Death Waits for No One

By Antonio Rivera

Death: the Grim Reaper, Angel of Death, one of the 4 legendary Horsemen of the Apocalypse, is himself dying. He must do as every person who held the mantle of Death has done before: find a suitable human to be the next Death. Traveling to the mortal realm, will Death be able to find his successor before his time is over and he returns to dust? More importantly, will this next Death be willing to accept his new title?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Antonio Rivera
• Release date: Jan 8, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005785116

Book preview

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Death Waits for No One

Copyright 2021 Antonio Rivera

Published by Antonio Rivera on Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Table of Contents

Copyright 2021 Antonio Rivera

Published by Antonio Rivera on Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Sand Runs

Chapter 2: A Market Find

Chapter 3: His Successor

Chapter 4: Explanations

Chapter 5: The Fates

Chapter 6: Preparations

Chapter 7: Tragedy

Chapter 8: Visitation Hours Are Over

Chapter 9: Resolve

Chapter 10: Well Deserved Rest

Chapter 11: A Hard Choice

Chapter 12: Oros’ Move

Chapter 13: The Bridge of Endings

Chapter 14: Life’s Decree

Chapter 15: The Time Has Come

Chapter 16: Rebirth

Chapter 17: The Beginning of the End

Chapter 18: An End to the Exile

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Chapter 1: The Sand Runs

In a land only perceived by mortals resides the being everyone knows. He is called many names, and has certainly gained many titles in his tenure. Although if asked he always showed modesty, saying 'they were passed down to me'.

But this man, even though he's known by everyone, is the loneliest existence. For they know him only through fear.

This man was the current Death.

He sat in a mahogany throne with red padding, staring at an hourglass and a timer above it in his cold room. He lowered his head in contemplation; his blood red silk robes shifting at the movement only allowing his slightly outgrown beard to show. He keeps his face shadowed by the dim lighting as he holds his scythe by the snath, moving his fingers back and forth on it.

He lets out a breath into the cold air as the timer hits zero and the hourglass slowly shifts to start the only other timer Death cares about: his timer. Specifically: the timer to his end. Time is a constant in the universe and nothing can escape it. When time is up for humans, Death comes for them to guide their souls. When time is up for the current Death, they must find a human to be their successor.

He stands, allowing his robes to fall to the ground in its full length covering his broad body loosely. He rests his scythe on his shoulder as he moves forward with a tired step. Making his way to exit the room he maneuvers the halls past the door expertly, arriving at the entrance to the mortal realm.

He pulls on a thread around his neck with a skeleton key. Moving forward he unlocks the door and pushes it open. The swirling vortex shines bright enough to cause him to cover his eyes due to the sting. When he adjusts he lets out a shaky breath, saying a quick form of what he called a prayer.

Iliana, aid me in finding the proper successor to our title. Ancient ones whose names have been lost, grant me the strength and swiftness to do so on time. He says.

He puts a foot past the door frame and then reaches a hand out. Pushing through he vanishes through the portal to find his successor before he fades to nothingness.

——————————

In a small apartment lived a boy and his mother. The boy was seventeen years old; he had a good amount of muscle on him but he was no body builder. His hair was shoulder length and was a natural golden auburn color. He had amber eyes, and his skin was slightly not the pale side.

Mom I'm home! He had just returned from the store with groceries to what he always calls ‘the shit-hole of an apartment’. But he has to stay, he is looking out for his mother. She had been in an accident over five years ago now, crippling her from the waist down and he's been helping her ever since. That includes laundry, groceries, driving to appointments when he was old enough to legally learn, picking up medicines, and preparing food. It doesn't help that his father had ran when he heard of this.

The only other family willing to help were some cousins and his grandparents; aunts and uncles wanted to hold grudges from twenty years ago over his mother's head as a reason to let her suffer alone. The joke was on them though, because she wasn't suffering. She was living with what she was given.

Would be better if we could not live here at least. The boy said placing groceries on the island top in their 'kitchen'. The sound of squeaking metal rings through the apartment as his mother comes out of her room. I know you don't like it but it's what we have. She said from her wheelchair. He smiles and nods.

So what do ya want today for dinner? He asks her. She starts to think, placing a finger to her young looking face. She may have been thirty-six, but she looked just twenty with flowing soft dirty blond hair and hazel eyes, and her name was Iris McClain. Well Jacks, I think we did agree it was my turn so I say we have pasta. She declares to her son. Jacks was his nickname, his real name was Jackson. Jackson Glen McClain. His great grandfather's name being his middle name and his last name being his mother's original after his father left them. He lovingly calls him 'that son of a bitch deserter', and in his mind rightfully so.

Jackson smiled at his mother and got to work. He was always told at school that he had amazing cooking, but the real talent was saved for his mother and her alone. Of course he did make some good dinners for guests or others he saw as a very trusted friend, but the dishes he made her outshined any others he crafted. He began boiling the noodles and got the pasta sauce from the cupboard, then he moved to grab the rest of his wanted ingredients (which were the ones Ms.McClain loved the most) and went to work.

