if drawn to it.

The Grim Reaper did not know where his question would lead. “My purpose would be gone, and I would cease to exist as the Grim Reaper,” he replied.

“Precisely,” the Raven replied, “Grim Reapers need to have their scythes, the very tool that binds them to their existence. If you didn’t have it, then there would be a need for a new collector of souls.”

It’s curious, the Reaper thought, that he would know about that Grim Reapers bind with their scythes. He decided to play along. “Who might that be?” replied the Reaper, already knowing where this would lead.

“Me, Mr. Reaper,” the Raven spoke.

“Transporting souls to the gates of death, that’s what you want?”

The Black Raven smiled within his hood. “How times have changed... Transporting souls, is that what you do with them nowadays?” He smirked. “What power gone to waste” he said with a quick eye to the Grim Reaper’s scythe. The hooded creature then looked outside the cabin window. “You see, Mr. Reaper, souls are perfect for one thing—slavery.”

Timothy Geyser’s eyes shot with concern.

“My offer is this,” the Black Raven continued. “Give me your scythe, and I’ll keep you around long enough to see it. The world is changing, Reaper. Death is becoming less of an occasion than it used to be. Medicine and technology will prevent you from doing you’re work. Mortals will one day crave immortality, and in time you will cease to exist.”

“Death will always be there. It is the natural law of things,” replied the Reaper.

“Of course, it is, but mortals will replace you. They will control their deaths. They have forgotten what unseen things lurk around them and are now thinking they have control over all things. Your role is to guide them to the afterlife, but with no one to guide you’ll be gone. A new role will be needed for us to survive, to subdue these humans so they may know their place.” He motioned toward Timothy Geyser. “Slavery and servitude in my greater world is the most logical option. I will be a god, one of the ancients- the creators, in the mortal world to remind these mortals to know their place.”

The thought was sadistic. The Grim Reaper tightened his grip on his scythe.

Mr. Geyser remained silently listening to the conversation. The Grim Reaper and the Raven were two beings he knew were beyond him. He was becoming aware that he was only an ant in comparison.

The Grim Reaper didn’t know what to say. This creature was a psychopath. Something was still off about all of this, he knew.

“Why did you kill Timothy Geyser, and why bring him here?” asked the Reaper.

“I’ve brought Timothy Geyser here because you wouldn’t have come without him,” said the Raven. “He hasn’t passed the Gates of Death, so you feel a binding duty to be with him. I know how you work, Grim Reaper.”

The Grim Reaper felt a little exposed. This creature seemed to know a lot about how he worked. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us.”

“I don’t think I will, Mr. Reaper,” replied the Raven.

The Grim Reaper then began to spread his cloak to form the black cauldron to entrap this creature, but something was wrong. He couldn’t do it.

“Very powerful black magic, Mr. Reaper. Notice how your skin is constricted from the cold air. Bad for skin, but great for feathers,” the creature crowed, lifting his robe of feathers around him.

The Grim Reaper lifted his scythe and swung it at the figure. Immediately the Black Raven transformed himself into a hundred black ravens, all escaping into the openings of the cabin. The cawing of the birds filled the cabin air.

The voice of the Black Raven spoke within the hundred ravens crowing. “The song of the Raven will be the last thing you’ll hear, Grim Reaper.”

The birds left, and the cabin was soon quiet.

“Song of the Raven?” asked Mr. Geyser, watching the ravens fly off into the distance.

“Yes, Mr. Geyser, a threat of sorts,” replied the Grim Reaper, who seemed lost in thought. “The Song of the Raven is also known as the Song of the Dying Man.”

The Grim Reaper then stared out the window of the cabin, watching the birds fly off in the distance.

Along a small coastal town, a young boy sat on cobble stones and played with piles of rocks and some sticks. The small boy would make a small house and then crash it down, making playful noises in the process. He noticed a darkness in the air coming nearer. The young boy tilted his head up to see a small cloud of ravens moving in the sky. He watched them glide nearer to the ground and land around the corner of the large abandoned building a couple blocks down.

The boy grabbed a small stone in his hand and skipped over to the abandoned factory, curiously looking for the birds that landed nearby, hoping to peg one with a rock. He had barely seen the ravens circling in a tornado before he noticed a hooded figure rush from the corner, now in front of the young man.

“Well, what do we have here?” the hooded figure said.

The young boy looked up at the stranger but could not make out the man’s face. He noticed how oddly the person dressed and then saw black feathers protrude from the man’s cloak.

“Is that a costume?” the boy asked, now curiously admiring the stranger’s gourmet.

The Black Raven smiled at the young boy. “Yes, dear boy, it is. What is your name?” he asked, curious at the boy’s fearless behavior. Any adult man or woman would have screamed.

“Franklin Gaul, sir,” the boy replied as he touched the stranger’s cloak. “Son of my father, Martin Gaul. He owns the butcher shop right over there.” The boy pointed down the street.

The Raven looked towards the direction the boy was pointing, and then looked around. They were alone. A grin formed.

“Have you ever been in this building, Gaul?” asked the Black Raven in a light-hearted and playful tone, making the boy feel safer.

“Yes, it’s an abandoned toffee factory, sir,” said the boy, growing curious.

“When young kids open it, it is just an abandoned toffee factory,” the Raven replied. “Do you want to see what happens when I open it?”

The boy’s eyes then widened, a large smile taking shape on his face. He nodded.

The Black Raven was amused at this little child. It had been a while since he had corrupted one so young, the Raven thought. His cruel heart beat happily. He would make him something a little more special than an average raven, perhaps a little creature to toy with. He smiled devilishly as if an appetite grew within him.

The boy looked at the hooded man in the costume. The smile the man was giving was now becoming frightening, but before his mind could warn him to run, the creature opened the door. The young boy’s eyes widened excitedly as he starred at another world that was inside the building.

“Come in.” the Raven smiled. “I might have some extra toffee for you.”

The young boy Gual grew a little more nervous. His parents told him not to enter anyone’s home, even if they invited him to. His eyes turned down the street, pondering what to do. Before he could say anything, he felt the stranger’s hands grab his arm and throw him inside.

Chapter 6

A World Unbalanced

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

The Time Keeper couldn’t believe what was happening. The Gate Keeper’s clock was in a frozen state. The Grim Reaper’s clock had slowed down its ticking. He felt a shift in the air. The Grim Reaper had arrived; he was one of the few who could travel between worlds.

Mr. Geyser could hear billions of clocks ticking into his ear when they arrived through the portal. He was trying hard not to let drive him crazy.

Upon their arrival, Time Keeper Two, or Gerald, led them down the halls. The brother of the Time Keeper knew all too well that something serious was going on. He had led them into an office and told them to wait.

“What is this place?” asked Mr. Geyser, looking at all the clocks and books around the office. A larger clock sat on a shelf behind the desk. Its frame was covered in marble and all the gears that were exposed were in gold.

“This is the Realm of Time where all the lives of those living and dead are kept. Your clock is here, and even my clock is here,” replied the Reaper.

“Clocks?” asked Mr. Geyser, finding it odd. “Even those who have died have clocks here? What would happen if I wound mine up?”

“Only I may do such a thing,” said a voice of an old man who began entering the office. He was short and wore a white robe lined with gold trimming. He had a white beard on his face with gold edged glasses. He was precisely identical to the man who brought them in, but there was an expression of wisdom this one had. He spoke deeper than his brother.

The Grim Reaper bowed his head at the Time Keeper.

“Have you ever wound up a clock?” asked Mr. Geyser.

“There are laws, Mr. Geyser. Laws of things that even we of different worlds must obey. If we were to wind someone back up after dying, it would perhaps lead to disastrous timeline of consequences,” spoke the Time Keeper.

“Now enough of the silly questions. We must talk about this Black Raven,” said the Time Keeper.

“Who is he?” asked the Grim Reaper.

The Time Keeper pulled out a large book onto the table and flipped onto the page he had found.

“Look for yourself,” he said as he spun the book around.

Mr. Geyser and the Grim Reaper both leaned over and saw a list of many names he did not know, some in a demonic language that was lost to their time. The print was so small he had trouble reading any of them. The title of the page suddenly stood out, “Grim Reapers.”

The Time Keeper put his finger onto a name at the very top of the page—the first name—which read, “Black Raven.”

“He is a Grim Reaper?” asked the Grim Reaper, suddenly surprised and confused.

The Time Keeper nodded, “Not just any Grim Reaper, the very first.”

This was becoming more dangerous than he could imagine, thought the Grim Reaper.

“Why don’t you stop his clock?” asked Mr. Geyser who figured it would solve this all quickly.

The Time Keeper furrowed his brow, looking angrily at the man. “Mr. Geyser. It was not my wish to have you brought here. Since the Reaper had no other choice, I am to deal with your naïve presence. But ask me a foolish question one more time and I shall have you fed to the Rat King in my basement!”

The Reaper couldn’t help but smile.

The Time Keeper looked immediately to the Reaper, seemingly looking into the darkness of the hood. He was smiling. It was then the Grim Reaper realized that he was changing. He couldn’t smile. It was against his very nature, but somehow he was doing such a thing.

“I am changing, Time Keeper. I am unsure what I am to do” spoke the Grim Reaper, this feeling foreign to him.

The Time Keeper put his hands on the desk. “We must stop the Black Raven, Mr. Reaper. Two Grim Reapers in the same world is breaking reality. The Black Raven’s very existence here is unraveling your nature, and soon your very existence will be destroyed.”

“Our existence will be destroyed if we don’t stop him,” chimed in Gerald who was standing next to the office door.

“How can we stop him?” asked Mr. Geyser.

“There is no we, Timothy Geyser. You are only here because I could not leave you at the Gates of Death. Until the Time Keeper and I figure this out, you are to remain here,” replied the Reaper.

Timothy Geyser had tried to say otherwise but they shut him down. “Fine” he agreed, “I’ll remain here. So how do you stop him?”

“The smartest thing you’ve said, Mr. Geyser,” began the Time Keeper. “The only way now is to seize his soul.”

“Will I be allowed to do that?” asked the Grim Reaper, “A Grim Reaper collecting a Grim Reaper?” he asked.

The Time Keeper shook his head, “Even I don’t have the answer to that, these are uncharted waters; Two Grim Reapers. If the Raven has a soul, then the scythe should work” he said.

The Time Keeper’s brother, Gerald, stood in the back of the office listening in. “Are we allowed to do that? An unsanctioned soul swipe is illegal, and could mean the Reaper’s own termination” he said.

“There’s no time for permission from the Angelic Order, Gerald. Bureaucracy will have us wait for months,” said the Time Keeper.

“We don’t have months. The Black Raven could take over the world by then,” chimed in Mr. Geyser.

The Time Keeper looked annoyed at the man, “Yes… Thank you Mr. Geyser”.

Timothy Geyser looked at the Grim Reaper and his scythe. “That leaves us with the problem of finding him”

The Grim Reaper thought for a moment on the circumstances of Timothy Geyser’s death. He knew there was some similarity between his death and the death of that young girl a year ago. “There’s someone else at play here,” the Grim Reaper began. “A sorcerer.”

The Time Keeper looked at the Grim Reaper. “A sorcerer? Could a mortal be responsible for all this?”

“I’m not sure, but it could be a lead to work off of. If we find this person, then perhaps we can find be one step closer to stopping the Back Raven,” replied the Grim Reaper. “I’ve collected some samples when Mr. Geyser had died. While Mr. Geyser remains here, I’m going to visit Olga and see what I can find about the circumstances of Mr. Geyser’s death.”

The Grim Reaper suddenly fell to a knee as a sharp pain shot into him. He gasped for air.

He is dying, Mr. Geyser thought.

The Time Keeper knew the existence of the original Grim Reaper was now counterbalancing the current Grim Reaper’s existence. Mr. Geyser helped the Time Keeper take the Reaper to a room to rest. Mr. Geyser felt a tiredness within him too.

“Come, Timothy, I will show you where you will stay,” said the Time Keeper. “Your soul has been out too long, living outside between both worlds. It’s making you exhausted,” he said.

