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The entrance to Death’s castle is large and ominous; spires made of black rock stand tall where they surround the towering palace. To anyone else, this would strike fear into their hearts strong enough to push them to leave, but it is too familiar to Vanya. Their mind has been cut in pieces by the trials of their past, allowing darkness to seep into the cracks.
To be honest, the only thing that prevents them from losing what remains of their mind is Peter. But Peter has been taken again. Vanya has lost their husband not once but twice. Nazerath can be blamed for the first time, but Death is still the one who separated them for over a century. Now Death has taken him again. This time, Vanya vows, she will not get away with it.
Before, they would certainly have been too weak to kill Death, but after Nazerath held up his end of the deal, Vanya has the key to success: a sword forged by a dwarf in another realm with the sole purpose of bringing around Death’s demise. With the magic the demon has provided Vanya over the past century and the sword safely in its sheath at their hip, they will succeed. Or die trying.
The real trick will be getting past whatever guards this castle. The first obstacle in their path is the overly large drawbridge pulled up to block Vanya’s path. Two seemingly empty towers stand tall on either side of the bridge. Surprising. With the many threats they’ve made against Death in recent days, Vanya would have assumed the castle would be protected at all angles. Perhaps they’re all at the core where Death is.
There is no need to lower the bridge. Nazerath’s voice speaks in their mind.
Vanya looks around the side of the towers to find a deep moat filled with lost souls ready to grasp their legs and drag them to a watery grave. “What do you mean?”
Vanya, being a vampire bat-hybrid, has large wings that would seem to be large enough to fly. However, it does require a certain amount of magic after all these years of being landbound. No one else in their adventuring group known as “Allegiant” can fly, so they rarely have the opportunity to. Suddenly, a rush of energy flutters into their wings.
I promised to help, didn’t I? Nazerath chuckles. Go forth, little bat.
With a grunt, Vanya decides to brush off the comment and instead pushes off the ground, taking off brilliantly into the dark, cloudy sky. As they fly above the green moat filled with the souls of people and creatures long since past, a new sound catches their ears: the clinking of large crossbows. So that’s where the guards are.
“Hold,” a voice bellows from the middle of the gigantic wall keeping Vanya out of Death’s hold. “Aim.” Vanya summons the glowing red magic of Nazerath’s attack to their hands. “Fire!”
Instantly, six large bolts come flying toward them from different directions. Moments before death, Vanya launches their own attack at one of the large weapons and dives out of the way of the bolts. An explosion of epic proportions is all the hint Vanya needs to know the crossbow they had aimed at has been destroyed.
“A-aim,” the voice commands again, haltingly.
Vanya smirks. Before the bolts can leave their positions, three more beams of magic leave Vanya’s hands. Three nearly simultaneous explosions fill the air. Once the smoke clears, only two crossbows remain.
“Fire!”
Without moving, Vanya grabs both large bolts out of the air. They stare menacingly down at the man who had been commanding these weapons. A man made of dark shadows watches Vanya with fear in his eyes. With as much force as they can put behind them, the bolts crash into where the crossbows are still pointed at the flying person.
Now, with nothing stopping them, Vanya lands in front of the man who shakes in his armor. A dozen guards rush at them. With a wave of their hand, the two are cut off from all others by a ring of fire.
The man watches the fire warily and pulls his sword from its sheath. “You will not win, demon,” he warns.
Vanya stares through him with a face void of emotion. “You think you will be able to defeat me? I have you surrounded.” They gesture to the ring of fire containing both of them. “Literally.”
He shakes his head. “It is not me you need to fear.”
He lunges at Vanya, clearly a skilled fighter, but Vanya has had centuries to train with a woman who could rival the deity of war themselves. They dart out of the way, expertly blocking with one of their trusty scimitars. Yes, they could use the sword, but it has a singular purpose and this is not it. The man attacks again and again, but Vanya easily blocks each blow. Clanking of metal against metal fills the air over and over until Vanya grows bored of the proceedings and twirls the man’s sword around theirs, flinging it through the fire and out of sight.
The man swings out with his fists, but Vanya grabs him by his throat. “Where is Death?” Their eyes glow an intense red, magically compelling him to answer truthfully.
At first, he struggles against the magical command, but the power Nazerath has given Vanya is too difficult to avoid. Finally, he gives in. “The throne room,” he grunts. “She knows you’re here.”
Vanya smirks. “Good.”
Without another word, the blade of their scimitar finds itself cut through the dark, misty form of the guard. A groan is the only response he is allowed before whatever life had existed in this form leaves him. As his body hits the stone floor, Vanya widens the ring of fire to take care of any guard who had been foolish enough to stick around. They can hear the sharp screams of pain as their bodies become covered in harsh burns.
Vanya remembers the burns they saw on Echor after his encounter with Nazerath and, for a moment, feels remorse. Then the image of Peter’s body taken over by this so-called deity claims control of their mind and they feel nothing but rage. If these guards will attempt to halt them in their quest to save their husband, then they deserve death.
