ISBN: 9781483513782

Dedication

To My Dear Ecrion and Azarus

As Drawn By Dark R. Reaper

The Table of Contents

Special Words

Prologue

Part 1

Reaping the Light

Resurrection

Breaking the Barrier

Revived No Scythe

The Power of a Raveonite

To Hunger and to Feed

Who’s Hungry Now Reaper?

A Tour of the Undrworld

The Clothes Company

Recuperation

A Phoenix, a Party, a Book, and a Secret

The King of Shadows and the King of Death

Wrong Doings and Regrets

Part 2

Revenge

The Necroverse

Lyson Sparson and the Demon of Crator

The Eternian’s Letter

Crator

The Eternians

The Lord of Eternia and the Prince of the Territory

The Whirlpool

The Forgotten Story

The Other Half of the Hourglass

The All-Seeing Asura

Alchemi

Part 3

The Tournament

The March into the Undrworld

Shade’s Story

Registration

The Second Task

Preparation

The Tournament Begins

The Fire Fight

The Four Way Battle

The SCMC’s Battle

Now Where Were We?

Back at the Beginning

Aftermath

Part 4

Reconciliation

The Funeral of a Hero

Yet another Funeral

Prediction and Accusation

Knowledge

Amends

Requirements

Shade’s Help

I Have a Little Chat with Death...

The Reflection of Darkness

The Battle against Crator

Epilogue

Pronunciation Guide and Dictionary

Special Words

(Some Special Words before we begin)

Hello. How are you? My name is Dark R. Reaper and I will be your host upon this dark and mysterious read. I’ve followed our friend the Raveonite Nick Cross through the first 20 years of his life, just to bring you this wonderful novel, which you can now sit upon your couch and read to your heart’s content.

However, before we begin, I must warn you. There are strange things in the Undrworld, dark, strange, and mysterious things. Yes, before you start reading I recommend that you take a look at the first page of the Pronounciation Guide at the very back of the book.

Now that you’re hopefully done reading the first page of the Pronounciation Guide, let us start our adventure, it all begins on a dark day in Undrworldian History...

Prologue

(What better way to start, than with the ending?)

There was a bright scarlet sky where red dusty clouds wavered in the air. Swaying back and forth from an old stone tower. A bell rang, leaving its angelic cries resounding through the ears of all the people within the city. Then, out of the midst of the bright sky, fell a dark red comet. Although the comet was barely visible against the sky, it harkened an echo that lasted throughout the ages. When the comet hit the ground, the sky exploded with beauty, until the dust eclipsed the sky.

When the dust cleared, the houses in the center of the city were gone or left in shambles. Even the plants were left torn or burned by the heat of the explosion.

Lying in the middle of the crater, Death stared up into the scorched sky. Strenuously, he took the skull mask from his face, revealing his gray English eyes and his red Irish hair. Leaning up, he saw the light blue liquid running from his chest. Seeing the liquid, he groaned and rested his head back on the burned dirt.

A drop of rain fell upon the Reaper’s cloak, then a drizzle, then a sprinkle, until the sky burst into a flurry of rain. The water washed through the reaper’s hair, until those overflowing flames reduced to nothing more than sedated dark brown ashes upon his head.

Even with the ringing of the gold bell resounding in his ears, he knew he could hear two men’s feet, coming to oppose him, followed by the sound of his friend’s feet, rushing across the water behind him. The grim reaper’s friend stopped when she saw his body lying there in the mud, then, his friend launched herself at his opposers. The reaper could feel his friend’s body fall to the ground, lifeless.

Only one of the men that opposed him was responsible for their destruction. He was a man with no sense of remorse or grievance. With each new lifeless body, his smile and twisted aura grew larger.

Like tears, blue liquid poured from the reaper’s eyes. Slender fingers grasped the reaper’s right hand, filling him with impossible warmth. He tugged and gripped on her hand tighter as though telling her, warning her one last time, not to go. Feeling his resistance, she pulled away, dropping a tear on his face as she released him, and their tears mixed together beneath the dusty twilight.

Her decision made, she ran at the demon with all her strength. The fight was both quick and resolute. A crunch echoed from her chest, and she fell to the ground, without even a whisper from her mouth.

As the two enemies, partners in murder, devastation, and revenge, marched towards the reaper. A smoking dark purple aura surrounded the reaper’s dark blue body. Just looking at the shadows the two made in the dust were enough to make his soul burn.

The man on the left wore a cape of singed hair around his shoulders, his eyes so distilled with darkness and suffering that even death had a hard time looking beyond their clouded presence. He grinned as he walked toward the reaper and the sword took notice. Hearing the finale to its master’s revenge approaching, the sword danced in his master’s palm.

Truly the man on the left was sadistic, but he was nothing compared to the demon approaching on the reaper’s right. Like the clothes he wore, the demon smelled of ash and burning brimstone. The scarf he carried around his neck was long, black, and shredded to the point of no repair. He didn’t carry a weapon with him, yet, he was the one who destroyed each of the reaper’s friends.

Suddenly the two stopped. The demon on the right raised his hand. “Vareo Incantartum.”

The Grim Reaper could instantly feel the energy flowing out of himself. It felt as though the demon was burning away his soul, his very existence, and absorbing the flames. The pain grew worse with each purple wisp the demon inhaled. Eventually, the pain was worse than dying, and, maybe, perhaps, worse than living.

Sensing his inner flame growing ever weaker, the Grim Reaper closed his eyes. He lost. The end was near. It was over.