They arrived at a small room. “This is where you stay and remain at all times till this all blows over, Mr. Geyser. Are we agreed on that part?” the Time Keeper said sternly.

Mr. Geyser nodded and asked the Time Keeper, “Why is this Grim Reaper...”

“Evil?” interrupted the Time Keeper.

Timothy Geyser nodded.

The Time Keeper paused at the man’s question for a brief moment.

“You see, Mr. Geyser, the ancients were tasked in the creation of the living and the dead. The gods of this world guide all dead souls. These gods used their magic to form a creature, the Guider of Souls, the Black Raven. It was something they did not know much about. To form a creature made of death caused these beings to unknowingly create a foul magic, black magic. The Black Raven was consumed by the darkness no one truly understanded. They tasked this creature to be the collector of souls, but the Ancients could not control it, so they banished him to a realm forever. The Time Keepers of long ago had a clock for him and found him to be stopped when the clock finished ticking.”

“So it didn’t finish ticking but just froze,” replied Mr. Geyser.

“Precisely,” the Time Keeper said, nodding his head. “This figure, the sorcerer, seems to have his hands in some very dark magic. He’s bound to show himself soon, so we need to keep you safe while the Grim Reaper and myself figure this mess out.”

“I’ll do my best to keep out of trouble. Thank you for the room,” replied Timothy Geyser who bowed.

The Time Keeper bowed back in respect and closed the door.

Mr. Geyser felt exhausted and fell onto the bed in the room. He lied there anxiously waiting for what tomorrow’s events would bring. This was the first time he had finally been alone since his death. He smiled exhaustedly, closing his eyes.

Chapter 7

The Hidden Sorcerer

The Grim Reaper had only rested for a brief moment. He knew there wasn’t time to waste. He was walking up a green meadow. On top of the hill was a small cabin with flowers blooming all around it. Small painted gnomes sat amongst the meadows and seemingly turned and watched the Grim Reaper as he passed by.

He walked up to the door and was about to knock when he heard a voice inside the house yell, “Come in!”.

The Reaper opened the door and entered the small living room. He looked around at all the empty glass potion bottles stacked on the shelves. Flowers were all over the place, and a strong aroma of lilacs filled the room. It was a cozy space, one that someone’s hobby-filled grandma might live in.

The Grim Reaper walked into the kitchen where a long maplewood table was laid out with measuring cups and jars- all filled with liquids and solids of different colors. He looked toward the stove to find a plump older woman wearing a colorful flower-print dress. She was wearing a stained white apron and was holding a plant-like creature up to a boiling pot, dipping its roots into the liquid of the boiling pot. The creature was screeching like a whining cat.

“I’m assuming you got my message, Ms. Olga?” asked the Grim Reaper, watching the creature’s eyes close as she dipped the roots further into the boiling liquid.

She looked back with seriousness at her old friend. “It’s a scrump weedling, Mr. Reaper, the only thing I could find that stopped the raven toxin from spreading any further,” she said.

The woman then picked up a small cloth and soaked up a liquid that came out of the pores of the critter. She put it back into its pot, covered it with dirt, grabbed the soaked cloth, and carried it into the other room.

The Grim Reaper saw the Gate Keeper lying on the couch passed out. Black veins protruded from his skin, which looked like dark plague lines all over his body.

“The toxin is fighting back, but this juice will keep it at bay until the body heals enough to fight back. I’ve never seen anything like this, Mr. Reaper.”

“So, he will survive?” asked the Reaper.

Ulga nodded slowly, almost unsure. “I hope so, Mr. Reaper. I truly do.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you with this, but I need your help with something,” said the Reaper.

“Ah, one of your silly investigations nonsense,” she began. “Shouldn’t we find this culprit, first?”

“This may be our clue to finding him. I have a feeling someone else is at play here- someone responsible for this mess,” he said as he looked at the Gate Keeper’s sorry state. Pain riddled the Angel’s face.

She nodded and brought the Reaper into her study.

The Grim Reaper dipped his scythe into one of the empty jars, and with a small bright flash the scythe’s tip began to drip an oozing liquid, which made Olga glare even closer.

“A murder that recently happened is, I believe, is somehow connected to one that happened a year ago. My suspicions tell me that the same figure is behind it, an unknown sorcerer who deals with Black Magic,” the Reaper replied.

The older woman took the jar of slime and placed a small amount on a microscope’s glass.

“The ingredients in this slime are definitely of mortal origins. Acids and the excrement of dead corpses are commonly used in a potion,” said Olga. “Looking closer, there are some creatures that aren’t mortal.” She grabbed a small dropper filled with a pink liquid and poured a drop onto the specimen. It began to sparkle all different colors.

“Fairies,” she finally said. “Not only corpses of mortal origin, but magical.” She looked up and nodded her head. “This is very dark Black Magic, Mr. Reaper. I’m not even sure most Black Magic spell books nowadays on the market even have these ingredients in them.”

“You said a potion? That would mean a person would have to drink it?” asked the Reaper.

“Not necessarily. The potion could have been injected or even brushed on the victim’s skin to be absorbed by the pores,” she said.

So Timothy Geyser could have met this sorcerer before his death, the Reaper thought. It could have even been a friend who touched his arm or someone who had given him a kiss. The idea of Mr. Geyser’s girlfriend at the dinner being the sorcerer seemed silly, but he couldn’t rule anyone out. He would have to talk to Mr. Geyser more.

“Thank you, Ms. Olga. You’ve been very helpful as always,” said the Reaper with a slight bow.

The old woman nodded back politely and watched the dark shrouded figure walk toward the door.

“There’s something dark going on, isn’t there?” she finally asked worryingly. “I’ve been having these bad feelings recently. Something very bad is going to happen.” A wave of fear drew over her.

The Grim Reaper looked towards her and thought to mention this existence of the Black Raven, but thought against worrying her. She needs to focus on healing the Gate Keeper, he thought. “Please be careful, Ms. Olga. Destroy that jar we used, and remain careful until I figure out what’s going on.”

The Reaper closed the door behind him, and Ulga settled into the chair behind the microscope. She looked at the jar of ooze with a frightful glare. Whoever used such a potion not only massacred the bodies of the dead but is back doing the same. If this dark sorcerer was back at it again, who knew what evil he would commit?

The Grim Reaper returned to the Realm of Time, and while the Time Keepers were off keeping the clocks safe and investigating the Raven’s clock. He met with Timothy Geyser, who was alone in his room. The Reaper mentioned briefly what he had found about the potion used to kill the young man.

Someone I know… thought Timothy Geyser as he stood wondering who would give even the slightest hint they were hiding something.

“It could be someone you don’t know, Mr. Geyser. Were there any odd people you’ve bumped into, any strangers you’ve met in the last couple days before your death? Someone’s hand you shook?” said the Reaper, prodding at the man’s memory.

“I work as an editor and meet a lot of people. I shake many hands,” replied Mr. Geyser. “Perhaps there’s something a little more specific I could go on?”

The Grim Reaper thought hard to find something that could help him. “Unfortunately not. We don’t have much to go on. This mysterious figure used acids and mixtures of rotting corpses in his potion to kill you,” he said, noticing the expression of disgust on Mr. Geyser’s face.

It was then the Reaper saw something light up within the young man’s eyes.

“You remember something?” he asked him, noticing the revelation.

“Corpses. That morning, when I was getting some groceries for the dinner that day, I had bumped into someone by the graveyard,” he said.

That would be a good place to find corpses, thought the Reaper. “What did the man look like?”

“It was a very elderly looking man, the graveyard’s keeper,” replied Mr. Geyser. “He was reciting some poem about returning a life and conquering death. I don’t remember exactly. I figured the man was a little drunk. Professions like that tend to do that to people.”

The Grim Reaper stood in heavy thought. Life and death, was this connected to himself in some way? Did this somehow how to relate to the girl from a year ago?

“I’m not sure what’s going on here, Mr. Geyser, but I’m starting to get the feeling your death has been part of a bigger plot,” the Reaper said, now convinced there was a greater danger. “I’m going to go find this graveyard keeper.”

He began to leave the room as the young man got up from the bed.

“You will need me, Mr. Reaper,” said Mr. Geyser, walking behind the Reaper.

The Grim Reaper stopped. “No, Mr. Geyser. You are safe here. I don’t need to put you in senseless danger.”

“What if you need me to help solve something?” the man replied.

“I’ll take my chances,” replied the Reaper, amused at how this soul could even be of any help. “This isn’t a game, Timothy.”

Before the Grim Reaper walked out the door, he felt a stabbing pain in his soul and shiver in his scythe. The effects of dual grim reapers in existence was becoming more of a problem to him. Nonetheless, the Grim Reaper needed to solve this.

Timothy Geyser watched the Grim Reaper pause at the door before leaving it shut behind him. He was in pain. “Good luck, Mr. Reaper,” he whispered into the air.

Chapter 8

Grave Keeper

The Grim Reaper arrived at the graveyard. It was a half an hour past midnight. Large and small headstones stood out on the ridge, and the sky was covered in a dark cloud. A cold breeze past him as he walked to find the gravekeeper’s house.

A strange noise came out of a crypt not far ahead of the Reaper. The noise was now getting louder as he approached a gated crypt. It was the sound of someone mumbling inside. The Grim Reaper sliced the lock with his scythe and unraveled the chains.

He entered the crypt, closing the gate behind him.

The mumbling was louder now, but he couldn’t make out what it was saying. There was a faint light that shined around one of the corners leading to the coffin(s) inside.

The Grim Reaper tightened the grip on his scythe as he walked around the corner that opened up into an underground room that had stone coffins around in it.

In the middle of a room was an old, raggedy man with a bottle of whiskey and a lamp next to him. The old man sitting away from the Grim Reaper all of a sudden started to laugh half-drunkenly. The man turned his head and smiled to reveal broken and black teeth. All of a sudden, the man’s eyes turned into a black haze, and the old man stood stiff, facing the Reaper.

The Grim Reaper knew this man was possessed. It seemed like something triggered his state. This sorcerer is nearby but not showing himself, like a coward, the reaper thought.

In a heavy rasping voice, the old man spoke, “It’s been a while, Grim Reaper. Do you remember me?”

“Show yourself, sorcerer,” demanded the Grim Reaper.

“In due time, Reaper,” replied the possessed man.

“We had met a year ago, if you remember. The girl’s death,” rasped the man.

“You killed her. I remember.”

“Ha! Is that how you remember it, Reaper?!” the man shouted, almost angrily now.

A moment’s earthquake suddenly shook the crypt—pieces of stone and dirt fell around them and soon became silent.

“What was the purpose of all this? You have released a very dangerous creature into the world, sorcerer, one that you won’t be able to control,” spoke the Reaper. “All for what?”

“I have my means to control the monster, Reaper. This is all…for…you,” the old man said.

“For me? What about Timothy Geyser? Why was he involved with all this?” asked the Reaper.

“Summoning the Black Raven involves a bit of sacrifice,” the possessed man said.

The Grim Reaper pondered this. The girl, Timothy Geyser, were they victims to summon the Black Raven? What made it work this time?

“Theres is an abandoned factory on the coast of Sweden in a small town called Simrishamn. The Black Raven will be there”

“Why lead me to him?” the Reaper finally said.

“Because the quicker you get to him then the quicker we finish this, Grim Reaper,” the old man said. The gravekeeper, whose eyes were still in a black haze, sat back onto the stool and leaned his head down as if falling asleep. “Good luck,” he mumbled. The old man then fell backward onto the stone floor.

The Grim Reaper felt his breathing becoming heavy. No, not now, he thought. The co-existence of two Reapers was affecting him again. He could feel his breath getting better slowly, but soon enough he realized that it wasn’t his breath that the noise was coming from.

The Reaper stepped backward from the side of the crypt, which was just earth crusted around them. The graves around them all of a sudden started to open, and a skeletal hand with pieces of flesh suddenly drew out of them. The dirt around the crypt started to crumble as corpses broke through the walls.

The Grim Reaper slashed the bones and flesh off the dead corpses that came after him with surprising mobility.

Grim Reaper exited the crypt as he slashed them. A deep growl echoed within the darkness, which made the corpses suddenly stop and retreat back to the shadows.

