Fantasy Shepherds of the Long Gone

[tooth]

The man stood silent and still, soaking in the emptiness in a brief break from his eternal duty. He twirled his scythe around, the blade shining a path through the still air of purgatory, the motion practiced and for no other purpose than for the reaper to entertain himself before moving on back to the mortal world.

His pointed ears twitched as he heard footsteps, something souls are often not capable of making, tapping the handle of his weapon back down to the ground for another wave of passing on. He turned to the source of the sound, face devoid of emotion at first, then anger the next. Nothing too fierce, but a righteous anger indeed.

"... Aye," a curse of something ancient, "You are but a child."

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxx"Uh..." The scythe didn't bring him any more comfort. Misha looked just about ready to find, well, literally anyone else to ask questions to before he realized he'd been caught. Had he been any less concerned, he might've had half the mind to be offended by being called a child, and a brief grimace across his face said he thought about it for a moment. He took a moment to try and figure out something proper to say, but he was getting thrown by this whole situation, and rather than ask the question he should've instead he spoke "...Do you know how to get back to Brooklyn from here?" Clearly unaware of the actual situation, and trying to ignore the fact that he'd nearly gotten torn to shred for that matter, seemingly only interested in getting back home. Hopefully to a blissfully ignorant mother, who thought he was merely out at an actual job.

 

[tooth]

Ghost rubbed his temple, frowning deeply at this situation. "And you know nothing. Damned devil." It's not like there's a training program for this sort, but Ghost was tired of having to be the one to provide basic information to the gatekeepers of hell.

He placed the scythe on his shoulder, the other hand on his hip, looking down at Misha much like a stern parent would. "You are dead, harbinger. Your soul is shredded to bits, too. A mess."

He beckons the teenager closer, practically snarling at him. Though the anger isn't towards Misha, but rather the situation. A child signed his eternity away and likely hardly knows it.

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxxMisha stepped forward almost immediately, mostly because he was fully aware he was in no position for opposition, however he was still trying to process what he'd been told "I'm dead...? Does that make you death?" He paused on that question, staring off as if trying to solve an invisible equation. Dead? Oh...Shit. If he was dead who was going to take care of his mother? More importantly who was going to tell her? They didn't have very many friends, and she was incredibly rusty at English still. He'd learned out of necessity, for her sake and his. Oh, god. Dead. And he hadn't even graduated yet either. He hadn't done a lot of things actually.

 

[tooth]

Ghost sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "You are dead but you will stop being dead once you die again. Agh. I am bad at this." This sort of thing was far outside his paygrade--that is to say, absolutely nothing. Harbingers came along well after the reaper, and to be honest, Ghost himself still feels new to the idea, regardless of the however many hundreds of years the devil has been making this particular deal.

He plucked the needle from his scythe, not bothering to explain what it's for or why. "It does not matter--you are all torn up and I need to fix you before hell shows up and drags you back. Sit, don't squirm."

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxx"Whoa, easy for the big guy with the big scythe to say." Misha said, suddenly brought back to the reality of his situation as the needle was pulled "You're telling me I have to die twice to come back to life? I thought two wrongs didn't make a right." He frowned, still warily eyeing that needle as it came closer, looking very much like he did in fact want to squirm. Well, no, he looked a lot more like he wanted to sprint, but was doing his best to hold still. A lot like a child who was about to get a most unwanted shot. Little did he know this would hurt far worse. He had to admit, this was not what he expected death to look like. To be fair, he didn't expect death to be a skeleton in a cloak either. Actually, he wasn't sure what he expected...

 

[tooth]

"You are in limbo. El purgatorio. If you were not bound by devil, you would have been passed on to here or there already." He pointed with his needle, up and down respectively. Squatting down, he moved to eye level with the gouges in Misha's chest, the biggest visible damage. "Ahhhh, my work ahead of me."

Unlike the habit he developed later in his career, the reaper absolutely neglected to mention the pain that the sewing of the soul would bring. It didn't help it was a rush job, the claws, burns, and other damage needing speedy repair before the helltakers arrived.

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxxIt was not his finest moment, and he would decline to admit to it later, or find any enjoyment in recalling it- but Misha screamed. Quite fervently at that. It probably wouldn't have done much good if Ghost had been inclined to warn him. How could you properly describe to someone the pain of having your soul sewn back together? The pain of having it ripped apart in the first place seemed more bearable. But perhaps that was simply because it was nothing but a dull memory, and this was a fresh experience- one he would not forget for long into his hunting days. He understood too quickly what moving abruptly could do, and found more trust in nearly biting his tongue off instead as his eyes began to sting. If you told him he'd get used to it then, at the time the boy would have confidently called you a liar.

