Death is My BFFLAD Rewritten (Book 2 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 12: Necromacy

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DEATH

I couldn't shut it down. 

The last cigarette materialized between my gloved fingers and I lit it. The trembling in my hands finally lessened as I inhaled hard. I tossed the empty cigarette pack off the D & S Towers and watched it with my enhanced vision as it twirled through the night, thumping a pedestrian below on the head.

She's probably sucking faces with him right now. That brat...

"You summoned me, m–m-my lord?" a voice quaked.

I looked over my shoulder from the corner ledge of the roof I was perched on. A little man with red cheeks, glasses, and a clipboard clutched to his chest stood on the roof with his eyes locked on the ground in front of him.

"Glenn," I said in a detached voice and remained where I was. There was an odd comfort in being on the ledge. "What's it called when you want to possess something wholly, but there are limitations in the way? Limitations that are both internal and external?"

"I believe that's just life, my lord?"

"How repulsive." My lips slowly peeled back from my fangs in a sneer. I cracked my head sharply to the side and calmed the beast that was rumbling deep in my chest. "Are you surprised that I summoned you?" I asked, watching the little pathetic demon at the corner of my narrowed eye.

A frown knit Glenn's eyebrows together, eyes skeptical and darting. "Why y-y-yes sir, I was q-quite surprised when you summoned me away from my...execution."

"I know I have a tempter and we've had our differences. You screwed me over and potentially aided the release of the original Grim Reaper and the kidnapping of Scytherella. Plus, you're extremely awkward and dampen my style." I glanced at him. "What have I done to you, exactly? I often have difficulty remembering my own offenses. There can't be too many...?"

Glenn reddened. "Well besides the usual tormenting, n-n-name-calling, and the embarrassing tasks you've make me do for the past four-hundred years, you've also tossed me into a tank of piranhas for your own enjoyment and renamed me."

"Your name isn't Glenn?"

"No, my lord. It's not, but I've l-l-let you call me it four four-hundred years because you s-s-said, and I quote, 'I enjoy giving my slaves dorky n-n-names to make them feel lesser and unimportant. Don't ever correct me or I'll put your head against a cheese grater and m-m-make you the parmesan on my pasta.' Two weeks ago you also ripped my tongue out. And thrice you've made me s-s-soil myself."

"Wow, you remembered all that? I believe your calling is journalism, Glenn." I held back a beaming smirk and paid my cigarette some attention. "Well anyway, I'm willing to look past all of this if you something for me."

Glenn gave me a flat look, but the demon in him seemed intrigued by the obscurity. "What is it, my lord?" he sighed.

"I have something to say first," I began reluctantly. "Glenn, you do mean something to me. And as awfully insignificant as that something may be, this is still worth sharing. Jerry was the worst punching bag I've ever had. And damnit, I cracked and slit his sweaty nerd throat, so I have no other options here." I motioned to another shadowy part of the roof and Glenn turned his head to follow. "He's somewhere over there, by the way."

Glenn's eyes widened. "Is that...him slowly choking on his own b-b-blood, my lord?"

"It relaxes me," I said dismissively. "Anyway, I couldn't fücking take him anymore. And you're, well...you're...." I stared at Glenn a long time, gazing at the bubbles of sweat on his forehead and trying not to cringe. "Somewhat more tolerable than he was...in comparison." I struggled to say the rest. "When you worked for me, a small fraction of the things that you fucked up on were perhaps partially my fault. I understand now that I can be unapproachable and difficult to talk to. Those are some of my best qualities, if you ask me, but I digress..."