A hairy animal with long hind legs suddenly appeared from the darkness and jumped on him, knocking the Grim Reaper over.

The Reaper struggled to keep the monster’s jaws from biting his face. The animal had a long snout that with a flat-looking face. A werewolf. He could see the monster had human eyes while desperately trying to keep the animal off of him. The beast suddenly pressed one of its long hind legs onto the Reaper’s leg, and a long claw pierced his thigh, causing him to moan in pain.

The monster’s jaw pushed closer to the Reaper’s face until suddenly it squealed in pain. It’s head looked down below him- seeing the scythe’s blade in its gut.

He pushed the beast off of him and stood up in shock. It had been a while since he had felt physical pain. He was not meant to be a fighter, merely a soul collector. The pain was unusually unpleasant for him.

The Grim Reaper stood looking into distance. “Time to finish this,” he said.

He suddenly raised his scythe up to the sky and his scythe tingled.

A moment of concern came over him. His scythe wasn’t working.

The creatures in the distance were now running at him.

He raised his scythe again, and felt the power working now.

The dark clouds above them suddenly dissipated, clearing the night sky with the full moon shining heavy in the graveyard. Legions of corpses were behind several of the werewolf creatures, all rushing towards the Grim Reaper and unafraid of their own death.

The Grim Reaper grunted and with a heavy heave he lifted the scythe and then slammed it into the earth. Something large rumbled beneath the soil. The creatures slowed and looked around them in confusion. Suddenly large roots broke violently out of the soil and started to tangle around them. New growth sprouted from these roots and formed into worm-like faces with large jaws that pounced onto the corpses and werewolves, smashing its rooted tail around the graveyard.

The roots hissed in anger as the crowd of beasts began to dissipate, and slowly it retreated back into the soil.

The Grim Reaper took his scythe from the ground, wincing at the strange feeling in his leg, the pain. He could hear ravens cawing in the distance. The Black Raven was watching, he knew.

Time to get out of here, thought the Reaper.

He sliced the air, created the wormhole, and stepped into it. The Grim Reaper then collapsed onto the other side, knocking his body against the shelves of clocks. Both of the Time Keepers had heard the commotion and ran over to see the Grim Reaper on the floor. They picked him up and helped the Reaper into his room.

The Time Keeper’s brother, Gerald, then noticed the Reaper’s wounded leg.

Timothy Geyser suddenly ran out of his room. “What’s happened?” he yelled, seeing now the Grim Reaper was back.

He suddenly stopped and noticed the Grim Reaper’s leg.

“He’s wounded? How is that possible?” asked Timothy Geyser as the Reaper’s leg was being bandaged.

“Black Magic corrupts everything it touches. Not to worry, Mr. Geyser,” said Gerald. “The Grim Reaper is made of dark magic, so physical wounds caused by it will heal quickly.”

He finished bandaging it up.

Gerald looked up at Timothy, who expressed an uneasy queasiness. “Do not vomit on the floor, otherwise my brother will have me clean it up,” he said quickly. “Back to your room.”

Chapter 9

Raven’s Feather

“It is said that darkness was created when the ancients found the Raven’s Feather”

Caw, caw, caw, caw, caw.

At the dark edges of a world unknown, the Black Raven sat on his throne of feathers and bone. Ravens sat around the room quietly around their master. It was cold and full of misery. A scent of decay filled the castle. He looked at the thousands of ravens around him- all souls he corrupted.

How I missed this, he thought.

Above him, he glanced at the cages, which held some men and women in them, all suffering from the pain of his Black Magic. One of the prisoners was crying.

Such an annoying noise, he thought.

The large crow beside the Black Raven drew in his head as its master whispered something in its ear. The crow flew up to the crying man and puffed itself into a black smoke, which the old man began choking on. Shortly the man began to yell out in pain as he felt his bones changing and skin ripping apart. The Black Raven happily watched the man struggle with his body mutating. Soon after, the prisoner resembled a bony black-skinned creature with black feathers piercing out from his body. It hunched its large size in the cage cawing for his master.

“The Grim Reaper is already dying,” a voice suddenly spoke within the dark castle.

The Black Raven watched the figure draw closer to him within the shadows.

“Not necessarily. His existence with me, the original Reaper, is being conflicted,” the Black Raven corrected, seemingly not surprised. “I have powers to stall him in his vulnerable state, but without that scythe of his, which holds the true power of the Grim Reaper, then none of this will matter.”

“Unfortunately, my little show at the graveyard didn’t get the job done,” spoke the sorcerer.

“Ha” the creature laughed, “No offense, sorcerer, but did you really assume you’d be able to take him down and grab it?” replied the Raven.

“With his weakened state, I thought I’d give it a try,” he replied.

The sorcerer paused in thought, his gaze was more focused on the Black Raven.

“Is there a problem?” the Raven replied, seeing the glare of judgment.

“In your last meeting with the Reaper, you talked about slavery and servitude of the human race,” replied the sorcerer. “You could imagine it caused a little hesitation overhearing that.”

The Black Raven suddenly stood up from his chair. “A ruse, my friend. I needed to push him, to anger him, so he could see I needed to be stopped, so he may come for me here on my own turf. This is the only place I’ll have an upper hand with his conflicted state,” he replied. “Did we not talk about this in the time of planning?”

There was a pause and the figure nodded. “I’ll play my part as we talked about. It won’t be long until he arrives,” replied the sorcerer.

The Black Raven looked at the silhouette of the man, glaring into the man’s eyes in the darkness. “You will soon have what you want then,” he said.

The sorcerer smiled. “Good.”

“And I shall have what I want,” the Raven immediatly replied, reminding the sorcerer of the deal.

“You will have your scythe. Do your part when the time comes, Raven, and I shall continue to do mine.”

The Black Raven smiled. “That I shall do happily.”

The Black Raven could see the figure cynically smiling, which made him clench his teeth. A sudden distrust came over the creature’s mind. He thinks that because he freed me from this place that he commands me, the Raven thought. “Do note, sorcerer, that just because you’ve created a fire doesn’t mean you won’t get burned by it.”

“A threat?”

“A warning. Do not talk to me as if I were a lesser being,” replied the Raven. “You have said it yourself that we are a team. You brought me back so you can get your precious…”

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the sorcerer. He didn’t want to remind himself of all the sacrifice, all the evil he’d committed, to get what he needs. He hid such feelings at the back his cold and broken heart.

The Raven frowned at the interruption. Such youthful arrogance, the Raven thought.

The sorcerer stood in silence for a moment, and his fingers stroked a black feather within his pocket. You have no other choice. I will have what I want, he thought to himself.

Chapter 10

Judgment

Except for the occasional walk through the library of clocks, Timothy Geyser remained in his room. The Grim Reaper wondered what he was doing, but the Time Keeper reminded him that no soul has been in-between worlds for so long that he’d be fine when he finally crossed the judgment gate, which was still guarded by those monstrous birds. The Grim Reaper needed to solve this for everyone’s sake.

The Grim Reaper paced the halls of time, trying to put the pieces together. It was now all connected. The girl’s death a year ago, this sorcerer, and his final act of revenge on the Grim Reaper by unleashing the Black Raven. The word—revenge—made him wonder what the sorcerer had meant by it. Why did the sorcerer want revenge? “Is that how you remembered it” – was what he had said at the graveyard. He wasn’t responsible for her death… He needed to gain insight on this before meeting the Raven and this sorcerer.

The Time Keeper came up to the Grim Reaper. “My brother tells me you need me for something?” the old man asked. The Grim Reaper looked at him and saw how tired the Time Keeper appeared to be from maintaining all the clocks. The sorcerer and the Black Raven were causing ripple effects. The corpses—the humans changing into ravens— effected people’s lives.

“I need you to show me the clock of Maria Peterson. She had died a year ago,” the Reaper said. “Do you remember her?” he asked.

“I remember everyone’s clock since I was created, Mr. Reaper. Right this way,” replied the Time Keeper, who was now guiding him down the aisle. Each clock had something unique on it, whether it was color, an ornament, or other characteristics important to the soul.

After what seemed like a mile and a half, they finally stopped. The Time Keeper motioned the Reaper toward a clock that hung on the shelves. The Grim Reaper looked at the sad state of it. What was once a vibrant blue-colored clock decorated in pink daisies had burn marks smothered over it. It was splintered and broken. The tag below it read, “Maria Peterson, Deaths Designation: Abyss.”

A wave of sadness swept over him.

The Grim Reaper lowered his scythe and held it firmly under the sharp blade. He tapped the tip of the scythe’s crescent blade to the clock’s center.

Nothing happened.

The Time Keeper showed concern in his expression after a couple taps.

“You are the Grim Reaper. It’s your identity, remind the scythe of that. Get rid of your emotions,” said the Time Keeper.

The Grim Reaper sighed heavily, and closed his eyes. His hands tightened around the scythe and he felt a faint spark in the darkness of his soul. He held onto that ember. It was becoming an effort, and the Reaper didn’t like it one bit. Anger flushed around him, and the ember now was getting weaker. He stopped himself. Get rid of the emotion...

The ember in the darkness was now getting larger. A blue flame bursted from it.

The Grim Reaper opened his eyes and lifted the scythe up towards the clock- tapping it once again.

In an instant the Grim Reaper watched the memory of Maria Peterson’s death as if he was replaying a movie in his mind.

He was escorting a young twenty-two-year-old girl down path of death. The Grim Reaper remembered her path was in a flower-filled valley, covered in blue and pink daisies. She had died from gunshot wounds. The Grim Reaper noticed how kind and innocent she looked. As they were passing through the tunnel of memories, she collapsed in agony. The girl suddenly hovered in the air and flew backwards the way they came like a rag doll being thrown across the room. He remembered she was somehow being sent back to the mortal world.

The Grim Reaper then watched himself looking over someone preforming dark magic with a girl lying on a table. This is the sorcerer, the Reaper thought. The Grim Reaper’s mind had trouble recalling the details. The conjurer’s face was blurred out and couldn’t be recognized. The Grim Reaper pondered how the clock hid such details, but continued watching.

The sorcerer was making some potion in a pot, and the Grim Reaper saw the oozing Black Raven climb out of it, leaping toward the girl’s body, but then the bird blew into smoke over her.

He watched himself confront the sorcerer briefly on his wrongdoings.

Soon enough the girl’s body began to shake violently, and something was crawling out of her mouth. The Grim Reaper knew it was the oozing Raven, the same way Timothy Geyser had died. He watched himself swipe the scythe against her body, gripping her agonizing soul out of the corrupted body. The soul itself was stained in Black Magic and crippled in pain.

He watched himself leading the soul down to the Gates of Death. What was before a valley of lively flowers, now held only dead ones. The black magic was torturing her soul, and she wailed and cursed in pain as they walked. It was a crime committed against her, but his role as the Grim Reaper was clear and there was nothing he could do.

The Grim Reaper found himself back in the room with the Time Keeper, watching him carefully.

“I had it all wrong,” the Reaper said.

The Time Keeper looked at him with curious eyes. “How so, Reaper?” he replied.

“This sorcerer didn’t murder the girl. He bringing her back to life using the magic of the Black Raven,” he said. “Whoever this sorcerer is, he thinks I’ve taken away his love.”

The Time Keeper didn’t know what to think about all of it. “So why kill Mr. Geyser? Why the Black Raven?”

“Mr. Geyser has become the innocent bystander in this mess, the sacrificial lamb to summon the Black Raven.” He remembered the word “sacrifice” from the graveyard. “Whatever this sorcerer has planned with the Black Raven, he seems to be waging a war,” he said.

“Against you?” the old man asked.

“Against death,” replied the Grim Reaper, who now looked down to see the millions of clocks, billions of souls who could now be in danger because of one man’s vendetta.

The Reaper began to walk away, but stopped and turned to the Time Keeper in thought.

“You or Gerald didn’t tamper with this clock in any way, right?” asked the Reaper.

The question seemed to anger the Time Keeper, “I do not tamper” the elderly man replied. The question clearly hurting his pride.