A flash of blue light sparked through the darkness of his closed eyes, but then it was gone, and the light continued on like that for a while until the image in his mind was clear. After that, the light flickered much slower and became much more resolute. In the electric cloud, a woman in a slender black cloak appeared.

As though the reaper existed in that world with her, she walked up to become more visible and large in the vagueness of his mind. When she reached a reasonable distance, she stopped, closed her eyes, and smiled that same smile that he’d come to know after all these years as feigned, and manipulative.

Part 1

Reaping the Light

(Awakening)

1

Resurrection

(Two deaths form one new life.)

May 01, 1991

*Riiiiiing,* the bell tolled and most of the students rose from their hard brown desks. The clattering of chairs awoke a ginger boy from his sleep.

Shaking his red head, Nick looked up at the clock above him. Yawning, he cracked his neck left and right.

“Three o’ clock already?” Nick said.

Nick picked up his black skull backpack from the white linoleum and swung it over his skinny shoulder on his way to the exit.

“Nick Cross.” Mrs. Crystal called with a voice that could halt a hawk in mid-dive. “I’d like to speak to you.”

The room burst into laughter. Nick scratched his Mohawk, sat down in one of the desks, and laid his head down on the cool wood. “Oh boy, another one of her talks.”

Lyson Sparson chuckled through his bright teeth passing by. “Have fun with your girlfriend, Cross.” He put his hands into his cacky pants, almost hiding his arms in absolution behind his long thick blonde hair.

Curling his pale white fist, Nick stood to his feet and approached the blonde devil. “Why don’t you just stow it Sparson?”

Lyson scoffed, widening his lips to a half smile. “I would, but your mother still hasn’t delivered the package.”

Nick’s gray eyes grew darker. He raised his fist up to Lyson’s chin. “You think that’s funny. Do you? Cause I can show you funny.”

Mrs. Crystal’s voice jumped up a few octaves as she screamed. “Silence.”

Seeing the fire above Nick’s eyes curving down into a V, Lyson started to smile. He met Nick’s gray eyes with his light blue. “Have fun.” He said and laughed himself out into the hallway.

With Lyson gone, Nick turned his attention to Mrs. Crystal’s demonizing glare. Despite her old age, which she hid with hair dye, make up, and movie star glasses that looked like they belonged in a 1940’s museum, her green eyes could rip him apart without a second glance. However, with a demoralizing sigh, she patted the lab desk in front of her. “Sit.”

Nick approached the desk grinding his teeth and growling like a mad dog. Nick looked into Mrs. Crystal’s eyes once more and sat down in the brown seat, folding his arms in his lap.

Rubbing her fake black hair and taking a breath, Mrs. Crystal relaxed her stare. “Sleeping in class again, Mr. Cross?”

Nick wondered how to answer Mrs. Crystal. There were a few choices, plead forgiveness, fake humility, pretend that he was someone else. He could always lie, but Mrs. Crystal could see right through that; it was almost as bad as telling the truth, pure incrimination. So, in the end, Nick decided on the quiet nod.

“Nick,” Mrs. Crystal softened her voice. “Your constant day-dreaming is getting in the way of your schoolwork. You’ve already dropped in your grades this semester, and I’d hate to see them drop any further.”

Swinging his head down to the floor, Nick hid his freckles within the depths of his red hair. Nick couldn’t contest with Mrs. Crystal, because he knew it was true, his grades were slipping and he knew it.

Mrs. Crystal looked at Nick with her downturned eyes and she took a deep breath. “What do you plan to do with your life, Nick? Do you want to end up on some ship, like your father, delivering packages from coast to coast?”

Nick’s slim white fingers curled as the word, ‘father,’ escaped from her mouth. He felt the need to choke her so that it never happened again. What do you know about my father? He questioned to himself. “No,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “I plan on working for the Sparson’s Shipping Company like everyone else in this blasted town.”

Mrs. Crystal’s graying eyebrows drooped. “Nick, you can’t really mean that.”

However, Nick did mean it, and the hot-blooded Irishman in himself wouldn’t allow Mrs. Crystal’s rudeness towards his father to go empty-handed. “It’s better than having your life taken away from you in cardboard boxes, or teacher’s licenses.” He grabbed his backpack off the white linoleum floor and marched out the class, slamming the door behind himself.

Mrs. Crystal’s mouth widened to an o as she fell back into her gray chair. “Nick.”

Then, a smile crept from the window, cold as a freezer, but deadly as twelve-hour frostbite.

Nick walked home, passing by the Sparson’s mansion on the way. Nick glanced up at the mansion as he drove a stick across the metal gate. Drums and cymbals echoed from the mansion. Lyson was playing with his drum kit again.

Lyson had been a constant source of torture for Nick since middle school. However, Nick knew Lyson far longer than that, and it wasn’t just as mere acquaintances. As indiscernible and indiscriminate as it may be, Nick and Lyson, were, at a time, friends. Perhaps, for an instant, they could’ve even been considered ‘best’ friends, but now, looking back upon those dreadful days of friendship and rivalry, Nick could only feel echoes of pain, and, to an extent, regret.

Nick circled his storm-filled eyes and flung his head upwards in repulsion to the house’s negative energy, until, he saw something above him. As though trying to shake a horrible memory from his mind, he did a double take, but it was true. The ravens perched upon the metal spikes were gazing down at Nick as he walked by.