 

[tooth]

Ghost bit the thread off, sitting back on his legs in a seated squat. He let out a low whistle, making a face at his own shoddy work. The stitches were misaligned, none of them straight, the wider areas with the burns more of a mess than he'd manage in some time. He scratched the back of his head after tucking the needle away. "Mmph. Well. Better than you tearing apart."

Putting his weight into the staff of his scythe, he pushed himself back up to standing, looming over Misha with more of a height difference than they'd later speak to each other from. Perhaps now it became obvious the blood seeping out of Ghost, from his hand, knee, as well as another spot soaking red into the bandages wrapped around his neck. He paid little mind to it, the red dripping to the floor of limbo and staining it red against the stark white.

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxxRather than keep himself on his feet, Misha made himself comfortable right there on the ground. Practically dropping like he'd been on strings, and the puppeteer decided to drop the act for now. It seemed much easier to do so than think about putting any effort into standing, especially after that. The initial drop hurt, but once he was deflated onto the ground, the weight of his- soul? - seemed much less painful. The fact that Hell would be arriving to drag him back had been lost on Misha, at least for the moment. Mirroring moments yet to come, the teen watched the blood hit the same ground he way laying on, making note "You're bleeding...Is that supposed to happen?" The question stemmed half from genuine concern, half from needing a distraction.

 

[tooth]

"Eh?" Ghost looked down, only now noticing the pain. He just wiped his hand off on his coat, the pitch black of it absorbing the stain easily. The red on his neck will be noticed later, and the knee was too much trouble for the moment. "Aye, it is. You called me death earlier--close enough. You harbingers are affronts to fate itself, and we reapers are tied to it. Fate gets frayed, so do we." He looked bored explaining all this, the same frustration from before presenting itself again, it still not his job to have to explain all this--especially not to a child.

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxxMisha examined the man's face while he spoke. He wondered how many times Ghost had to say this, now that he had the time to actually consider things. In fact, how many more times would Misha die, just to end up back here? He didn't know whether that was a comforting thought or not, especially not when it came down to having to get stitched back together like a stuffed toy. He thought for a moment, quiet and contemplative, before looking back up at the other "What's your name, then? If not death. I'm Misha." He figured they might as well get acquainted if this was how they were going to meet. It seemed awfully rude not to give the person who sewed your soul back together your name.

 

[tooth]

The reaper sighed, deciding he may as well join Misha in sitting on the ground. Plopping down into a cross-legged position, he laid his scythe over his lap.

"Ehhh. Names. We are never given them. My oldest one is Gava-- A Ghost. But call me whatever you want."

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxx"Ohhh, good one." Misha laughed, although it really came out as more than a chuckle because anything else turned his chest into a cavern of aches almost instantly. A few moments later when the teen realized that the other was very serious, he cleared his throat "Oh. We're not joking? Right. Right, no, Ghost is fine. Good name. Fitting name for...not death." He was clearly still trying to make some sense of this all in his mind, although he probably should've stopped doing that about the time he made a deal with the devil "So I'm dead, you're Ghost, this is Limbo- and Hell is...?"

 

[tooth]

Ghost did not look so amused. He frowned, snaggleteeth poking out.

"Hell is where you will end up, young one. You have sold your soul." He sighed, running a hand through his white curls. "It is a shame. You are so young. What would cause you to do such a thing?"

He looked not necessarily upset, more exhausted. The truth of Misha's situation was weighing on him, the reaper's face showing clear pity.

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxxMisha's expression seemed to drop for a moment, shifting his gaze like he had to think about the answer for a moment before slowly bringing his shoulders into a shrug instead "...Personal reasons. I mean, isn't that what everyone signs their soul away for anyway?" Perhaps Ghost could argue that people did it for others as well, a selfless act, but that in itself had been Misha's predicament. It just happened to be a personal relationship to him. Immortality hadn't been an option, so he settled for keeping his mother around long enough for her to hopefully live a full life, cancer free, and end it with a peaceful death. One that wouldn't hurt, at least.

 

[tooth]

Ghost looked at the harbinger with half-pity, half-incredulousness. He has heard many reasons for dealing with the devil, most of them selfish, but this one seemed beyond that. Someone too young to understand that everybody dies. And the perfect prey for hell.

"... Hrmh. Well. I will not lecture you. It would do you no good."

He points to the claw marks, sutures shining on them. "You will need something close-ranged for this one. Wide, broad. If you have a shield, even better."