Iris started to move to the cabinet with the plates and the draw with the silverware. She picked out their respective items and set the table while her son got to work on their dinner. After a good twelve minutes the pasta was ready and sauced. He made it as special as he could for his mother and served it up for them. Sitting down across from her they said a quick prayer and began to eat.

Iris gave a groan of approval, loving her son's cooking every time. So Jacks, any girls grab your attention at school yet? She asked her son with a sly smirk. He was in his last year of high school; and he had the potential to be going on a full ride through college as well. But he hadn't decided about college yet.

Nope he started, no one still, like last year, and the year before, and freshman year. No one. Besides, I need to look out for us first before anyone else, and having a relationship would get in the way of that. He finished. Sometimes he thought about it. But no, anyone else would get in the way of him needing to take care of his mother. Her first, then him, and no one else. It's how he had been able to focus on home and school with the circumstances he lived with.

Iris shakes her head with a small frown. Jacks you know that I love you and appreciate what you do, but you have a life too. I want you to be happy now and in the future and besides, I want to have grandchildren before I go grey and wrinkly. She says with a smile getting laughter from both of them. He wiped his mouth with a napkin before talking. I'll try to find someone, but I can't guarantee anything more. He twirls his fork around and puts more pasta in his mouth.

Well, make an effort at least while you try. Iris said before doing the same. They sit in a content silence till they finish their dinner and Jackson washes the plates. He moves to his room and starts on his homework; he had too many AP classes is what everyone else says, that he's stressing himself out too much. But he liked the challenge. The adrenaline of having to go into a form of hyper focus to finish everything at a decent hour. Plus his photographic memory helped a ton when it came to reading.

Tomorrow was a major test for his English class and he had to get this last few pages out of the way. He kept his grades at A-B, knowing he could do better if his situation was any easier, but he didn't mind. His teachers knew what he had to do at home so they were slightly lenient.

He looked across his room for a second resting his eyes, seeing old boxing gloves strung up. Would be fun to get back into it, there's a gym just down the street. Maybe... nah, no distractions. Focus Jacks focus. He said slapping his check and continuing his reading.

——————————

In the shadow of the night, with the only illumination being from the full moon, the blood red robes of Death swayed as he moved. His gaze frantic but focused, concentrated, determined. He had a purpose far greater than any would be able to understand this night. The magic number was five. In five months he must have a worthy successor. In five months he must train said person to handle the mantle of Death. In five months... he fades to nothingness.

If he does not succeed before his time is up then the world would be thrown off balance. There would be no one to collect the dead when their time comes, no one to guide the lost souls along to where they would be judged, and no one to protect those souls on the journey to get to their judgment. He knew that the world hung in peril; only being saved by his success. He was not completely worried though. Because there was a small fact he himself knew.

He wouldn't fail.

He made a vow to his predecessor, Iliana, that he would choose properly as she had. He would not fail because his vows were his life. If he gave his word then he would risk everything to accomplish his vow. Even if it meant wondering the mortal realm which he deeply despised, a hate he had and kept since his time being human.

He stopped his stride as three humans came out of a building. They called this a 'bar', he knew. They swayed and stumbled, as they grew closer to him Death could easily smell the scent of alcohol and smoke from the disgusting degenerates. But none of the three saw him and simply phased through his person. None of them were to be his successor.

Thank the ancients for that. He mutters as he continues on his quest. The faster he found the next Death, the longer he had to put them through their trials. What he didn't understand was why couldn't he just choose himself?

You know why you can't. You've read the ancient’s texts after all~ a childish voice says from behind him. The entire world turns black with red pulsing veins at the voices words. Death holds his head in pain, turning to see the cause of this illusion. The being that's plagued every person to hold the mantle before him. It was genderless, but it liked to assume the form of a young human male with silver hair and ice blue eyes. It's skin complexion was of a pale variety. This creature went by many titles, but the one Death only knew was-

Oros. Deity of insanity, disease, and anarchy. Why are you here? Death demands, shrugging off the pain he felt in his head. Oros just smirks at the old body, moving up to him. Being a full two feet shorter one would see it as a child being rebellious to his father; Death knew though that the 'child' would easily be able to destroy him if it's powers were whole again.

Don't act surprised, of course I would be here. I am stuck to your soul as I was with all the other Deaths before you. it said increasing the pressure in Death's head. The red veins of the illusion flared and pulsed with each wave of pain. Naturally I know what time it is, and I know the opportunity it presents for me. The world is in more jeopardy than you let on in your thoughts; if you fail then the hex breaks, and I can wreak havoc all over again.

Death gritted his teeth, knowing what he hears is true. Oros had been able to go out of control before, and as punishment the Faiths locked him to the soul of Death as the holder of said title would be able to keep a constant eye on