The Grim Reaper recalled the blurred image of the sorcerer- his face hidden from his memory. Was it because of his conflicted state…Or did the sorcerer somehow effect his memories.

The Grim Reaper turned down the hall, walking back the way he came. He glanced at each of the clocks on the shelves as he passed them.

He remembered the words of the Black Raven when they first met—humans overcoming death… This sorcerer was surely a mad man and needed to be stopped, but first he needed to deal with the Black Raven, who was the key to his plan. Once the Grim Reaper took out the creature’s soul, he needed to restrain his powers in some way. The Reaper sent word to the Monty, the blacksmith, to create some magic-sealing cuffs.

The battle between two grim reapers was about to begin.

Chapter 11

Black Ocean Tide

“Darkness befalls the Black Cauldron, whereas evil befalls the Black Tide”

After some rest, the Grim Reaper stepped into a portal leading onto a cobblestone courtyard, leaving Timothy Geyser and the Time Keeper’s behind. The sea air whiffed around him as the sound of ocean water crashed against the rocks bordering the coast in the small town of Simrishamn in Sweden.

The Grim Reaper looked around and noticed the lack of people outside. This place seemed almost abandoned. Where have the people gone? He noticed a couple children playing in the courtyard.

“Michael, get back inside now!” a woman called out through a window of a nearby house. “You and Patrick playing in these streets by yourselves is dangerous! Inside now!”

The Grim Reaper watched the two boys knock over the castle made from surrounding pebbles as they ran inside the house. This must be the place, the Grim Reaper thought.

The Reaper headed to an old factory that had produced salt-water candies along the same coast line they had mapped out. It was an old, abandoned factory. A shroud of dark magic surrounded it.

He had arrived at the factory door and noticed a child’s shoe at the entrance. He held his scythe next to it, and an image shot into his mind—a loud scream from a young child. This was the place.

He walked through the doors, already sensing some strange magic shifting around him. As he arrived on the other side, he found himself on a hill overlooking a black ocean. The door he came from was nowhere to be seen.

“We’re here,” he said to himself, forgetting he was alone for a moment. A sense of worry slightly passed over him. His scythe jittered.

A large stone castle stood in front of him. He walked towards it, seeing the cobwebs and crows all over it. The doors suddenly opened as he took a step forward.

I’m not here to talk, thought the Grim Reaper, gripping his scythe.

A strange creature came up to him. He was short and thin, standing crooked. It was small, almost child-height, covered in black skin that revealed the outline of bones within its body. Black feathers were spread throughout its body but not covering it. It had a black beak and a devilish face.

“Ah, so this is the Grim Reaper,” it spoke, its voice unusually high-pitched. It took a long sniff, smelling the Reaper. “I smell something human on you. Have you brought me lunch!?”

“Touch me again and you’ll be sent into the abyss,” spoke the Grim Reaper, who was no longer patient with these dark creatures.

The creature began laughing hysterically and jumping in all directions. The Grim Reaper had never seen anything like it.

“Don’t scare the guest, Gaul,” echoed a cynical voice within the castle.

The creature immediately stopped and bowed its head, hopping backward and giggling like a child.

“Do you know where you are, Mr. Reaper?” spoke the voice.

The Grim Reaper knew it was the Black Raven. He made no reply, but it was true—he didn’t know where he was.

“My own realm of existence, the Black Tide. It is similar to your Black Cauldron,” the voice continued, “How do you feel?”

“So, this is how you have survived,” said the Reaper, ignoring the Raven’s question. In truth, he felt more unbalanced. The realm of the original Grim Reaper was conflicting him more.

“Precisely, imprisoned in my magic pocket, so to speak,” replied the Raven.

“But you got to leave this prison because of the sorcerer. Why would he release you?” asked the Reaper, gazing into the shadows of the castle.

A cloud of smoke fell from the ceiling and landed onto the throne of bones and feathers. The shape shifted into a figure sitting upon the throne—the Black Raven.

“He needed my services,” replied the Raven. “I must admit that he’s a talented young individual.”

The Grim Reaper tightened his grip and lifted the scythe in the air and whispered some magic. Immediately shapes of red light came out from the scythe, all screaming and flying in all directions.

The Black Raven began to savagely smile from the excitement. Showing no fear or worry. .

The pieces of tormented and foul beings, remnants of dark creatures his scythe had conjured up, began to direct themselves at the Black Raven, who sat laughing.

Immediately all the black ravens in the room puffed into dense clouds and formed into monstrous, spirited ghouls screaming for vengeance—attacking the creatures that the Grim Reaper had released. In the middle of the clouds of fighting monsters, the Reaper felt light headed.

The vengeance and pain these creatures felt seemed to overwhelm him. These were fresh souls, the Reaper realized—beings he brought here to torture and turn into his minions. The agony the Black Raven put them through must have been incredibly immense.

The power of the Black Raven, the first Grim Reaper, was obviously more than he realized but not impossible to overcome. The Grim Reaper drew his scythe forward and began slashing at the tortured beings that went at him. He twisted the scythe and began to whisper something until a noise caught his attention.

The door of the castle began to open which interrupted their attention briefly. The Grim Reaper realized who it was. Timothy Geyser.

“Mr. Geyser?! How did you...” the Grim Reaper began before losing his focus when the birds above bombarded him further. The Reaper’s scythe slashed through and tore the approaching birds. The poisonous fog these birds excreted did not affect the Grim Reaper, who was immune to poison or toxins of any kind. The souls the Reaper summoned now bombarded the Black Raven, who clawed and attacked back.

Amidst the horror, Mr. Geyser stood watching these two supreme undead beings unleash such chaos in the room. Immediately he felt something prick against his throat, a knife made from black stone. He dropped to his knees as the pressure drew harder against his skin. Mr. Geyser wondered how he felt this knife and began to wonder if he could really die again.

The fear overwhelmed his mind, and he offered no resistance.

“Stop!” the voice holding the knife yelled out.

The Black Raven snapped his fingers, and the souls went back into raven form, all huddling around the Grim Reaper, who stood watching Mr. Geyser.

Timothy slowly turned his head and noticed the short figure holding the blade against his throat. It was the black elf.

The reaper looked closer to what the black elf was holding against Mr. Geyser’s throat.

“A demonic blade,” the Reaper said. The Black Raven noticed a bit of a shock when the Reaper spoke. A worry began to grow within the Reaper.

“A weapon of an ancient being. Do you know what it does?” asked the Raven.

“It sends the victim into the Abyss, a place of only torture. Known to the living as Hell,” replied the Reaper.

“Give me the scythe, Reaper,” the black elf demanded.

The reaper didn’t move, watching Mr. Geyser who stood in fear of what is happening. The Reaper didn’t know whether Mr. Geyser was meant for the Abyss, but he very much doubted it. The Grim Reaper was not the Gate Keeper. His duty was not to judge and condemn. Confliction took his soul momentarily.

“The scythe, Reaper!” the black elf spat, now showing his nasty true self.

The Reaper stood silently, “I’m sorry, Mr. Geyser, but if I let him have the scythe then we are all doomed, the living and the dead.”

The Black Raven noticed there was true empathy in the Reaper’s voice. He smiled.

Mr. Geyser closed his eyes as the knife began to draw blood. The black elf gripped the demonic blade and prepared to cut Mr. Geyser’s throat.

Suddenly the Grim Reaper drifted into smoke that flew at the black elf, pushing him to the ground beside Mr. Geyser, knocking the creature unconscious. He materialized and now faced the Black Raven, ready to finish it. Something felt wrong in the moment, severe fatigue came over him. The memory of the Time Keeper hit him. There couldn’t be two Grim Reapers co-existing. He didn’t realize that being in the Raven’s own realm was draining him faster.

Before he could recover his concentration, he stopped as he felt something sharp pierce his back. He knew it was the demonic blade. Had the elf regained consciousness?! He fell forward in agony. The pain from the blade was overwhelming him and his fingers let go of the scythe.

“Gaul, grab the scythe!” snapped the Raven, who stepped forward eagerly.

The creature hobbled over to the Reaper who moaned on all fours. Gual grabbed the scythe, meeting no resistance. The creature began to hop to his master, laughing frantically.

The Reaper began to gasp for breath, trying desperately to get up. He whispered out loud for Timothy Geyser to take the blade out, but nothing happened. Has he been killed by the elf?

The Black Raven grabbed the scythe violently from the creature. A savage wind broke through the door, filling the room with a strange power. The Black Raven felt the Grim Reaper’s power flow through him. The wind began to strip the Reaper’s cloak from his skin, and the Black Raven immediately felt a robe draw over him—the Reaper’s cloak.

“Oh, how good it feels to be back!” the Black Raven yelled, laughing in the room.

The Raven looked at the shade kneeling in the room—the Reaper’s soul, stripped of all its power. A black skeletal figure. Pathetic creature, the Raven thought.

“Cleaver, Gaul, lock these pathetic things in the dungeons!” he called out.

The two creatures dragged the Reaper and Mr. Geyser through the hall. Mr. Geyser stared at the Black Raven, who was gazing back. He turned his gaze toward the Reaper, who was seemingly dead, but the Raven knew otherwise. As the prisoners left the room, the Black Raven stood glaring at his power. He was now capable of becoming an Ancient- A God. No one would be safe. The dark days of the Black Raven had arrived.

It had been days before the Raven brought out Timothy Geyser.

“Our little show played out,” spoke Timothy Geyser.

The Raven smirked at Mr. Geyser. “Stabbing him in the back, sorcerer? I had wondered if you had it in you. I was a little worried you wouldn’t have done it.”

Timothy Geyser didn’t want to think about it. “Let’s finish this. You have the power to bring people back from the dead—bring my love back and heal her, like we promised.”

The Black Raven smiled now, almost drunk with power as he pondered the scythe in his hands. He seemingly ignored the man.

Mr. Geyser crinkled his face in annoyance, and reached into his jacket pocket. A wave of panic filled him.

“Looking for the feather?” the Raven replied, lifting the black feather that Cleaver, the black elf, had taken when he held the blade up to Mr. Geyser.

“You mortals are so pathetic. You’re now useless to me, Sorcerer.”

“I freed you from this prison, Raven! All I’m asking is for you to now bring my beloved back from the Abyss,” spoke Mr. Geyser.

The Raven stood from his throne. “I’ll bring her back. I’ll bring everyone from the Abyss back. The more slaves, the merrier.” He laughed, “I will have my revenge on the ancients that imprisoned me here. I’ll destroy this world of theirs.” A sadistic grin appeared.

The Black Raven motioned to Cleaver that the conversation had ended, but before he could do anything Timothy Geyser began to wave his hands into the air for an incantation. After a moment nothing happened, and he grew frustrated and tried it again. Why isn’t my magic working? he thought desperately.

“Mortal spells won’t work in my domain” he laughed. “Youthful arrogance to think you’d even have a chance against me.”

The Black Raven continued laughing even more as Timothy was dragged back into his cell, yelling and cursing. The black elf threw the man back into his prison.

Hours that seemed like days passed. Time seemed to move slower in their prison. Mr. Geyser sat on the floor, almost drained of all hope. Slowly he lifted his head finally noticing a figure in the opposing jail cell who was sitting on the stone floor.

“Mr. Reaper,” whispered Mr. Geyser, hoping not to attract any creatures guarded nearby.

After a while of calling out his name, the Reaper lifted his head.

“What were you thinking?” whispered the Reaper. Energy and hope drained away.

“What are you talking about?” the man replied, acting innocently.

The Reaper tilted his head up in a flash of anger. “Releasing the Black Raven!”

Mr. Geyser sat on the floor with his back to the wall, realizing he figured it out. Tears began to fill his eyes. Tears of shame. Tears of sadness. Tears of loss. After a moment, Mr. Geyser stared at the ceiling, “It was the only way to get my Maria back…after you took her a year ago.”

The Grim Reaper made no reply.

“I know you don’t recognize me, but we have met before.”

Timothy Geyser then began his story.

Chapter 12

Sorcerer’s Broken Heart

Timothy Geyser recalled his life years ago. After being escorted through the memory tunnel just after he died, it made it easy to remember. Those painful memories, he thought.