Nick scoffed by throwing all the air from his nose and continued down the long gray sidewalk through the arched weeping willows that guided his path.

Nick came to the third white house with the brown roof on the street and walked inside.

Searching for a presence, his eyes glanced around the empty brown living room, but no one was there. The picture of his family in the corner fooled his mind for a second. He approached it and grabbed the silver picture frame in his hands.

In the picture, his family was still at the beach, an actual family. A portly man with a slashed silver eye was holding his redheaded green-eyed wife in his arms, waiting to kiss her with the fuzzy black mustache that lined his upper lip. Their children were sitting beneath them, Nick and his sister, happy as could be, playing in the yellow sand. It’s too bad that it couldn’t last.

Nick tapped his thumb on his family’s images, holding it for a while on his younger sister’s bright beautiful face, how he wished he could see her again. Placing the picture frame back on the brown table, Nick walked up the stairs to his room.

Nick’s room was all white and brown except for the black bed, a picture of a female lifeguard, in a rather attractive red swimsuit, and a couple of racing posters, natural for a boy his age in 1990’s Gillingham.

Nick jumped in his bed. He stared up at the ceiling. He fell into a peaceful sleep, wallowing in the emptiness of his world, the sleep, of course, being the peaceful part.

The next time Nick looked at the clock, it was nearly midnight. Sitting cross-legged and arms folded, he stared at the white wall in front of his bed. Neither of his parents had made it home yet, which meant that his mom was working late at the Sparson Post and his dad was out at sea on another delivery mission from Darren.

Nick cracked the slender muscles in his back and yawned. “Why does my life have to be so—“ A chill suddenly crept into the room, the same kind that appears when a freezer opens too quickly, but a thousand, no, a million times colder.

“Boring?” A voice finished.

The words made Nick jump. He turned around, searching for their owner, to no avail. “Hello? Is someone there?” Thinking that he’d imagined it, he shook his head and sat back down on the bed, until the woman’s voice spoke again.

“It all depends on what you mean by someone, heh, heh, heh,” the voice giggled in the background. “I’m not a, ‘person,’ if that’s what you mean.”

Nick’s heart started beating louder against his chest. *Thump,* *thump,* *thump,* he could hear the blood rushing down the back of his ears. A ghost? Nick thought. He relaxed his head and his heartbeat quelled. No, there’s no such thing as ghosts. He smiled. He could almost laugh at his own stupidity. It was probably just some kid playing a trick on him, or maybe it was parents, home early from work. “If you’re not a person, then who are you?”

The voice chuckled some more in the background. It was coming from nowhere, but, everywhere, at the exact same time. “Nick, Nick, Nick.” The voice took a breath. “I’m something beyond form, beyond space, beyond size, beyond time.” The last word quaked like thunder in a quiet forest.

Nick covered his ears as the last word, ‘time,’ rang through his head like a million bells. Time, time. Time. Time. He scratched his head, fighting the tune out of his skull with his fingers.

When the echo stopped, Nick pushed his head up and looked around for anything different, but nothing had changed, except that the voice was gone, or, at least, he thought it was gone. There was only one way to check. He raised his voice, ears still ringing in pain. “Who are you?”

The voice was tranquil. “Someone you’ve known for a long time, and someone you’ve yet to meet, someone here to help you, Nick.”

“Nick?” Nick twisted around to face his bed, searching for where the voice was coming from. “How do you know my name?”

The voice laughed. “I know a lot of things about you, Nick, how you hate Lyson, even though he used to be your friend, how your sister was handed over to the adoption agency, I even know about how you think your life is miserable, useless, utterly unimportant.”

Nick shuddered as he continued searching the room. I’ve never told anyone that. Nick thought. How’d she?

The voice continued. “I actually, probably know more about you, than you do.”

Nick felt something tap the wall next to his door. He spun around to see what it was, but all that was there was a small black violin case.

That isn’t where I left it. Nick thought.

“Like, how much you really love the violin.” The voice said.

Nick walked over to it. He removed the white violin from its case and plucked the highest string, *ting.* He put it back as he realized that it wasn’t just any violin. It was his. Nick was the only one that knew the secret pitch he kept his violin at at all times, or, at least he thought he was the only one. He hadn’t tuned it the last time he put it in the closet. Why was it tuned now?

Nick closed the case and set it back in the closet, where it belonged.

“You used to be pretty good in the school’s orchestra, as I remember. Pity they shut it down.” The voice said.

Nick’s shoulders tightened, blood rushing through his veins as though he’d taken twenty shots of adrenaline. “Who are you? Where are you? How do you know me? How do you know that?” He said with all of the breath in his lungs.

The voice became calm again. “Very close, but very far away.”

“Why won’t you show yourself to me?” Nick’s fist loosened.

Just as Nick was ready to make a call to the mental hospital, a black spiral appeared in the corner of the room. A bright light emerged from within, eclipsing half the room.

Nick threw his head back and forth on his mattress, holding the bridge of his nose. He sat up from his bed and flung open his eyes. “A dream?” He moved his head back to the corner, where the spiral was.

Someone in a shady cloak glared down at Nick from the corner.

Nick’s heart was racing again, no, not just racing, sky rocketing off into space. His hands were shaking. His eyes widened into a pool of gray. His mouth ran dry. The hooded figure started to approach him, robe flowing along the ground in a cloud of shadow, and Nick pulled away. Although he wanted to scream, the words wouldn’t come.

