Love and Hate: Part 4 - Rage

Into the gaping maw of the Eternal fortress, an astral traveler followed Death and Time. The traveler came to this realm with blind purpose. In the material world he lost everything and in this world he erased the souls of his parents along with every fiber of humanity left in him. He chose to become inhuman and escape the torture of his life to exact revenge for his agony. His living grief became everlasting rage. At the center of Time’s clock, Steve wondered how he would fulfill his purpose.

“Steve?” Time questioned “that is a mortal name. Yet before me you stand embodied unlike all others here but Gods. I fear a disturbing imbalance has taken place. Great power was at work for you to have crossed over. How did you come?” Steve answered, “A crummy fortune-teller sent me.” “There are no mortals with the power to cross over. The balance of souls is held by Death and Creation alone. Creation transfers souls to the world of flesh and Death retrieves them. No matter, if you are here as We are, something has shifted the balance,” explained Time.

“Death?” asked Time, “have you retrieved Steve’s soul in concordance with Creation? “It is my duty as the Taker to retrieve only the souls which have come to realize their end as conducted by Fate. Creation places life at the direction of Destiny. It is the will of Fate and Destiny which prompts the transfer of souls as you know.” elaborated Death irritably. “Yes Death, my apologies. Would you search your scrolls for missing souls?” Time bowed. “There is no need. I have traveled here to consult you on an anomaly.” Death answered. “Anomaly?” asked Time. “Yes, two souls have ceased to exist and I surmised it was a rift in time,” Death droned. Time added, “You have encountered another anomaly Death and his name is Steve.”

“We must consult with Fate and Destiny,” Time said with urgency, “we shall prepare to journey immediately.” Steve could feel the tension in the air and he knew these Gods would eventually discover his motives. Much more was now clear and he knew he would have many questions for Fate and Destiny.

Time prepared the Eternal Clock for his absence. Transferring a silver strand from his temple to an hourglass suspended in the center of a glowing chasm of flame directly beneath the whirling rings and gears above them. Death swung his scythe on its strap to rest at his back as he opened his robe to retrieve and unfurl a large and weathered scroll that he placed on a table. He began to write names under the many columns on the scrolls surface. “Are those the names of the mortals whose souls you’ve transferred? asked Steve.” “Yes,” answered Death, “I will report the recent transfers to Fate when we see her.”

Steve found himself compelled to look closer at the multitude of names on the morbid scroll of death. He watched as the boney fingers of Death scrawled calligraphically the names of his recent takes. Beautiful sweeping strokes became name after name until one stroke struck Steve in the gut. This name he knew. A name he created himself, the name of his son. Steve felt dizzy and breathless; his skin was on fire. His mind caved inward, plunging into the burning flames of rage that filled every cell of his body. His vision blurred and he stumbled, reaching for anything to stop from collapsing. He felt his hand grasp the hilt of an ice cold cylinder. Then red, nothing but red as he pulled back on the scythe with all his hate, catching the blade under the hood of the black figure who the weapon was strapped to. The strap snapped and he felt the handle jump into his grip, the blade taking with it the hood and all it contained, black robe crumpled to the floor.

Instantly, consumed by lust of death, Steve felt time slow down as he lunged towards the center of the room and the fiery fissure where Time was spinning on his heels to catch the curving blade as it effortlessly cut through his fingers and hand, severing them and sending them floating away in slow-motion as the blade made it’s unimpeded way to the temple of Time’s head and glided through bulging eyes as it exited in a smooth swing. Time’s body slumped back dropping over the precipice of the fissure past the floating hourglass and into the burning void bellow.