His parents had died ten years ago, and he ended up living with his grandfather who was a plump, cheerful elderly man in his seventies. Athough he was only cheerful when around others. When Timothy Geyser was alone with him, he was violent. Years of living in the basement, being beaten, he got used to the fact he was going to die in there. The beatings weren’t every day, only on the days his grandfather was drunk. Some nights he would come into the basement crying in apology, and other nights he would be swearing at him for making his life miserable.

Over the years he grew accustomed to these unusual temperaments and knew the man’s brain wasn’t working too well—seeing things that weren’t there, blaming him for stuff he didn’t do. One night Timothy felt a rage within him that then burst out of his fingers in black sparks. Months went by when he discovered he could even burn things with these sparks. Sometimes it would burn something, sometimes it would break something, and sometimes it would move something. How he thought about the object determined what it did with this magic. Over time he found a loose board on the wall. The basement was underground, so he had to dig several feet to reach the top. On occasion he would leave, but always come back in fear that his grandfather found out. During this time he would practice his strange abilities even more.

His grandfather finally caught him using it one day, but instead of acting shocked and surprised he drew a more focused expression, as if this was something he knew much about.

“Come with me,” he had said and lead the boy upstairs into a room filled with books.

Timothy Geyser had never been into that room and looked around. His grandfather threw a book at the boy’s head, which knocked him onto the floor. He grew accustomed to the random violence and picked up the book, apologizing as if his head decided to hit the book.

“Read it,” the old man said, “and this one.” Before the end of the month, young Timothy Geyser had read a dozen of those books, all focused on the strange talent known as Black Magic. He didn’t dare ask his grandfather why he had these books. Whatever this magic was, Timothy felt it was responsible for his grandfather’s unhinged brain. Somehow they felt linked to each other through this power.

The old man saw the boy’s natural talent, and his violence grew with the jealousy. The beatings were now twice a day.

He snuck outside in the middle of the night, wondering if he should run away. The fear of his grandfather almost froze his footsteps, but as he grew into an adult that fear was lessened as he was more comfortable with this strange power he had. His grandfather soon learned to fear and cower before him, and now he was the one locked in the basement. At times Timothy Geyser would forget he was there.

A year grew by when he finally met someone—Maria Peterson.

After much dating, and with regret, he finally introduced her to his grandfather. He couldn’t hide his grandfather long, and the stubborn old man wouldn’t die. Eventually they would have to meet.

A couple years went by, and Timothy Geyser ended up marrying Maria. After their month-long honeymoon in France, they returned to his home and opened the door to the house.

His grandfather stood on the other side of the door, in the living room, with a gun in his hands.

“Die, you devil,” he said before pulling the trigger.

In a blink of the eye, Timothy stood in shock. He didn’t know what just happened and finally noticed a body on the ground next to him. Maria’s body.

His grandfather then realized he missed his grandson. Before he could take another shot, Timothy’s numbness turned immediately into anger that boiled into an overflowing rage. Black lightning whipped out from his hands and struck his grandfather. Timothy yelled in an incredible rage, and his grandfather soon burst into black dust.

He looked down at Maria. For a moment, Timothy didnt believe it was real. She wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t lying on the floor. It must be someone else. Tears poured down his face as he screamed in anger and sadness. He had lost his soulmate, the love of his life. He couldn’t accept it. Perhaps his brain knew all too well about his loss, sparking a memory. He remembered his grandfather talking about his bookshelf of black magic. One bookshelf was chained. He said there were very special, very old books in there. He had told him there were ways to even bring people back from the dead. The old man being insane all the time made it hard for Timothy to believe him.

He knew what he had to do. He ran over to the bookshelf in his grandfather’s study and used his magic to break the chain. There were books of all different sizes and colors. He grabbed many and shuffled through them. It was when he grabbed the next one that he realized it wasn’t a book at all but a lever that opened up a drawer. He reached into the wall and pulled out a book that was covered in dark feathers. It was titled, “Origins of the Grim Reapers.” He flipped through the dark pages and found it—resurrection.

It had taken days for him to get the spell ready, mixing rotting corpses, acids, slowly bleeding out magical creatures. He had realized that he was becoming a devil with this work, but it was worth it to bring his angel back to life. As he mixed these things, the spell was finally finished. It took only a moment until a ragged black bird came out of the mixing pot, oozing with slime, and hopped onto Maria’s body that now lied on the table beside it. It took a long whiff of her body until it broke into a terrible frenzy, its feathers breaking loose, puffing into smoke. One feather landed near Timothy, and he half expected it to burst into a cloud, but it didn’t. He put it in his pocket. The crow’s black body began to melt on Maria’s lifeless body. It was then his beloved gasped for breath.

He ran to her and began to kiss her cheek as he wept. She looked around startled and then looked at his face as if remembering who he was.

“My Timothy,” she began.

All of a sudden, the room went black, and he couldn’t see her or anything around him.

“Do you think you can trick me?” a voice spoke.

Is this the Devil?! he wondered.

“Leave us! She’s not yours anymore!” he yelled into the darkness of his domain.

“You have broken a very sacred law. Her soul is now blackened by Dark Magic,” the voice began. “There is only the Abyss for her now.”

The thought then struck him- this was the Grim Reaper!

“She is ALIVE!” Mr. Geyser yelled, gritting his teeth. “You are not needed here!”

“She is more dead than you know,” the voice spoke.

Within the blink of an eye, the darkness gave way to the light in the room. Timothy held Maria in his arms, and she smiled at him, reaching for his cheeks. Her smile soon faded, and she began to cough and gag.

Something was climbing out of her throat.

He held her tightly, trying to help her cough it out. As her mouth opened, a creature began to climb out from her throat, a raven. The creature stood for a moment on her lips but flew off. She looked at Timothy with saddening eyes.

“It’s OK, Maria. You’re–”

A sharp blade suddenly fell onto her body with a tremendous force, the Grim Reaper’s scythe!

Timothy yelled in a raged panic, trying to reach for the scythe, but his mortal fingers could not grab it. Maria’s soul hovered there, and he watched it begin to shrivel in pain, aching and begging for the suffering to stop.

“What are you doing to her?” the man yelled, watching his love turn and twist with pain. She began screaming for help. She begged Timothy to make it stop.

The Grim Reaper stood still/ watching the body. He wasn’t saddened, but he knew it was a great disappointment that such an event had taken place.

A sudden flash came from the corner of room, drawing the Reaper’s attention briefly. But soon it was too late, and both were gone.

Timothy began to turn every table and break every instrument until there was nothing left. He sat in the middle of the room holding a gun in his hand. As he was about to take his own life, a claw-like hand touched his shoulder.

He turned immediately in a fright but saw no one.

“We can get her back,” a crackling shadow spoke from the corner. “If you wish her back.”

Timothy noticed a dark figure standing in the blackness of the room. He nodded. “More than anything.”

The creature smiled. “You’re talented, young man, but not talented enough to resurrect the dead.” He paused. “Only one may do such things.”

“Who?” asked Geyser.

The creature smiled before starting to fade in and out like a mist, “A Grim Reaper,” it said, “like me.”

Timothy wanted nothing more than to bring her back, break her away from her suffering. He noticed something on the ground, a feather. He knew it belonged to the creature, and hid it in his pocket in case he would need to use it to destroy the creature.

“What do you need from me?” Timothy Geyser finally said to the dark figure. The creature was fading like a ghost.

“I am imprisoned you see, and you may have some talent to let me out,” the voice in his mind spoke.

Timothy Geyser looked at his dead wife on the table, “We have a deal.”

Chapter 13

A Helping Hand

The Grim Reaper felt cold and unbalanced as he finished listening to Timothy’s story. They both sat in their cell quietly. The demonic blade still burned at the Grim Reaper’s back, and he wasn’t able to pull it out for the wound to begin healing. The guards occasionally passed the cells, checking in on them. The black elf had a habit of poking Mr. Geyser with an electrified prong, taking pleasure in the man’s pain. He wouldn’t dare do it to the Reaper, who he knew was suffering enough, and partly still feared the soul collector, but would occasionally spit in his cell.

Time didn’t seem to move the same in the Black Raven’s dimension. It felt like days had passed. What chaos was the Black Raven unleashing outside of this place now that he had the power of the Grim Reapers? The Grim Reaper suddenly felt something nudging his foot, and he looked up. It was that odd creature the Reaper had met when he first came to the castle. The Reaper immediately withdrew his foot that the short creature found pleasure in toying with, no doubt amazed that the almighty Grim Reaper had toes. The creature began to pout loudly now he didn’t have the foot, causing Timothy to suddenly wake up.

The noise was going to attract attention, the Reaper thought, and he put his foot back out.

The creature continued to seemingly count the toes at the end of the Reaper’s foot once more. On a hunch, the Grim Reaper then withdrew his foot again, making a game out of it, which brought the creature into a childish giggle.

It was a child, the Grim Reaper realized. He felt a deepening anger toward the Black Raven.

“What is your name, little one?” said the Grim Reaper, trying to see this grotesque thing as what it was before.

The creature looked around him to make sure he was truly alone before answering. The Grim Reaper knew that the child-creature was probably instructed to not talk to the prisoners.

“It’s OK. you won’t get in trouble. If someone comes, then I’ll tell them I was talking to myself. Is that, OK?” the Reaper said.

The childlike creature nodded. “Gual,” it said in a raspy but cheery voice, which was still very disturbing to the Grim Reaper.

Timothy edged closer to the bars, hoping to overhear the conversation.

“Gaul, that’s a nice name,” said the Reaper. “Can I ask you something Gaul?”

Gaul smiled disturbingly and nodded his head, glad to have someone to talk to who didn’t beat him.

“Do you have friends here?” the Grim Reaper asked.

Gaul’s smile faded at the Reaper’s question. It started to suddenly moan quietly, rushing its hands over its head in confusion. “No,” it mumbled back.

“Would you like to have one?” the Reaper asked, still playing into the childish qualities of the creature.

Gual’s face then smiled again at the thought. “Yes.” It giggled frantically.

“Then help us escape, and you can have two friends,” chimed Mr. Geyser, who was now eagerly drawing closer to them in his cell.

The Grim Reaper clenched his teeth in frustration at the outburst, fearing it would loose the conversation.

The creature began rushing its hand over its head again. “Mr. Master said I need to remember three things.” It held three fingers up. “No talking to you was one,” it said, folding one finger before moving to the second. “No opening cell.” The second finger fell down. “And no telling about book and feather,” he said, finally folding down the third.

The Grim Reaper knew the feather was what Timothy was talking about in his story, but the book?

Timothy knew all too well about the spell book he used to summon the Raven and try to resurrect Maria with, somewhat shocked it was still here in this castle.

“I already broke one rule,” said Gual. “I talked to you, and he’ll punish me for it.”

“No, I am your friend now. I will lie to him and say you didn’t, because that’s what friends do to protect each other. Is that OK, Gual?” said the Reaper, trying again to cultivate a friendship.

Gual nodded excitedly. “Thank you, friend,” it said, giggling.

“Since I’m doing you a favor, can you do me one?” asked the Grim Reaper. “I promise you won’t break any more of your rules.”

The creature pondered at this longer than the Reaper would’ve liked. Had he ruined it?

“I don’t break any rules?” Gaul finally asked before seeing the Reaper’s slow nod.

“I will now prove my friendship,” it chirped and hobbled in a circle, almost frightening Mr. Geyser and the Grim Reaper.

The Grim Reaper knew this was a risky move. The Time Keepers would need to know where they were, and they needed Monty the blacksmith to fabricate the keys to unlock their prison. All without getting caught.

It seemed almost impossible, but it was the only choice he had.

Back in the Realm of Time, the Time Keeper did everything he could to calm himself. The ticks from all the clocks around him were spinning in every direction. Souls waiting for a guide to meet them were now being turned into the Black Raven’s pets. The Angelic Order, after hearing about Michael the Gate Keeper, and the Black Raven’s escape, had sent several angels to report back. Two of them had gone to arrest the Raven but didn’t return. One of the angels named Peter sat in a chair across the Time Keeper, calm as could be.