A crescent smile materialized from the darkness of the cloak as bright and beautiful as it was dark and mysterious. The figure had a feminine voice. “Nice, most people would’ve thrown themselves through the window by now, the crazies. I’m so proud, not of them, of course, but of you.”

“Wh—who—who are you?” Nick said, shivering.

She chuckled, this time with a more Human laugh. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten to introduce myself.” She reached out her bony hand as though she wanted to shake his hand. “The Humans call me the Grim Reaper.” Nick screeched like a tiny schoolgirl. She moved her outstretched hand over her face and an evaporating sound filled the inside of her cloak. “It probably comes from the English grim as in sad or sultry and the also English reaper as in harvester, or, collector.” She took off her hood to reveal these blue eyes, torrents of fire? No, more like frozen ice, chilling to the bone, like, her, skin? “But to the Souls, I’m simply, Angelina Asmalia, Lady of the Undrworld.”

Somehow, seeing Angelina this way loosened Nick’s lips. “Bu—but, that’s exactly what you are, isn’t it, a woe harvester.”

Angelina pointed a finger at Nick. “Hey that’s not fair.” Her dark blue lips stretched from cheek to cheek. “They’ve called me many names over the years, not all so as unflattering as the, grim, reaper,” she said, mocking the words grim reaper with the slowness of her tongue, “like Hades, Death, Shinigami—“ She shook her head. “Anyways, I’m getting sidetracked. I’m just here to give you an offer that I’m, sure, you won’t refuse.”

“What kind of offer? Does it have something to do with trading my soul over to you?” Nick paused in fear as Angelina tried to move closer. “Because if it is, then your answer is no.”

Angelina’s lips puckered as though Nick had dealt a blow, but it lasted only for a second. Her smile returned to her face as her eyes squared. “It’s nothing like that, I assure you, I’ve never done anything like that before. Come on, it’ll be a resurrection for the both of us. You’ll be a powerful_______” Angelina’s words fazed through Nick, as though she’d said nothing, pure nothing, but her mouth still moved.

Nick leaned back and raised an eyebrow. “A what?”

“You’ll see if you accept my offer.” Angelina said.

“What if I don’t?” Nick crossed his arms.

Angelina’s brow furrowed. “Then I’ll feed on your soul.”

Nick slid towards Angelina on the bed. “What?” He started to raise his voice, “but you just said.”

Angelina’s voice grew raspy and low, “I will feed on your soul.”

Nick looked into Angelina’s blue eyes. He knew stories of what happened to people who trusted the Grim Reaper, but, those eyes, somehow, he couldn’t help but believe Angelina. Besides, if Angelina wanted Nick’s soul, she could’ve taken it already. Nick thought about his options for a second and took a last breath. “I accept.”

Then, the two smiled and shook hands, grabbing each other by the bony fingers.

2

Breaking the Barrier

(Bridging the gap between life and death.)

May 02, 1991

Widening her mouth into a smile, Angelina gripped Nick’s hand tighter. With a flick of Angelina’s wrist, she tossed Nick back onto the bed. “Good. Now it’s time to undergo the process. Tell me, are you ready to die?”

Before Nick could answer, Angelina jumped on top of him. Nick’s eyes widened. Grabbing a hold of Nick’s skinny neck to the point of suffocation, Angelina pushed him deeper into the mattress. As Nick looked at Angelina, Nick could see that Angelina wasn’t trying hard to pin him down, in fact, Angelina was smiling a giant grin across her whole face. Angelina moved her hand across Nick’s smooth rib cage, until Angelina was right over Nick’s solar plexus.

Suddenly, Nick felt something inside of his body. Whatever it was inside his body, it was odd, as though it didn’t belong there, and it was, moving. Managing a glance down at his chest, Nick could see Angelina’s hand stirring around the inside of his chest. Within the vicinity of Angelina’s hand, Nick’s skin wavered like a pool of water. Covering Nick’s mouth before he could scream, Angelina continued to wander around the inside of him, hands like liquid cyanide.

When Angelina found what she was looking for, a spark ran through her light brown eyes, making them even brighter than before. Without warning, Angelina grasped something in the upper left corner of Nick’s chest and pulled it out. All of a sudden, Nick couldn’t hear the blood pounding in his head anymore. Angelina, with hesitation, removed her hand from Nick’s face.

Looking up through Angelina’s shadow, Nick could see his own heart beating on the reaper’s hand. The world started to turn black and white as Nick experienced his own personal earthquake. A chill started at his fingers and spread everywhere else until his body was frozen. His eyes dilated. His mouth ran dry. He couldn’t scream. He couldn’t breathe.

Angelina removed a white stick from the inside of her cloak, extended it to about seven ft. in her hand and stabbed it into the wound in Nick’s chest. Angelina kissed him on the left side of his cheek. “This is the last time you’ll see me. Goodbye, Nicholas Cross.”

The world around Nick swirled with multi-colored lights. Nick felt Angelina kiss his ear. Then, everything went black, black as midnight.

Angelina’s lips opened into a toothy smile. “Enjoy your reaping.”

Nick grabbed at his chest as the darkness around him lifted. He felt around. No hole, but his fingers were blue, along with the rest of his body. His heartbeat was, there, but it didn’t feel like it had a beat, not like a normal heartbeat anyway. It was more of a flow, like water circulating through a river, no start and no end, just a continuous cycle. It’s probably just my imagination. He thought.

