As Death, the once called Lucifer, so many years ago, strolled down the street. Azrael, whom Death still failed to remember his name and instead called him “Samael,” walked just behind him, Death smiled to himself, and licked his lips. It tasted of, sweet, hot blood. Fresh from his last victim he had claimed the life of.
At first Death had repulsed himself as he slaughter the lives of children as their parents watched. But now it was only a game to him, a simple thing to keep him satisfied. As he watched the little girl, by the name of Gretel, scream and struggle for dear life, it only filled him with power. As the mother of the child watched her only daughter’s neck being sliced off by his scythe, she screamed and tried to attack him. This only brought him ever more pleasure. He would have let her live for Gods rule was, “You do not kill those who are not ready to die.” However he had attacked her and in an act of self defense he had to defend himself. He chuckled at the memory.
Oh how she screamed wile he’d tugged at her hair and pinned her to the ground. Then came his favorite moment of all, when his victim finally realized they were staring into the face of Death (literally) and realized they were going to die. This truly made his day. He had kissed the mother upon the mouth, and her soul parted ways from her body and into his. Eating souls was like tasting the Heavens. If he believed in that, it was so sensational. Now thanks to the mother he had had his dinner.
For years (much too many to count) Death had been working as Gods right hand man, Killing those who needed to dye and eating and destroying the lives of those who had gotten away. This is and always will be Death punishment.
As he walked down Boston’s streets he looked around and smirked at the people all around him. So, oblivious to the world, not knowing each and every one of them are on the brink of death. Not knowing their doom walks among them.
“Humans,” Thought Death, “They are so idiotic.”
He continued to walk down the lonely street of Boston when it started to pour. He stuck out his long tongue and tasted the wet, falling liquid. It had been awhile since he had tasted the rain. It was not the same as it used to be 1,000 years ago. Back then it was pure, too pure for his tongue to even taste. Now it was polluted, and reeked with darkness. He suddenly stopped dead in his tracks and his mind got to thinking.
“Samael,” Death had beckoned to Azrael, in a Romanian accent. He stood beside him waiting his command. His wings ached to be stretched out. He had to recoil them to his body so they would not be seen. Being a dark Angel, with wings as Black as the Darkness that beckons his every call, would put quite a show for bystanders. He would of coarse have to kill them, he didn’t mind. But it was his master Lucifer- Death, who had told him not to. Even though Death it a ruthless unmerciful killer, he believes in balance in the world. Without it the scales would tip and the world would end. Azrael couldn’t let that happen, he was having too much fun raining chaos upon others.
“When’s the last time you had a drink of coffee?” Death question had shocked Azrael. Not once in all the years he survived as his assistant did he ever ask such a simple question like this.
He was taken aback so it took him awhile to reply. He spoke in an English accent, “Not since I have been in your service, my Lord.” He crossed his arm over his blackened heart and bowed.
Death chuckled, amused. “Well, were just going to have to change that now aren’t we?” Death turned the corner and headed into a small little coffee shop by the name of Lá Coffee. That’s sure original. As usual Azrael fallowed him.
As usual Azrael had to be the dog and fetch the desired want of him. As he got to the counter he realized a woman was working behind the counter. He grinned. With his blond hair, celtic blue eyes, he charmed the lady with a soothing voice that made woman instantly fall in love with him from three stores away. When he got back he had two coffees in hand, one black and one with creamer.
Death gave a small smile to him, and shook his head back and forth. “Still trying to hit on the ladies, Samael,”
He didn’t say it as a question but he answered anyway, “Yes sir, just practicing until I may meet the perfect lady.”
There was sin drowning his laugh. “Ha! Good luck, all the women now are nothing to what they once were. Beautiful, funny, caring, and feisty, Plus-” He removed the hood from his head, reviling his sharp white teeth. “You haven’t got a chance with her.”
He let a puff of annoyance escape from his nose. “Oh? And why not,”
Death took a sip of his coffee, and then set it down on the table. “Because she’s our next target,” He smiled like a psychopath, but still managed to look attractive. Three daggers appeared with the swipe of his hand, in between each of his figures. With one swift movement a danger from his hand disappeared, and the lights went out. The last noise there was made was the high shrill shriek of a young woman screaming.