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxxMisha blinked, half surprised that the reaper was actually offering him advice, but also adamantly making note of what the other man was saying as well "A shield...?" The idea of a classic medieval one came to mind, and he made a face. The idea seemed ridiculous, but how much more ridiculous than becoming a demon hunter. Still, where was he supposed to get one of those? He'd have to make do for now. He was sure he could put together what he had and make a makeshift one though. That, and a gun maybe... He opened his mouth to thank Ghost before the faint sound of barking echoed through the otherwise silent Limbo. Misha's brows furrowed as he craned his neck to look, not interested in getting up just yet "They have dogs here?"

 

[tooth]

"They have hell hounds. If you wish to be kind, consider them your guides."

Ghost stood up, pulling Misha up along with him without first asking, holding tight onto the harbinger's arm--only in the interest in keeping the boy from falling back over.

"Prepare yourself, and do not undo my hard work." A point at the stitches.

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxx"Hey-" Misha frowned as he was getting dragged upwards to his feet, almost letting himself fall back over sideways in favor of resting back on the ground again. Begrudgingly he straightened himself up as the raving hounds grew closer, suddenly feeling like they weren't as friendly as he'd originally anticipated. Especially not considering he was watching the flames escape the gaps between their teeth "...This doesn't look pleasant." Was his last remark. And he'd be right. Misha would learn to, as he did most of his experiences in Limbo, get used to being dragged, stitched, and tossed around before being allowed to return to the world of the living.

 

[tooth]

There were rare times where the reaper was caught in his own moment of weakness, contrast to the first meeting between the two of them.

Years later, however many he never bothered to count, Ghost sat on the dirt ground, head in hands. The forest around him was eerily still, silence surrounding him and the corpse he sat next to.

A friend, a companion to his lonely travels, one of the few who would see him as the shadow he is and follow him regardless. Charlie wasn't perfect by any means, but it was better than being alone, and Ghost had grown attached to his company.

So attatched, he ignored his companion's looming fate.

The body of Charlie laid in front of him, heart having abruptly stopped, so much sooner than the reaper could've been prepared for. The soul still lingering. He simply stared at its faint light.

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxxIt was occasions like these where their situations were reversed. Instead of Ghost finding Misha awaiting repair, sometimes the Harbinger was sent to retrieve a soul from a reaper instead of hunting it down. It's what he considered 'breaks' as far as his job went. Easy tasks, at least physically. Emotionally, as seen, conflicting parties could be had. A soul that wouldn't be allowed to pass on peacefully, was then required to be brought to Hell; somewhere a reaper's scythe couldn't take them. By this point, Misha was aware the reaper was much more capable of more compassion than he'd let on.

Now, the Harbinger stepped through between the trees. What an odd place to die...Was the insensitive thought that crossed his mind, and that he pointedly kept to himself and he stopped short of the now lifeless body resting on the ground. It's soundless heartbeat matched the silence of the woods. His eyes started at Ghost, and then sauntered their way over to the newfound soul of Charlie "...Worse ways to go." He said, trying to keep some sense of optimism.

 

[tooth]

Ghost's eyes flickered up to Misha approaching, his body posture immediately steeling against the presence of another person to see him vulnerable. He had hoped, desperately, that the soul would flicker away, up towards limbo or anywhere else, but the lingering implied a weight holding Charlie's life force down. It just needed a final tug to bring it down below, and it seems that task taker has arrived.

Ghost let out a groan that sounded more like a growl, curling his arms up into himself and frowning at the lingering soul, rather than the harbinger.

"Dead in the woods, no family, and destined for hell. There have been better." Ghost had no optimism for this, only bitterness.

 

[BlueJae]

xxxxx"Can you really be picky when it comes to death?" Misha arched a brow, although it was a genuine question. He wondered, some souls would always be bitter about the way that they died, but having died a thousand deaths himself- some were certainly less painful than others. Physically, and emotionally. He was destined for Hell, he would eventually have no family, and he had certainly been dead in the woods once or twice by now. All things weighed, he'd take that death again over many others. Still, he dropped his eyes back to Ghost. Death grieving. There was some irony in that. Misha distinctly felt guilty for even being there, considering his role "I don't have to take him immediately...They aren't that high strung. At least, not yet."

 

[tooth]

Ghost sighed, pinching his brow and looking as exhausted as Misha's ever seen him, which is saying something given his default state.

"Pickiness... No, I suppose not. Though it use to be simpler. Less... Mgh. People died, and that was that. None of this descent, ascent nonsense."

He ran a hand through his curls, leaning into his hand and staring still at the soul. "I've never agreed with it. It means good people suffer and bad people thrive. When all people should just rest." A rest he'd never get.