The room looked just like Nick’s, but when he looked around, he could see that there were major differences. The walls were vacant of posters, the doors weren’t in the same places, not to mention, there wasn’t the usual sound of air running through the vents above his head. It was somewhat strange, to him, not hearing the white noise.

Nick looked at the two doors in front of him and decided to go through the one on the left, which led him down a narrow stairway. The hard metallic stairs beneath his feet gave off a cold chill. The mirror-like ceiling bounced around red, green, and purple lights. What happened last night? Nick thought, continuing down the steps. Maybe it’s the lighting or something.

At the end of the stairs was a large living room. There were three couches sitting in front of an unlit fireplace, one red, one black, and one white, each one with a bone sticking out of the back.

In a black bookcase in the left corner, there was a bunch of old books. He didn’t know the language they were written in but that was okay, he didn’t read anyway. He was one of those people that preferred to look at the pictures. However, when he saw the brown picture frame above the bookcase, his muscles twitched. In the portrait, there was a brown-haired girl, holding a long white scythe in her bony hands. That smile, the picture was of Angelina, but what was it doing here, where was, here.

A low cough came from the doorway. Nick turned to face it, but there didn’t appear to be anyone there. As he started to turn his head back to the picture frame, he heard another cough, from below. He looked down.

Nick almost screamed at the sight of him. In the middle of the doorway, there was a three ft. man in a black suit, that Nick wasn’t entirely sure was a man. The man’s skin was red, his ears were pointed, horns stuck out of the back of his head, and he had these huge, darting black eyes, like the man was a grotesque mini image of a demon.

The man stood there with an evil smile on his face. “Welcome to the Undrworld Mr. Cross.” He bowed, revealing his bald head.

Nick almost wanted to touch the man, just to make sure he was real, but he was afraid of cutting himself on the man’s scaly skin. Although, Nick did just have a meeting with the Grim Reaper, who was he to question reality? “Undrworld? Isn’t it pronounced, Underworld?”

The smile on the man’s face tilted towards the side of the man’s face until it slowly returned to the middle. “No, and I wouldn’t go around pronouncing it that way if I were you, sets an image.”

Nick’s eyes perked up. “What kind of an image?”

The smile on the man’s face grew wider. “The kind that could get a man killed, or worse. Now, follow me if you will. We have a lot to see and more to do.” He walked off into the other room.

“Wait.” Nick hesitated. He didn’t know if following the demon would answer anything, but it was his only shot, so he chased after him. “Shouldn’t we at least get acquainted, first?”

Nick followed the demon into the next room, where vines hung from the walls and ceiling, dead vines, brown and withered, but nonetheless, vines. There was a low light coming from the ceiling as though someone wanted to show them off. Necross touched one of the vines next to the doorframe and it crumpled to pieces. Undrworld indeed. Nick thought.

The demon reached out his hand in front of Nick’s stomach. “Kre Salvastator the Fifth.”

Nick grabbed Kre’s hand. “Ni—“ Kre shook Nick’s hand with unimaginable strength, almost toppling him to the floor, but somehow there was a feeling that he was holding back. ”Nick Cross.”

Kre let go, leaving red marks across Nick’s hand. “This is called the Room of Creation. Don’t worry. We barely ever go in here.”

“Creation, I see.” Nick paused as he took another look at the dead vines around the room. “What kind of creations?”

“That all comes one step at a time, Mr. Cross.” Kre opened the hatch on the floor that led to another stairway. “Follow me.”

With only yellow light bulbs on the right wall to guide his path, Nick followed Kre through the dark stairway. The stairway continued to descend, descend, and descend, further down into the abyss.

There was a crunch as Kre turned. “So tell me, Mr. Cross, how’s that name coming along?”

“Name, what do you mean?” Necross felt the blue liquid in his veins skip a rotation.

“Oh, Angelina didn’t tell you? All Raveonite’s change their name to something that fits the job. For you it should be easy.” Kre said.

“Great.” Nick rolled his eyes. “But, what’s a Raveonite?”

Kre chortled through the two vertical slits above his ever-smiling mouth. He stopped when he saw the frozen expression on Nick’s face. “Oh, I thought you were joking.” He continued walking. “That girl really didn’t teach you much of anything did she? Raveonites are what Humans call Grim Reapers.”

The word set off a chain of events in Nick’s mind, Angelina’s hand, the offer, the dead vines, “I’m going to be the new Grim Reaper?”

“I suppose you are.” Kre stopped and turned around, staring Nick straight in the face somehow, even within the midst of the darkness. “So, what’ll it be, Nick Cross?”

Nick looked down at the ground. The perfect name for a Grim Reaper? He thought. As he lifted his head from the ground, an evil smile appeared on his face and a spark ran through his steel eyes.

Kre stumbled back. “Why the creepy smile? It’s just a name.”

Nick held himself back from laughing. “How about Necross? It’s dark, mysterious, a perfect name for the Grim Reaper.”

Kre raised one of the ridges on his face that Necross believed to be eyebrows, closed his eyes, and continued down the stone steps. “Very well,” He said with an almost pained tone in his voice.

When they reached the end of the stairs, they came to a room full of bright blue light. A stand-up mirror sat in the middle, humming white noise. Their footsteps echoed in their ears as they approached it.

Raising a hand towards the mirror, Kre turned to Necross. “This is the entrance to the Necroverse.”

Necross raised a red eyebrow as he looked into the blue mirror. “Necroverse?”

