Sand and Glass ~Death Angel Book 2~

Prologue

                                                      1 Century ago...

Torva rushed on horseback, heading south.  There was no goal for heading that direction, except to survive.  Arrows shot passed him, grazing his cloak.  Torva pulled his hood up, trying to keep dry from the rain.

Behind Torva, were these assassins, ordered to kill him.  They appeared as hooded monks, except with no face and mass.  In where their grip should be located, were bows and arrows.  The arrows also appeared to have no mass, and it's very easy to see right through them.

Torva urged his horse to gallop faster, but it was almost impossible to make the horse do so.  Drops of rain stained the horse's burgundy coat.  The horse galloped so hard, that mud splattered all over Torva's dark gray cloak.

The rain stung his eyes, but not as much as the arrow that struck him in the back...

Death always rode on a pale horse.  Never expect him to ride skeletal horses or horses on fire.  Every time Death tries to ride the skeletal horse, they always fall apart, and fire stallions always burn down the stables.  He loved the living, anyways.  The horse's name was Binky, and he was pale as the snow in a blizzard.  He was neatly groomed and wore golden bridles.

Death made an echoing noise that caused Binky to halt to a stop.  Death didn't use vocal chords (because he doesn't have any) so he enters his words into one's mind without passing through the ears.  The only sound that passes is an echoing sigh, like a coffin creaking open. 

The scepter glared down at the dead man.  His hair was pitch-black with splotches of mud clumped together.  His cloak was torn, also it was stained with mud- and blood.  An arrow poked out of his spine, causing a tear through the heart.

Death studied the man, having a hard time deciding to use the sword or the scythe.  The child appeared nothing like anyone special, so he chose the scythe.  Death raised the sickle into the air, revealing how unbelievably thin the blade truly is, causing the raindrops to slice into nothing.  Before it was able to swipe the scythe right through the neck, a gasp broke the silence.

Death backed away, feeling discomfit.  The "undead" child rose.  

"Am I dead?" he wondered.

Death said nothing.

Torva peered down, the arrow went right through from his back, to his chest.  He tried running his hand across the weapon, but his hands just went right through.  

Death backed away, obviously unsettled and disconsolate.  He hopped back up onto Binky, trying to make a getaway.  Binky only took one step before Torva tugged on Death's cloak.  The polished skull turned to the living boy.  Death's eyes appeared as distant stars with a shade of blue topaz.  They obviously had a hint of apprehension in them.

Death slid off of Binky, to fulfill the boy's needs.  Death's height did not intimidate Torva.  Seven feet is exactly what to expect from a Reaper.  

WHAT DO YOU WANT?  Death glared at the surviving child.

"You forgot someone."

YOU'RE NOT DEAD, SO I DO NOT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT YOU YET.

"No,"  Torva continued to hold his grip on Death's cloak, "I'm not dead.  Not yet."

SO WHAT IS IT THAT YOU WANT?

"A family."

Death's eyes flared, OH, NO.  I MAKE A GOOD ENOUGH GRANDFATHER.  I DON'T NEED ANOTHER- SENITENT BEING IN MY HOUSE.  LAST TIME, I MADE A HORRIBLE FATHER.

Torva wrapped his arms around Death, "Daddy."

NO.

"DADDY!"

NO.

"DADDY!"

Death peeled Torva's arms off and groaned, UHG.  FINE.  He helped Torva climb onto the horse.  

"Dad?"

Death cringed, YES?

"Can I have a new name?  I want something that's Latin."

YOUR NAME IS LA-

"I was thinking: Mortem."

Death let out a sigh, WHATEVER YOU WISH, SON.