Nothing more stands in their path as they fly to the wooden door leading into the castle. Vanya has been in exactly two castles despite their quite lengthy life. The Exlandian castle, which they are most familiar with, had a throne room near the center of the building on the second floor. The Ilian castle is significantly smaller than the already fairly small Exlandian castle. The throne room is the first room as you enter the castle. However, with the size of Death’s, they have quite a walk to find it. They probably should have asked the guard they murdered where exactly the throne room is. Oh, well. If they run into anyone else they can question them.
Knowing the door is most certainly locked, Vanya backs up and takes off running toward it, jumping up to kick it down. Surprisingly, it opens seemingly of its own accord just before Vanya’s foot would have impacted it. They immediately jump to their feet again, prepared to fight whoever had pulled the door open, only to find no one.
Though there is no dust on their black clothing, they pat down the black pants and turtleneck. Looking around the dimly lit entrance hall, there doesn’t seem to be any dirt or dust anywhere. When most think of Death’s realm, they may imagine it as being dirty, dark, and decrepit, and while it may be dark, it is one of the cleanest places Vanya has ever seen.
The halls are empty while Vanya sneaks through underneath the lanterns hung from silver chains. It’s unnerving.
This is wrong. Nazerath’s voice returns.
“I’ve noticed,” Vanya mutters. “Where are all of the guards?”
Perhaps they have gathered at Death’s location to protect her. He tries to sound certain, but hesitation layers his words.
“Do you know where the throne room is?” Vanya asks.
Nazerath pauses. No.
“What?” Vanya hisses. “I thought you were supposed to know everything.”
No, I know everything spoken or documented. No one alive has ever made it out of here and Death would never be so foolish to openly declare the layout of her castle. Nazerath retorts.
Vanya groans. “So, you’re no help at all. Good to know.”
Do not forget who got you here in the first place, little bat. I may not be able to help, but he might.
Vanya is about to question who Nazerath is talking about when a dark figure similar to the guards they killed on the wall walks through the hall adjacent to them. Not wasting a moment, they encircle the guard in a ring of fire.
“What the-” he shouts.
Vanya steps through the fire and immediately picks him up by the throat and pushes him violently against the wall. “Where is the throne room?”
The guard gasps and struggles against Vanya’s tight grasp. “I won’t tell you anything!”
“Why can’t anyone ever make this easy?” Vanya scoffs. Red returns to their eyes and their words become more compelling than anything Death might have commanded them. “Where is the throne room?”
This guard doesn’t even have the willpower to struggle before answering, “On the tenth floor, center room. Biggest room on the floor. Up the staircase, down the second hall on the right, it’s the door at the far end. Can’t miss it.”
Just as before, Vanya shoves their scimitar through the vulnerable point of the guard’s armor, effectively killing him. Dispelling the trap of fire, Vanya makes their way up the stairs stealthily. However, no guards appear despite the echoing sound of their boots on the stone.
Whereas before, Vanya could feel Nazerath’s presence watching down on his warlock, he is not here anymore. Whether that is because Death is blocking him or because he has left of his own accord, Vanya does not know.
When, finally, Vanya reaches the tenth floor, it is becoming increasingly suspicious that no other guards have emerged. Pairing that with the sudden disappearance of Nazerath, Vanya has to wonder if they are stumbling into a trap. They have threatened numerous times to kill Death after what they’ve done to Peter, so it is possible Death has prepared for this. Scratch that. Death has certainly prepared for this.
No longer worrying about stealth, Vanya follows the directions the guard had so generously provided to a large door made of obsidian and decorated with black diamonds. Behind this door is Vanya’s strongest adversary. They reach out to turn the knob, but before their fingers even touch the black metal, it swings open much like the entrance into the castle had.
Steeling themselves, Vanya steps inside the magnificent room, empty except for a large chandelier hanging from the high ceiling and a black throne sitting atop a raised pedestal. It’s Peter’s face who watches from the throne, but Death’s glowing white eyes that follow Vanya’s movements as they walk into the center of the room.
“I was wondering if you were ever going to find me,” Death says in greeting. “I laid everything out so perfectly for you and yet it has still been nearly half an hour since your arrival.”
Vanya glowers. How dare Death flaunt her capture of Peter so casually? How dare she sit there in his body?!
“What? No witty comeback?” Death asks, standing from her throne and walking down the staircase to stand a few feet away from Vanya.
Vanya draws the sword and points it at Death. “Give me-”
“Yes, I know,” Death interrupts. “‘Give me back my husband and I won’t kill you’. Unfortunately, letting him go now would not give you the outcome your desire.”
“I’ll kill you either way, but it would make it much easier for both of us if you gave him back first,” Vanya reaches into a pouch attached to their hip and pulls out a sheet of parchment.
Death’s eyes lock onto the paper. “Did Nazerath give you that? Crafty. I was sure I had destroyed every copy.”
“Are you going to give Peter back or not?” Vanya demands.