“Think of it as a place where all of the world’s shadows live. I wouldn’t suggest entering without a good reason. You could find yourself lost very easily.” Kre walked over to a wall on his left with a horizontal stairway, planted his foot into the wall, and walked up the side of the wall. He took a step towards the stairs, but stopped when he saw Necross’ widened eyes. “Is there a problem?”

Necross scoffed. “How’d you do that?”

Kre rolled his eyes. “Ah, how could I have forgotten? Gravity doesn’t matter in the Undrworld. Try it yourself.”

Eyeing the wall, Necross walked over to the horizontal stairway. He placed his foot on the cold white tile and the room shifted. Surprised by the change, Necross fell flat on his face.

Raising the same ridged eyebrow a little bit, Kre walked up the steps. “Well, you’ll get the hang of it eventually. Follow me.”

After a while, they reached a room of books, bigger than any library Necross had ever seen. The books were stacked in black bookcases that reached the towering ceiling. The cylindrical walls were just wide enough to distill the feeling of claustrophobia.

Necross and Kre walked along a white wall in the middle of the bookcases. Books weren’t exactly Necross forte, but the sheer number of them was enough to make even his mouth drop.

Kre waved his hands towards the shelves. “This is your private study, Master Cross.”

“Well if it’s so private, then why are you looking at it?” Necross laughed.

Kre turned around and looked him in the eye. “Was that a suggestion or a joke Master Cross? If it was a suggestion, we’ll need to work on your character, and if it was a joke, your humor needs work.”

“It was just a joke.” Cross laughed. “There’s no need to get bent out of shape.”

Kre compressed his smile to a sliver. “You need to start taking this seriously, Master Cross. You are, after all, the new King of the Undrworld.”

Necross stopped laughing but his smile remained. “If I’m a king then shouldn’t that mean that you take orders from me?”

Kre took a step forward. “What?”

“Because, if so, you can bow dow—“ Necross stopped as the air around him began to feel much heavier. His body felt hot beneath the weight.

When Necross looked up, Kre’s pupils were white. “Understand this. I am not your servant or your slave. I call you, ‘Master,’ out of politeness. I follow you out of service to Angelina and my duty as your guardian.”

Necross toppled down to his knees.

Kre took a step closer. “If anyone should be bowing right now. It is you. Understand?”

Necross’ mouth burned to move. “Yes.” Necross fell to the ground and the pressure around him lifted.

“Good. Now follow me to the next room.” Kre walked towards the next doorway in-between a row of books.

Necross and Kre came to a room with a light blue ceiling and a floor that seemed to be made out of copper. Large concentric circles echoed from the floor of the room’s center.

Kre glanced back at Necross. “This is the Room of Resurrection as well as where we part ways for now. You have a gift awaiting you.”

“What kind of gift?” Necross never received any ‘good’ gifts as a child. His parents always got him clothes, shoes, and socks; a fine gift for an adult, but for a child... It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate them, but he had always wished for something more.

Kre pointed towards the center of the concentric circles. “Stand in the middle of the room and find out.”

Necross looked back at Kre, who nodded him on. He moved to the center of the room, which upon standing on it felt more like a mound.

Kre walked to the entrance of the room once Necross was in place and pressed his hand on what looked to be a scanner of some sort. The light scanned his hand and Necross could hear a large rumbling from the floor.

The symbols on the floor began to glow. The metal spiraled away from the middle of the floor letting even more bright light into the room from below.

Kre waved from the door as he raised his voice above the rumbling and screeching of the floor. “Goodbye Master Cross. I will see you shortly.”

When the room finished retracting to the outer edge of the room and Necross was standing on nothing more than a pedestal, the floor screeched to a halt. Before Necross could let out a gasp, the pedestal fell fifty ft., pulling his red hair and stretching his body. The pedestal finally came to a halt another 300 ft. or so later.

If I’m not dead already, I certainly am now. Necross thought.

The room he was in now was filled with white light. Necross squinted his eyes trying to see something, if anything, but nothing was all there was.

“State your name,” echoed a man’s voice from the abyss.

“Um which.” Necross paused and questioned what he was about to say. He thought about what Kre had asked him earlier. He puffed out his chest. “My name is Necross Cross.”

Now the voice sounded like a machine “Necross, a wise choice for a name.” It whirred and a bright flash filled the room again causing Necross to close his eyes. “Deleting all memory of Nick Cross.”

“Wait what?” Necross squirmed in pain. “What do you mean deleting all memory of—“

The machine cut him off. “Starting resurrection process.” The room grew brighter. “If you have any questions ask them before the awakening begins.”

“Okay, for one. What’s awakening?” Necross’ skin was beginning to burn underneath the hot light.

“You.” The machine said.

Necross furrowed his brow. “Me?”

“Yes you,” the machine said.

“Who else?” The man’s voice said.

“I didn’t mean,” Necross thought of a way to rephrase himself. “What’s the process?”

“In other words, it’s your rebirth as a Raveonite. You will become enhanced with abilities you’re sure to like and you will also receive knowledge of your death and some of the former Raveonite’s memories.” The machine said, ending with a whirring noise.

Necross had finally remembered the question he wanted to ask earlier. “That makes sense. So, what did you mean by deleting all memory of Nick Cross?”

The machine let out a loud buzz. “Nick Cross no longer exists in any way or form.”

Necross looked down into the nothingness and thought about the life he had destroyed, deleted. He was no one now, a nothing. The life that he lived had become completely meaningless. He thought about the ties that he just lost, his family, friends, he even missed Lyson for a second. He was dead and now no one even remembered who he was, no one, to mourn him, to think about him, to care for him.