The Time Keeper knew the Angelic Order could be warriors but for the most part were only surveyors and pencil pushers. This was the case for Peter.

“And you are absolutely sure your brother…” He paused and looked down to his report to remember the name. “…uh Gerald, isn’t responsible for tempering with the Black Raven’s clock?” Peter asked.

“I’ve explained it all to you already,” replied the Time Keeper, frustrated.

“And where is the Reaper now… You know, our Reaper?” asked Peter.

“He had gone to find the Black Raven’s domain and stop him” said the Time Keeper.

Peter smirked. “Not so good for his evaluation, if I do say so myself. He should have let the Angelic Order handle it,” he said.

“There is no time to jump through your hoops, Peter!” yelled the Time Keeper.

“No time?” Peter interrupted, looking around at all the clocks sarcastically. “Time is all we have, my good man.”

The Time Keeper grew angry.

“By the time you all finish your reports, the Black Raven would have half the world’s souls at his mercy!” said the Time Keeper.

“I wouldn’t doubt my guys had taken care of the Raven already,” said Peter.

“The ones who you lost contact with?” replied the Time Keeper.

Before he could continue ranting at the Angel, he paused at a sound that fell into his ears. A clock that had stopped was now ticking again.

Peter watched the old man immediately walk out of the office and began to follow up, vigorously writing this behavior in his report.

The ticking was unusual, thought the Time Keeper. Who came back to life? And how?

He found it. The Grim Reaper’s clock had started ticking again! The Time Keeper gave out a large sigh of relief. He was alive!

The man’s excitement grew suddenly into curiosity. It’s ticking very strangely, he thought.

“Such an unusual rhythm of a heart,” said Peter, who was now just as curious. After a moment, Peter suddenly smiled at the heart’s rhythm.

“Morse code in a heart rhythm, how impressive,” said Peter, who was paying more attention to the beats.

“Morse code?” asked the Time Keeper, who was stumped.

“A human invention,” said Peter, “used to send secret messages—dots and dashes—this Grim Reaper is manipulating his heart beat to make a code for us to find him.”

Peter had already begun writing down the message, and after a moment he read it to the Time Keeper, “TRAPPED-COME FIND HAND.”

The angel then looked at the Time Keeper with a confused expression then finally blurted out. “He wants us to find his hand? What in Heaven does that mean?” he said.

The Time Keeper pondered intensely. “It means we are making a trip,” he finally said.

“I think you need to wait for clearance” said Peter, but as he finished the Time Keeper had already opened up a portal.

The Angel watched him go through and stood awkwardly alone in the office.

The Time Keeper’s head peered back through, “You won’t be good at reporting anything if you don’t follow”.

Peter cleared his throat briefly, annoyed, and followed the Time Keeper through the portal.

Chapter 14

Out of the Frying Pan

Timothy Geyser continued to stare in in shock and confusion. The Grim Reaper’s hand was now a bleeding stump. The childlike creature, Gaul, had taken the demonic knife out of the Reaper’s back and cut off the Grim Reaper’s hand with it, all under the Reaper’s instruction. What he was trying to accomplish was beyond what Timothy could understand. The creature was almost skipping happily with the Reaper’s hand.

It felt like a full day had gone by when they heard voices arguing down the hall.

The Grim Reaper hid his back to the wall, so the guards didn’t realize the demonic blade was out from it.

The arguments came nearer. For a moment the Grim Reaper feared that Gaul was caught before he got his hand out, but as the voices closed in the Reaper realized its familiarity.

“Let’s try this way,” said one.

“I said to be quiet, Gerald,” said another back.

Timothy and the Grim Reaper both knew who these voices belonged to.

Right around the corner came the Time Keeper and his brother Gerald, the blacksmith, and another man. By the way the stranger was writing stuff down and how he was dressed, the Grim Reaper realized It was an angel from the Angelic Order brought along to report back to his HQ.

Both Mr. Geyser and the Grim Reaper clung to the bars, seeing the familiar faces coming toward them.

“It’s good to see you here,” said the Reaper, who couldn’t help but feel a huge relief.

Gerald gasped at the Grim Reaper, seeing the state he was in. The rest of the group felt a pause, soon realizing this bone and black-skinned figure was the Grim Reaper.

“You got something made for this, Monty?” the Reaper asked, shaking the bars he was trapped in. He had hoped they’d realize the Reaper was trapped in some sort of cell.

The blacksmith nodded his head and took out a set of many keys he had made according to the Reaper’s instructions.

“These skeleton keys should do the trick for any lock, Mr. Reaper. I’ve made plenty of different types just in case, but the first shall do fine.” He grinned, proud of his work.

The blacksmith fixed the first key into the cell but was having trouble turning.

Monty smiled in embarrassment then tried the second. Again, the key wasn’t unlocking it. His smile faded.

Sweat began to drip onto the blacksmith’s forehead as he got down to the last three keys. He looked nervously as he fit another one in.

A sound of the lock clicking lit up their ears, and the blacksmith turned it slowly. The cell opened. Nervous laughter came over Monty. “See, don’t ever question a master blacksmith, gentleman,” he said, opening the cell as the Time Keeper and his brother rushed in to give a hand to the Grim Reaper.

Monty turned around and began to open Geyser’s cell.

“No!” yelled the Reaper, almost too loudly, which made everyone nervous.

“No?” said the Time Keeper, wondering what the hesitation was about.

“This man is the sorcerer responsible for releasing the Black Raven,” the Reaper replied.

Timothy watched the group quietly but said nothing.

Peter, the angel who stood in the back, raised an eyebrow in surprise, writing it in his report.

The group soon began to leave until Timothy called out to them, his face eagerly pressed against the bars.

“Please, I can help you,” he called out. “I was the one who cast the spell and had the feather. I can help you fix this.”

“I don’t need your help,” replied the Reaper until suddenly he felt too weak to stand, weighing down even more against the Time Keeper and his brother.

Mr. Geyser looked with all seriousness. “I know I’ve made a mistake, and you can punish me for it afterward, but you’ll need the feather AND the spell book to destroy him. I know its magic, Reaper.”

“He might be useful, gentleman,” said Peter, breaking through the silence, “unless you know of another sorcerer familiar with its Black Magic.”

The Grim Reaper looked to him and looked at the Time Keepers. They knew all too well that they couldn’t mingle with Black Magic let alone touch any spell book that held such things.

“It’s a chance worth taking, especially now, Mr. Reaper,” spoke the Time Keeper.

With every thought and feeling fighting against him, the Reaper finally nodded. “Put the cuffs you made for the Raven onto Mr. Geyser, Monty. We don’t want this sorcerer to conjure anything when we are out.”

The blacksmith went over, unlocked Mr. Geyser’s cell, and slapped the steel cuffs onto the man, suppressing any magic the sorcerer could surprise them with.

“How will we find the book?” whispered Timothy as they went down the halls.

“We have to get the Grim Reaper out of here! We’ll sneak back in and get it after,” whispered Gerald.

Mr. Geyser stopped, grabbing the Time Keeper by the shoulder. “We won’t have another chance. Do you think we can just walk back here to find it after they know we have escaped?”

A noise suddenly began down the hall.

“Never go near this door!” a voice shouted to another.

Peter slowly peaked around the corner to see what was going on.

It was a short creature, an elf covered in black skin and red freckles yelling at another who looked to be a half-raven and half-human beast. The black elf used a prong to electrify the other before walking off behind him.

“Well, whatever is behind that door is important,” whispered Peter, looking around for any other guards.

“One way to find out,” said Monty, lightly jiggling his skeleton keys.

Monty found a key that could fit easily into the locked door. The group stared into the room as it slowly began to open. Amongst the demonic weapons hanging on the walls, there was a podium with a book and feather on top.

“That’s it! Let’s take it!” gasped Mr. Geyser, rushing eagerly into the room before Monty immediately held him back.

“No!” snapped the Reaper, who noticed a black fog circling the ceiling, “There is something else here. We’ll have to find a way to take it without setting off the trap.”

All of them then looked at the looming dust above.

“I’ve got a plan,” said the Time Keeper.

They group stood in the doorway discussing how to get in as a group of creatures turned around the corner to see them.

“A demon djinn,” spoke a voice walking up to the group, “only a sacrifice can allow you through.”

They turned around and realized that the black elf was standing behind them, a weapon in his hands. Several dark creatures came running up behind the black elf, all poised for battle.

No one said anything as the monsters began to run at them with knives and teeth ready.

As the black elf held up his blade, ready to slash though the Reaper, he found himself all of a sudden running through them.

The group of creatures found themselves puzzled and looked back at the group they seemingly ran right through.

The black elf watched as the Reaper and the group suddenly fade like a broken projection. Only then did he realized they had been tricked. It took the creatures a moment to realize they were standing in the middle of the room.

They had set off the trap.

“This isn’t good,” he said, petrified.

The djinn in the room formed into a shadow and grabbed a hold of the group of dark creatures, which began to scream. The black elf began to curse as his body grew burnt and flakey, turning into ash.

The group stood in the corner of the hall as they watched the creatures run through their time projections, into the room, setting off the Dark Magic within.

The shadow within the room, the demonic djinn entity, stood silent in a human-like silhouette, looking at the group standing just outside the door. “Sacrifice accepted,” it spoke before it vanished into thin air.

“Is it safe?” asked Gerald, but before any could answer Timothy ran on into the room and grabbed the book while Monty grabbed the feather.

“Now we really do need to get out of here,” said Gerald, knowing that the screaming would no doubt have attracted unwanted attention.

They followed the Time Keeper in a desperate run through the stone halls. They could hear the screaming and shouting of creatures behind them. They turned and found themselves facing a stone wall.

“We’re done for!” said Mr. Geyser angrily.

In the bottom corner of the wall was a small stone that had a black fingerprint on it. The Time Keeper knew it was the key.

After receiving the morse code, they had traveled to this factory and found the Reaper’s severed hand in a small corner of the building. Its black finger was pointed to the wall. It had taken them a while to realize that the stiff finger wasn’t necessarily pointing at the wall itself but pointing to the small black fingerprint on a stone. It was impossible to find unless you were looking for it.

The Time Keeper pressed his finger on top of the fingerprint, and a small hole then opened up.

“Jump in,” said the Time Keeper.

“There’s no way we can fit through that!” said Mr. Geyser, worried that they’d gone insane.

“None of that,” replied Gerald, who suddenly disappeared as he jumped into the hole.

As the noises began to grow louder from the approaching creatures, Mr. Geyser jumped toward the small hole. He felt his body compress into a tiny figure before emerging through the other side fully formed. Timothy looked around and realized they were now in the small village just outside the factory.

He couldn’t believe it, but they had escaped from the Black Raven’s Domain!

The Grim Reaper then collapsed.

Chapter 15

Out of Time

“Time will heal all wounds…mortal wounds.”

Timothy, along with the Time Keepers, stood near the table that the Grim Reaper was lying on. His cut off hand had been stitched back together. Helga Bachelor, a stout fifty-five-year-old witch, stood over the Grim Reaper, carefully pouring a liquid into his mouth. Peter watched in the background taking notes.

“This should ward off the effects, at least temporarily,” said Helga after giving the potion to the Grim Reaper. Helga couldn’t help but cringe at the state of the Reaper, a skeletal black creature. The fact that he had a mouth now to pour anything into was frightening to her.

“What are the effects now that he’s not the Grim Reaper?” asked Timothy Geyser, still chained in cuffs. There was no worry in his voice.

“He’ll be drained of all life, and…well, shrivel up,” replied Helga.

“Eww,” spoke Gerald before his brother smacked him on the back of the head.

“The potion I gave him should at least give him a little strength,” she began, walking into the back, “and here are some clothes for you, Mr. Reaper.” She gave him a black commoner’s robe. Helga couldn’t imagine the Reaper in anything else but a black robe.

The Reaper was feeling a little better, enough to walk on his own.

“How long will the potion last?” asked the Reaper.

“I’m afraid not long,” replied Helga, a little sullen about it.

