The Gifts of Mortality

Chapter 7, part two

"We're so fortunate! So lucky," Samil shouts into the empty exhibit hall. "And so is humanity. We're going to stop Death from killing all of them!"

"Are you now?" Avonni asks, examining the polished fingernails of the human male body he inhabits.

"Yes! You all are going to be so happy."

"Samil," Rachel cuts in, not taking her eyes off Death. "He's not human."

"What?" Samil wheels his head to look from the employee to Rachel and back again.

Death lifts an eyebrow at him.

"Oh," Samil says as he registers. "Hi Avonni."

"Samil," the immortal says with a formal incline of his head. "I suppose congratulations are in order."

"Thanks." Samil glances at Rachel. His eyes are wide and his lips are slightly parted.

She meets his gaze but doesn't know what to say to him or what to do next. She slightly shakes her head at him, although she doesn't know what she's saying no to.

When Samil turns back to Death, he steps slightly in front of Rachel. "We're here to help you, too, Avonni. You won't have to do this anymore—hurt them anymore."

The God of Death—some functional part of Rachel's brain breaks through her terror and remembers Avonni wishes to be referred to as a male when appearing in such a form—hums as his black eyes traverse up and down Samil before his gaze glides over to Rachel to give her the same treatment.

"So this is the best that immortality and mortality could muster to face me. How disappointing."

"The others will follow. The other gods will stand against you," Samil says in a firm voice.

"No, they won't. It is only you."

"I have succeeded even though I stand alone."

"You found the magic that constrains me. You are a step closer to achievement but still have quite a ways to trek. And now I stand in your way."

Samil's brow furrows. "We're trying to help you, too, Avonni."

"Yes, you are. And while I hope you succeed, I am under orders to stop any and all opposition that comes close to success. Even if Cleaver's adversaries have only taken one step nearer to it."

One corner of Death's lips pulls into a different kind of smile than the one he usually wears. His smile is one of pity. "We three share a common goal—concluding that madman's quest for power—but, alas, we do not share common orders."

Death leans toward Samil and pins him with a dark gaze. "You understand what it is I am saying, yes? I am here to stop you. I am here to kill you. You and the human-pet you've taken on."

"Samil," Rachel breathes. She reaches out to clutch his shoulder with her left hand and her eyes dart around the exhibit hall, looking for an escape. Death has backed them into a corner.

"I will be attempting to do just that shortly," Death continues. "But because we share the same goal, I am trying to stall to give you time to run, which you don't appear to appreciate."

"Samil!" Rachel cries. She spins around and slams her right elbow into and through the glass case behind them. Her fingers grope through the shards to find metal and she immediately pulls her hand back when she grasps her prize—her palm is stretched across the face and eye sockets of the grinning silver skull and the tip of her index finger pokes through one of the silver rings haloing the sculpture. The sharp edge of the broken glass catches on her wrist as she yanks her arm from the case and she feels it slice and tug against her skin. When pain doesn't closely follow, she decides to ignore the cut.