“Anymore questions?” The man’s voice said.

Necross mind came back to reality. “Yes, only one. What’s a Raveonite?”

“That’s something you will have to figure out for yourself.” The man’s voice said.

The machine whirred. “More questions?”

Necross thought about it for a second. The question weighed heavily upon him. Who knows what this thing’s going to do to me, but I guess it’s not like I have anything to lose. Necross thought.

Necross gathered up his courage. “No. I have no more questions.”

The machine counted down, “five, four, three, two,” the machine took a bit longer of a pause than the others, “one.”

The room turned bright blue. “Zero.” A searing hot pain fell on Necross’ body. Then it was as though his mind was feeling everyone’s grief, sadness, and anger. The pain caused him to collapse to his knees and then to the floor.

Necross squirmed in pain on the pedestal. The heat passed through his body more and more, deeper and deeper till it reached his core. His mind played back memories; memories of his former loves and hates; hopes and dreams.

One memory surpassed them all:

The school orchestra played a symphony on the auditorium stage. A crowd of wide eyed parents listened to how, ‘amazing,’ their children could play these instruments that only half of them actually owned, even though about 75% of the students would forget how to play them by the next school year and 5% more 3 years from then.

When the orchestra finished their last song, the principal, the announcer of the night, walked out on stage and grabbed the microphone. “Now, we have our star musician, Nick Cross.” The principal and the audience clapped as a young boy in a white suit approached the front of the stage through the crowded orchestra stands. The principal lowered the microphone down to the child’s level, patted him on the back, and left the stage.

Nick was twelve years of age at the time. He had a ginger bowl-haircut combed to the point of transparency. In his small fingers, he held a white violin and white bow. As he looked out into the crowd with his silver eyes, the audience became silent to the point that one could hear a pin drop.

He lifted his violin up to his chin and prepared his bow. He slowly closed his eyes as he lowered the bow onto the violin, but as the bow finally touched the violin it didn’t make any noise.

He licked his lips. He prepared his fingers. He started to play.

The song was very melancholic and very peaceful. The song grew from very quiet to very loud, but still kept the same slowness, the same beat. The song was magnificent but malefic, sad but so well played to the point of being spectacular.

When he finished the song, he opened his eyes and looked out into the crowd. The audience clapped and cheered. He bowed to the crowd and walked behind the curtain.

Lyson blew the air from his nostrils as Nick walked by him to set down his violin, but surely, even he must have enjoyed the presentation, right?

3

Revived No Scythe

(So a reaper needs a scythe?)

May 02, 1991

When Necross opened his eyes, he was laying on the floor in the middle of the room where he last saw Kre.

He tried to place his hand on the ground in order to stand up, but immediately pulled back when he felt the burn on his skin. When he looked at his hand, he saw the dark blue tattoo etched across its surface. He found similar markings all across his body. As he stood up, he saw that the markings matched the marks on the ceiling, but even stranger than that he could read them like they were English. In fact, he suddenly realized that every foreign language he remembered made sense to him and he even knew some languages he’d never heard of or seen. Thinking back to the book on the shelf that he saw earlier, he understood that its title was: A Guide to the Undrworld.

Finding himself lost several times along the way, Necross stumbled his way back to the room where he first saw Kre. However, upon arrival, he noticed many differences in the room. Someone had dimmed the lights and the fireplace was lit. A woman sat in front of the fire on the couch without much expression on her face. She was in her mid-twenties, even though she was probably hundreds of years old. The only reason Necross knew she was hundreds of years old was because of her hair. It was done in a style fitting the 1700’s; at least that was what he’d seen in his history textbook. Her clothes were much more stylish however; she wore a black silk dress with a red stripe around the hem.

Necross turned towards her. “Who the hell are you?”

She turned to look at him and her mouth widened into a smile. “Well, well, you’re certainly an attractive young man.” She giggled.

Necross followed her gaze only to find out that he was naked, naked in front of a beautiful girl that he didn’t even know.

I’m an idiot. Necross thought. “Oh, sorry.” He said, covering his impurities. “I didn’t mean to—“

The woman cut him off. “Don’t worry, I see people naked all the time.” She paused for a moment until she realized what she just said. “And by that, I mean I’m your clothing manager, designer, representative... Well, you get the point.” She took a sip of a dark brown liquid substance in her cup.

Necross looked to the side and then back to her. “Well, in that case, could you find me some clothes, please?”

“Unfortunately we only have female clothes on hand. It’ll take 20 more minutes for your clothes to arrive.” The woman looked at her watch, but Necross didn’t see how it was possible for her to even wear a watch, souls were intangible after all, at least, so he had heard.

His voice turned shrill. “Twenty?”

“Yeah, twenty, usually it would take a week or so to design clothes, but we have a much better system then the humans do.” She said.

Necross shivered in the cold room. “Can I get a towel then?”

“Of course, they’re in that closet over there.” She said, pointing to a door next to the fireplace.

Necross reached in and got a fuzzy black towel from the closet. He put it around himself and tied it tight. Then he joined the young woman in front of the fire, from the couch next to her.

“My name’s Clarissa Jenova. What’s yours?” Clarissa said, moving a little further back from the toweled boy.

“Necross, now it is anyway.” Necross thought to shake hands, but he was clearly in no position to do that.