Monty came beside Helga to comfort her. “How about you? Are you OK?” he asked her, forgetting the chaos he had gone through in the Raven’s Domain.

Helga blushed. “Yes, I’m ok, thank you.” She smiled.

“Does your husband need any help with anything? Wherever he is?” asked the blacksmith, who now had a hand over the woman’s shoulder, looking around for the potential spouse.

Helga continued to blush, now almost giggling at the remark. “I don’t have a husband actually,” she said, eying the bulky man with a more of an appeal.

“You don’t say…” he leaned in, but stopped as he realized everyone’s eyes were on him, seeing their uncomfortable glances.

“Onto the Black Raven,” said the Time Keeper, interrupting the blacksmith’s sad attempt at flirtation.

The Grim Reaper nodded. “This is a risk to all of us now. We’ll need to find a way to get rid of the Black Raven through the spell book,” he said, eyeing Timothy.

The Reaper no longer knew the innocent young man that had died. This person standing in front of them was the sorcerer who unleashed all this chaos. Everything in the Reaper told him not to trust him, but they needed him now. Without Timothy Geyser, they didn’t have much chance stopping the Black Raven.

“I’ll destroy the feather, if you take these cuffs off” the young man said, lifting his cuffs into the air playfully.

Timothy Geyser looked at the smiles and laugher around him, “Something funny?” he asked, not amused.

“This is not a case of voodoo, Mr. Geyser. This is a Grim Reaper” said the Time Keeper, smiling at the young man’s naivety.

“I can destroy it! It was the only way I could keep the Black Raven on a leash” replied Mr. Geyser angrily.

The Grim Reaper began to move around, “I’m assuming all the feather did for you is travel between where you were and where the Black Raven was. He wanted you to feel in control,” he said, eying the man.

“Then why would he steal it back?”

“Cause its part of him” said Peter, “There is a way to destroy him with such a small part, or weaken him enough. As for control. . . I’ll have to agree with the Time Keeper and the Grim Reaper. You were nothing but a power blinded pawn”.

“A fool” corrected Gerald, who smiled as his brother patted him on the back with the quick-wit.

A frustration boiled inside Timothy, but he gritted his teeth and brought the book onto the table, his cuffs jingling with every movement. Everyone beside him made sure not to get too close, fearful of the Dark Magic that might leak out.

As Mr. Geyser scrolled through the book, trying to find anything about destroying the Raven, the Time Keeper looked puzzled at him.

“How is it that you have this book?” the old man asked, piquing the interest of the party around them.

“My grandfather,” said Mr. Geyser, still paying close attention to the writing within the book.

“You seem to have quite the reputation in this Dark Magic. What happened to your grandfather?” asked the Time Keeper.

“He died,” replied Timothy, suppressing the memories and trying to ignore the Grim Reaper’s glare of judgment.

Moments of silence passed, and Timothy Geyser had nearly gone through the whole book. A anxious fear was now going through all of them.

“Well, do you see anything about destroying that infernal creature?!” said Gerald, peering over his brother’s shoulder.

Mr. Geyser didn’t see anything yet. He glanced through the pages, passing the resurrection spell he used for Maria. A sharp pain stabbed his heart remembering her. He then glanced through the summoning spell he used to bring the Black Raven back to life, at the cost of his own.

“Aren’t there beings more powerful in the overworld that can destroy him?” Timothy finally asked somewhat desperately as he flipped through the pages, still not seeing anything that helped.

Peter finally spoke up, “Yes, but they’re not meant to interfere.”

“His plan is to enslave every single soul, and no one more powerful is going to stop it?!” asked Mr. Geyser, stunned.

“Unlike humans, there is a natural order that must be obeyed, an order that you yourself managed to wreak havoc in. The world could be destroyed a thousand times over, and the Ancients wouldn’t interfere with its course if it was meant to be,” replied Peter.

“What about the angels? Aren’t they supposed to fight evil?” he asked.

Peter grunted, a little annoyed now. “We have our duties, Mr. Geyser. Things will take their course, and we angels will be called upon to do whatever is required. Right now, it’s to survey and report. I’ve already broken even that by aiding you all in the Black Raven’s realm,” he said.

Suddenly Timothy’s finger shot up.

“What is it?” asked the Time Keeper.

“What do you know about Black Fire?” asked Timothy.

Helga, the Reaper, and the Time Keepers all looked at each other in a grave manner.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” said Peter. The angel was just as shocked that such a thing was even referenced in a spell book.

“From what I’m reading, something called Black Fire might do the trick. We just have to throw the feather in it,” he said.

“You speak of it so simply as if it’s not a problem!” said Helga from the kitchen, half mocking.

“Where can we get it?” asked Timothy Geyser.

“There is only one place where Black Fire exists, Mr. Geyser,” began the Reaper.

“Where?”

The Time Keeper looked at him. “The Abyss.”

“You might know it by its more popular name, Mr. Geyser—Hell,” added Peter.

Everyone in the room remained quiet, desperately trying to think of some alternative.

“This seems the course you all have to take,” said Peter.

“It seems so,” replied the Grim Reaper.

“Then this is the moment I must leave you all,” said Peter, who was now folding up his notebook. “I must return to the Angelic Order and report these events. My best wishes in your endeavors.”

“And will we receive help?” asked Mr. Geyser.

“I’m not sure. I just turn in the reports,” replied Peter who stood a few feet away from them.

A bright golden aura surrounded him, transforming him into a ball of bright light that rose up and flew through the ceiling, evaporating into golden sparks around them all.

“So much for his help,” said Gerald, waving off the gold sparks that were falling on top of him.

Then Hell is where we must go, the Grim Reaper thought, before it’s too late.

“We’ll need a guide,” the Reaper declared.

Chapter 16

Gates of Darkness

“Suffering, Pain, and Temptation—mere toys for the Devil!”

The Time Keepers fell back into their desperate work. Clocks were stopping and breaking all over the place. Helga was producing potions to help heal any of the Black Raven’s corruption. The Gate Keeper was now helping with her efforts since no one was crossing the Gates of Death. The blacksmith decided to prepare for the worst by constructing weapons and more magic-preventing handcuffs. All prepared for a war. The world seemed nearer to its end, they all felt.

The Grim Reaper threw Timothy Geyser into a prison cell until this was all over, but the man swore he had details that were important. When asked he denied answering. With much regret and anger, the Reaper let the shackled sorcerer accompany him to Hell.

Both the Grim Reaper and Timothy arrived at a windy hill that overlooked an ocean. Statues of stone giants stood in the valley around them both, written demonic language and symbols were carved on every inch of their stone bodies. They stood as if guarding a door engraved on the side of the hill.

The Grim Reaper opened the door, and they both walked inside. A large underground cave opened around them. A green, mossy river flowed at the edges and dropped over the ledge ahead of them. In front of them was a stone bridge that extended over bottomless darkness. At the edge of the bridge was another door. Mr. Geyser starred at the door, which had even more of those demonic symbols.

At the door, the Grim Reaper knocked three times before a sound stirred on the opposite side. In a few moments, the door began to creek open.

Mr. Geyser stood beside the Grim Reaper. With the shackles that restricted the magic around his wrists, and the Grim Reaper being in such a poor state, he hoped whatever was behind this door was more of a friend than foe. He grew more nervous as he heard footsteps coming closer.

The door rumbled open, and Mr. Geyser stared widely.

A grim, long, gray face the shape of a tombstone peered out from inside. Large black eyes titled slowly from Mr. Geyser towards the Grim Reaper.

“Sticks, it’s me, the Grim Reaper.”

Sticks looked at the Reaper, somewhat unfamiliar to him, then glared at the young man beside him. His face was dreadfully gloomy, but slowly it changed as a familiar shock came to his face when he finally recognized the Grim Reaper.

“My God, Cuz, what happened to you!” the tall thin being said urgently, opening the door. “Come in, dude! Woah, it’s been a while. Slow at work, huh? Wow, you got thin!”

The grim character suddenly sprang to life as Mr. Geyser watched him greet his “cousin” in such a silly, casual manner. The tall being’s voice was unexpectedly goofy. One with his face, thought Timothy Geyser, would have a very deep and monstrous tone.

“Hey, I’m brewing a couple of slime smoothies if you and your friend are interested,” he said.

“This is not the time, and this young man is a prisoner, not a friend,” replied the Grim Reaper as he walked Mr. Geyser in before himself.

Mr. Geyser smiled arrogantly at the comment. He had thought for a moment that the big door was the door to the Abyss, but as he looked around he noticed it was made out to be a living room. Cave walls surrounded them, but a large couch sat in the middle of this “room” with a long black coffee table that looked like it was made out of obsidian. This was Sticks’s house. Among the walls were portraits of himself in all kinds of different garments. A fireplace stood in front of the coffee table that had an ivory frame surrounding it—carvings of beasts.

The Grim Reaper explained the situation and what they needed from him. After hearing what Timothy had done, Sticks no longer looked at the man with any good-hearted expression.

“You know the underworld is not what it used to be, Grim, not when I was there,” said Sticks, his head shaking with the uncertainty of their request.

“It’s the only way to stop the Black Raven,” replied the Reaper.

“Gosh, Cuz, it’s really not a nice place to be going. The stuff that he does down there…”

“He won’t notice we’re there,” said the Reaper.

“Ha! He won’t notice?” replied Sticks. The Reaper’s brother began to regret allowing these two inside as he realized what he has gotten himself into.

“Who won’t notice?” asked Mr. Geyser, interrupting the conversation.

The Grim Reaper and Sticks both looked at Timothy. “Who do you think, the Devil.”

“What happens if he does find us?” asked Mr. Geyser. It had never occurred to him the Devil even existed, but now it seemed silly he didn’t realize it.

“He’ll make this Black Raven look like a lollipop,” replied Sticks.

“Didn’t Peter say these beings won’t interfere with us,” said Mr. Geyser almost sarcastically, looking at the Grim Reaper.

“The Devil doesn’t care what happens outside of his walls, but inside is a different story,” said Sticks. “He has a bit of an ego problem.”

Sticks gave out a long sigh at the situation, realizing things were bad. “Anyway, it doesn’t sound like we have much of a choice. If my memory is correct, we might get to some through the back door.”

Suddenly the cave they were all in began to shake violently.

They all ran outside and saw what was happening. The sky began tearing open. Shouts and screams began to flow from it. Faint whisps of dark souls and black ravens began to slowly fill the sky. The overworld itself was tearing apart, and the black souls flew out of these cracks.

“My God, it’s started,” whispered Mr. Geyser as he watched the chaos of ravens and tormented souls ravaging the skies.

“I think it’s time to go, before that tear gets any wider and we’re all done for,” said Sticks in a panic, now realizing how severe things were now.

To Timothy’s surprise, they went back into Sticks’s home. Sticks had led them down stairs into a small, long stretch of a hallway. How long they had walked, Mr. Geyser was unsure, but at the end of it was a door stretching up to the ceiling made of some strange white ivory. Along its edges were carvings of monsters and creatures that Mr. Geyser has never seen before. Some of those creatures even the Grim Reaper had never seen before. It was an ancient door before the Grim Reaper’s time.

“I was the Gate Keeper for Hell at one time, so the door should still open for me,” said Sticks, walking up to the door.

“What happened?” asked Timothy, curious about these never seen before things. “Did you retire?” He smirked.

“It was decided in the new world with new beliefs that new things will take place,” replied the Reaper. “Now stay quiet.”

Mr. Geyser felt it to be a very unhelpful answer, but he was getting the impression that the world had been remade more than he realized. It reminded him about what the that angel Peter had said, “The world could be destroyed and the Ancients wouldn’t interfere with its course.” He now hoped this wasn’t going to happen. All for his precious Maria.

Sticks took a moment starring at the massive door then did some strange mumbling in a language Mr. Geyser didn’t understand, nor did the Grim Reaper.

The demonic door into the Abyss opened, and a blaze of heat hit them all unlike any heat Mr. Geyser has ever felt. The smoldering flames produced an unbearable heat that not only tortured the body but the mind as well. A wave of panic flooded them all, and the scent of decay filled their nostrils. Timothy wanted to turn back. They all did. But the mission was far too important. It was a large hall, larger than any on Earth. Tall enough to fill the world’s tallest skyscrapers and wide enough to fit the same. The walls were the same material as the door, a strange bone, but all these were black. In the distance was a faint screaming of souls in agony.