Death sighs. “No. And I’m sure you don’t want me to either if you would simply think about it. Think about how you found him-”
“Enough!” Vanya shouts.
They begin chanting in a language they have only ever heard from Nazerath and wind begins to whip around the previously stagnant room. Death sighs as if annoyed by a small child but does nothing. The world shimmers around them until settling on a blank white. Instead of Peter’s body standing in front of Vanya, it is a woman’s. She wears a long black dress, a black shawl held in place with a black diamond, her dark hair cuts off at her chin, and a crown made of black diamonds rests upon her head.
“Congratulations.” Death claps her hands softly. “Nazerath taught you how to pull my consciousness from my host. What do you plan to do now, Vanya? Kill me?”
Vanya, sword still in hand, pushes the parchment back into its pouch and stands poised to attack. “That is the plan.”
They lunge at Death, but she deflects with a simple raise of her hand. She barely moves while Vanya must dart around in an attempt to pierce whatever protection she has. The only sign that Vanya is doing anything at all is the small swaying of Death’s shiny hair.
“Ugh!” Vanya growls. “Fight me!”
Death sighs and rubs her forehead. “You are simply a child. You do not know what you are attempting. Head my warnings and leave while you still can.”
Vanya growls and kicks Death square in the chest, sending her flying several feet back. Her crown falls from her head with a thud onto the invisible floor beneath them. The brilliant glowing eyes fly to Vanya and they know they have successfully pissed off a god. Again.
Death stands and summons a sword to her hand. She runs at Vanya and their swords connect with a clank. Vanya trained with Lipta, but it is clear that Death is a master swordswoman as well. It is hard to get an attack in with the violent, yet precise swings Death performs. She cuts Vanya’s thigh, their arm, their cheek, and their chest. Blood seeps from the wounds, soaking the bits of clothing surrounding them.
With a determined groan, Vanya attacks with every bit of force they have in their body, though their energy is draining substantially with each swing. Finally, an opening presents itself, and Vanya shoves the sword through Death’s chest. She gasps and grasps Vanya’s arm, her sword falling to the ground. As blood trickles down her body from where the sword lies within her chest, slowly spilling down her lips, her eyes flash from white to… normal green eyes. Vanya’s eyes widen in surprise. Death’s body shifts from this all-black clothing and pale skin to a young woman with frizzy red hair, brown clothing with furs as if she comes from a place as cold as the mountains of Exlanda, and freckled skin.
Death laughs wetly. Blood splashes from her mouth onto Vanya’s chest. She slides off of the sword’s blade to her knees. She never stops laughing even when she begins gasping for air. When she lays down on her back, staring up at the empty nothingness of the pocket dimension, she declares, “You- you lose.”
“Wh-what?” Vanya asks. They won. They killed Death. How could they have lost? Unless… unless Death wanted this. Unless she wanted to lose. Vanya had been losing. That opening… Had Death provided that opening?
“You lose,” Death repeats. She laughs twice more before her face relaxes, her body stops moving, and her eyes become lost and glassy.
Vanya feels a rush of… something. Something concerning. Something unlike anything they have ever felt before. The world is different. In fear, Vanya closes the pocket universe and finds themselves back in the throne room. Death, the red-headed Death, lies on the stone floor. Next to her, stands Peter. Normal, beautiful, peacock Peter. Above his head, Vanya notices something: numbers counting down. Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight…
“Vanya,” Peter stares at the body on the floor next to him in shock.
Vanya rushes forward and pulls him into a hug. It isn’t often that Vanya shows any sort of physical affection, but at this moment, while a strange mixture of confusion, fear, and relief fills them, they want nothing more than to hug their husband.
“Wh-what happened?” Peter asks, wrapping his arms tightly around Vanya.
“I did it. I did it, Peter. I killed Death,” Vanya murmurs into his neck. “I got you back.” They pull away and stare at the numbers again. Forty-four, Forty-three, Forty-two… “Are you okay?”
Peter nods. “I think so. Wait- you killed Death? What- what happens now? Does everyone stop dying?”
Vanya shrugs, unable to tear their eyes away from the numbers. What does it mean? Thirty-nine, thirty-eight… “I don’t care. You’re safe and that’s all that matters.” But is he safe? Something feels off.
Peter opens his mouth to say something else, but blood is the only thing that comes out. His eyes widen. He falls to the floor. Vanya only feels fear. Twenty-five, twenty-four, twenty-three…
“No,” Vanya whispers. The world slows around them. “No. Please.” They drop down next to Peter. Blood spills from an invisible wound on his abdomen. Vanya reaches for it, searching around for the source to stop the bleeding. Peter can’t die. He can’t. Not after all this!
Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…
“Vanya,” Peter groans, grasping their hand.
Vanya clutches onto Peter tightly. “Don’t go! Peter, don’t go! Please!” they beg. But who are they begging to? They killed Death.
Seven, six, five…
“Vanya,” Peter whispers.
Four, three, two…
“What did you do?”
One.
Vanya’s glowing eyes watch as the life fades from Peter’s body.