Clarissa smiled. “Obliged, I’m sure.” There was a short pause, as the two both looked each other over. Her dark blonde hair was curled back into a bun with 2 knitting needles stuck in it and her eyes were green, yet oddly comforting, unlike his teacher’s creepy gaze. Necross couldn’t help but look at her feet. He always expected to see Souls with tails, but that wasn’t true, in fact, she even had black shoes that matched her dress.

Necross made himself comfortable in the chair. “So, you’re dead?”

She scoffed with a smile. “Indeed.”

His mouth twisted to one side. “Do you like being dead?”

“I don’t mind it.” She said.

“Oh,” He said. “So, there’s nothing you miss.”

“Not really,” Clarissa said. “Is there anything you missed about being dead?”

Necross lowered his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Clarissa took a deep breath in as she crossed her arms. “Well, life is a cycle, right? So is there anything you miss about not existing?”

“Um, no,” Necross’ eyes moved back and forth, “I guess not.”

“That’s how I feel.” She said.

Necross eyebrows jumped to the top of his forehead.

She laughed as she saw his expression. “When I was Human, it felt as though I didn’t exist, but now, I’m free to be myself. Think of it like that.”

Necross thought about what Clarissa said for a while. “I see.” He said.

The two talked like that for another fifteen or so minutes at which point Necross started to see this, death, as an opportunity for a new life, a life that he was free to control.

The girl stared at his light red hair. “I’ve heard that the rebirthing process is very painful, and tiring too, but I didn’t expect you to sleep for 6 hours.”

“6 hours.” Necross voice grew louder. “I’ve been asleep for 6 hours. Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

Clarissa laughed. “The room locks for 5 hours. The sixth we thought you were just off searching the mansion. It is rather big you know.”

”Mansion,” Necross scoffed. “I’m in a mansion in the Undrworld.” He sighed. “Great.”

The teacup in Clarissa’s hand started shaking. ”Kre didn’t tell you much of anything, did he?”

Necross looked at the teacup of steaming hot, something, in her hand. “What is the Undrworld anyway?”

“The Undrworld is the home of all those that have died and all those that will die.” She groaned. “Kre was supposed to tell you about all this.”

Necross pointed his finger at her. “Wait. You know Kre. Don’t you?” He started again before she could even answer, face scrunched dry. “Where is he. That little... How dare he do that to me?”

Clarissa closed her eyes. “Well, if he hadn’t, would you have agreed to do it?”

Necross’ mouth opened as though he were going to say something, but he stopped. He looked to the side. “Er, no, I guess I wouldn’t have. So what am I to these people, uh, Souls.”

“Well, to them.” Clarissa paused for second or two, thinking warily before speaking. “You’re their ruler, king, actually.”

Necross had read enough about Greek mythology and mythology in general to know that Hades and the Grim Reaper were both considered the king of the dead. He just didn’t expect, this. He laughed at the thought of himself being the king of the dead, heh, no, the king of anything for that matter. He didn’t know anything about ruling a kingdom let alone an Undrworld. He opened his mouth to ask a question, but before he could get out a syllable, his clothes shot into the closet in a burst of smoke.

Clarissa put down the cup and jumped over to the closet. “Oh, your clothes are ready. Put them on, I want to see how you look in them.”

Meanwhile, Necross eyebrows had jumped back onto his forehead. “What kind of closet is that?”

“A transporter closet, what else? The clothes come from the clothes manufacturer on the west side of the city.” She pulled his clothes from the closet and handed it to him.

He laid the clothes down on the couch and started to unravel the black towel from his body, but stopped as he noticed Clarissa smiling at him by the closet. “Could, I, um,” Necross paused as he thought of a polite way to phrase it. “Well, you know, get a little privacy?”

Clarissa’s only reply was a roll of her eyes. She turned to the closet.

When Necross opened the clear bag of clothes, they smelled of sot and ash. A downside to the transporter closet. Necross supposed.

Clarissa had given him a black dress shirt and a white suit with a large black stripe flowing down the right side.

Necross glanced at Clarissa’s back as he put on the suit. However, as Necross was putting on the suit he noticed something strange about Clarissa. She had a large scar on the back of her arm that looked as though someone had stitched it up, long ago. The scar was a similar color to the marks on his own body.

Necross turned his head as if he wanted to see the scar from a different angle. “How did you get that scar on your arm?”

Clarissa grabbed at her arm. ”Oh this, I got it helping a friend, centuries ago.”

“Ah, I see.” He said.

“Okay, I’m ready.” Necross announced.

Clarissa looked him up and down, admiring her work. “We really did do a good job on it. It looks great on you too. Well, Kre should be in the Room of Creation by now. Are you ready?”

“Ready for what? I thought we were done with this?” Necross said in a whiny tone.

Clarissa grabbed him by the arm, which didn’t burn to touch anymore, and took him down the stone steps to the Room of Creation.

Once Necross reached the black room, he saw Kre standing next to a mirror in the middle of the room that he’d never seen before. He assumed Kre had carried it up, somehow.

Kre looked dead at Necross as soon as Necross walked into the room. “Ah, Mr. Cross. How was your trip inside Raveo?”

“Is that why we're called Raveonites?” Necross asked.

Clarissa rolled her eyes. “Clever boy, but anyway, no time to waste, walk up to the mirror.”

He worried that this would be just like whatever happened in Raveo. “This isn’t going to hurt me, is it?”

“Oh not at all, not everything we do is painful sir.” Kre said.