“The Devil hired his own decorator for this place since I’ve last been inside, but if my memory serves me right a black flame should be somewhere in the upcoming rooms,” said Sticks, nervously looking in all directions and hoping to spot something to jog his memory.

All of them remained vigilant while moving through the halls which seemed endless. A heavy heat weighed them down as the smell of sulfur followed with a rotten odor filled their nostrils, making it harder to breath the farther in they ran.

The Grim Reaper could feel the potion slowly wearing off, his body becoming weaker at every step he took, but he kept such details to himself.

Suddenly the ceiling began to break above them.

“My God, that Raven is starting to rip this place open!” yelled Sticks.

“Get to the flame!” yelled the Reaper.

Sticks had desperately ran through the rooms as souls began to fly in agony through the tear. His memory had served him wrong. He looked eagerly in the rooms he passed, but there was no sign of the black flame. Suddenly, up ahead he could see a room to the right with a faint light illuminating inside. There it is, he thought.

As they turned into the room, all three suddenly stopped.

“Well, look at that,” said the figure.

“The Black Raven,” spoke Mr. Geyser.

“I’ve got to hand it to you,” said the Black Raven. “Realizing this is the only place where the Black Flame is kept, after you stole my book and feather, it seemed like the only place you’d go.”

Gaul stood near him but wasn’t in his usual excited mood. Something had him nervous. Claw marks covered the childlike creature’s body. No doubt punishment for them escaping, thought the Reaper.

“Give me the feather, or I’ll throw you all in the black flame,” said the Raven.

The Grim Reaper suddenly dropped to one knee in pain. Sticks immediately leaned over to check if he was alright. The Black Raven smiled under his hood.

“Frankly, I’m surprised you got this far alive, Grim Reaper,” said the Raven. He gripped the scythe harder, “And you, Mr. Geyser, I swear I saw your little lady somewhere crying around here”.

Timothy stepped forward but the Reaper motioned him back.

“This seems like the perfect ending for everyone. The souls in the Abyss are enough for me rule everything, but first…”

The Black Raven lifted the scythe into the air and swiped in the direction of the ceiling- creating a ripple that allowed souls to escape and enter the world.

“Mr. Geyser, I’m trusting you to destroy this monster you have unleashed,” he said to the man as he kept one eye on the Black Raven. Mr. Geyser stared at the Grim Reaper then finally nodded.

“Get the feather to the fire!” yelled the Reaper. “I’ll try to handle him!”

“Cuz, you’re in no—” began Sticks.

“Go!” yelled the Reaper.

Sticks and Mr. Geyser began to spread toward the side of the room.

The Black Raven swung the scythe in his hands as the Grim Reaper approached.

“How do you think you’re going to win this, Grim Reaper?” shouted the Black Raven.

Souls from every doorway began to glide into the room, and Mr. Geyser did his best to dodge their attacks. Gaul looked at Timothy Geyser and Stix as they moved closer, and prepared to attack.

The Black Raven stuck the scythe into the ground, and a black puddle of slime pooled around the Grim Reaper. The puddle built up into walls then pillars, and then the slime oozed into shapes of the Black Raven himself.

The figures began to attack the Grim Reaper, who desperately dodged the monsters waving their scythes at him.

In an instant, a puff of ravens exploded around the room, briefly cloaking the room in darkness.

“What’s he doing now?” yelled Sticks, who was fending off the souls that bombarded him.

As the smoke cleared, Mr. Geyser could see the Reaper fighting off figures of the Black Raven.

A soul then flew at Mr. Geyser. Just before it hit him, it stood still.

“Timothy,” the voice said.

In a brief pause of panic, Timothy Geyser realized who this soul was. “Maria, is that you?” He called. He could see her face stained with tears. Everything around him phased out as he focused on the love of his life. She looked back at him, but she didn’t seem to recognize who he was.

“Its me- Timothy, my love. I’m getting you out of this place” he told her.

Maria’s body spasmed in pain as her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“Timothy” she said, looking back at him suddenly. ]

He nodded and smiled.

“Timothy…Timothy” she whispered.

He felt she had finally remembered, but he soon realized her expression changed to anger.

Suddenly she screamed his name frantically and she took off into the air. A raven passed him his face, and Timothy Geyser realized he wasn’t paying attention.

He looked at his hands, realizing something was missing.

“Where is—”

“Watch out!” yelled Sticks, pointing to the flame.

The raven who flew past Timothy landed on its master’s arm. The Black Raven held the feather in his hands.

“Too late, I have the feather. The tear is opening wider! Your all out of time!” yelled the Black Raven amid the panic and chaos of the room. He lifted the scythe in the air, charging a black aura around it, “I’m a God!” he shouted.

Suddenly the room went quiet.

The tormented souls from the Abyss flew out of the room as if afraid of something. The Reaper noticed none dared to escape the tear the Raven had made.

Gaul slowly walked toward his master, seemingly hiding behind his black feathers.

“You’re a God?” spoke a voice, deep and demonic, which echoed around them.

The Grim Reaper and Sticks both looked at each other. If the Reaper could feel fear, this would be the time.

“Who is that?” said the Raven, who searched frantically around the room.

“You tear up my domain…” Its voice grew more dominant. “…try to enslave my souls, and you don’t even know whose house you’re robbing?”

The souls that flew out were now screaming and flying back into the room without warning.

The Black Raven immediately started to slash them away, summoning crows against them. Soon he found out that his crows were no match for their suffering. The souls began to strike against the Black Raven.

“Stop!” yelled the Raven, frantically clawing at them.

Gaul, began to strike against the souls around him with his knife but found himself useless against them and began to run out of the room. Waves of disease and pain flooded his body with each soul that managed to fly through him- tearing at his already broken soul.

“I am the Black Raven,” he yelled, “the purest of the Grim Reaper blood line! These souls are mine!”

The voice echoing within the Abyss began to laugh hysterically. It brought chills to Mr. Geyser.

The Grim Reaper then began to notice the flames behind the Raven grow immensely, frantically burning in all directions. Within a moment, the flame leaped onto the Black Raven, pulling him into the pool of fire.

The Black Raven yelled in agony as crows on his body began to burn away and turn to ash. His voice grew animalistic and raven-like. Soon enough, the screaming stopped.

The monsters the Grim Reaper was fighting before dropped back into puddles, and the room was quiet.

The Grim Reaper sighed, falling to a knee and gasping at his exhaustion. He needed his scythe.

The sound of chains fell onto the ground behind the Reaper, and before he realized it—a crescent blade suddenly slammed into his body from behind.

The Grim Reaper turned his body over, then another strike of the scythe pierced his chest even deeper.

“Timothy Geyser,” whimpered the Grim Reaper, starring at the young man holding the scythe that stuck into the Reaper’s chest, his hands now free. The young man’s eyes were violent.

“I needed the Raven to get Maria out of this place!” the young man yelled in a rage. “You’ve ruined it, Reaper!”

Timothy Geyser twisted the scythe into the Reaper’s chest and begun to tug violently. “But with this scythe, I’ll do it myself!” he said, clenching his teeth and tugging harder.

“Time to hook what’s left of you out, Reaper!” the man yelled in a rage.

The Grim Reaper could feel his soul leaching out of his body, and with a final tug part of his soul came out.

“So, THIS is the soul of the Grim Reaper, quite pathetic,” gloated Mr. Geyser.

The black blob in the air didn’t move, just floating aimlessly. Timothy Geyser pulled harder but was having trouble getting the soul completely out- the tail of it was still stuck inside the Reaper. Timothy Geyser pressed his hand onto the soul and began to enchant Black Magic on it.

Suddenly the soul spat black slime in all directions, which caused the young man to withdraw his hand in agony, dropping the scythe. Immediately the soul withdrew back into the Reaper’s body.

“What’s going on?!” yelled Timothy.

“Should have got it sharpened.” He smiled, wincing in pain. “Otherwise it’s a little hard to get the souls completely out.”

Timothy’s burnt hands reached for the scythe when suddenly a heavy object smashed against the young man’s head.

Sticks stood behind the young man’s unconscious body with a large and broken obsidian stone in his hands. “Everyone seems to hate you, Cuz,” said Sticks.

The Grim Reaper picked up his scythe and slowly felt his strength coming back. He lifted the scythe into the air and closed the tear above.

"Let’s get out of here,” said Sticks, hoping the Devil didn’t come back.

Chapter 17

Death Comes to All

“Death is the sweetness. You all try to stall it or stop it. You all have been afraid of it. In truth, it’s living you should be afraid of.” - Grim Reaper

The Grim Reaper left Monty’s shop and looked at his “To Do/To Die” list. It was a grim day, a day that the Grim Reaper liked best with no emotions to cloud his existence. If emotions existed within the Reaper, he would say he hadn’t felt this happy since the Raven was destroyed.

It was a day that also reminded him about Mr. Timothy Geyser. After the Black Raven was destroyed, Timothy couldn’t leave the Abyss, not after everything he had done. The Devil wouldn’t allow it, and the Gate Keeper didn’t dare say otherwise. It was, after all, where Mr. Geyser was destined to be.

Things in the overworld, the underworld, and all the other worlds went back to normal. The Time Keepers realized that most of the mortal clocks that stopped all over the world were for the crows and ravens that the Black Raven converted. With the help of Olga, they changed back into humans and had no memory of the events. As for those who had puffed into smoke during the battles, their clocks had sadly met their ticking end. The Time Keepers fixed the dials and gears on broken clocks. In some ways, even miracles had happened considering that these events changed the destinies of some who were supposed to die on the same list Timothy Geyser’s name was on. He was now overwhelmed with the new dead that died before their time—lives the Black Raven took before their rightful time. It kept the Grim Reaper busy. All were overloaded with work after the incident with the Black Raven.

Something had stuck with the Grim Reaper. The Black Raven had spoken to him about humans overcoming death, and when the Reaper looked into their world, he saw it. Death was not like it used to be. Fewer people were dying. Maybe he would one day cease to exist. If his purpose were gone, perhaps that was the destiny for the Grim Reaper. His black soul said that there was a need for death. Without it, the world of humans would go mad. Without it, the Grim Reaper would be without a purpose.

A memory sparked within him, something the ancients told him when he was created.

Death is a sweetness, my dear Reaper, and life is the true poetic sorrow. Humans will always try to stall it or stop it. People one day will not fear death, and in truth some people might even control it. Fear not, my Grim Reaper, for Death is the necessity of Life. There is no life without death, and if there was no death, then there is no life. Death will come to all. You may guide fewer, but you’ll never be alone. Death will never stop. Death will always be your constant companion.

The Grim Reaper stood near the dead body floating on the water. He took out his scythe and slashed through it, hooking the soul and dragging it out. The soul of Julia Kurt stood next to her dead body. She was mixed with an expression of curiosity and panic, as if she was oblivious that she had just died.

“Now this is a mystery,” spoke the Reaper.

The soul looked at him curiously. “What is?” she replied.

The Grim Reaper looked at her, and she could have sworn that death was smiling at her.

“Your death, Ms. Kurt. Don’t you want to know how you died?” asked the Grim Reaper.

The woman couldn’t help but nod. A part of her would never feel rested until she found out.

Before any of them could move, the scythe suddenly jumped out of the Grim Reaper’s fingers by its own will.

The Grim Reaper watched it floating in the air and slowly begin to crack and break. Blue sparks shot out of each broken piece. The woman and the Grim Reaper shielded their eyes as the blue light shined brighter. A wave of powerful magic then blew in every direction causing them to fall backwards.

As he laid on the ground, the Grim Reaper opened his eyes. The scythe vanished. Below it was a body curled on the ground that radiated the blue aura.

The soul of Julia Kert walked closer to him and saw the curled body on the ground, “who is she?” she asked.

The Grim Reaper didn’t look up at her, but remained focused on the curled person.

“The soul of my scythe.”

THE END