Seduced by Death - Prologue

Prologue

Death. It has many names and forms. In various cultures and societies, there is a story for each representative of the word and, well, one could call it an occupation too. An eternal occupation. But which form, which story, was correct? Who knew the real face of Death and what he/she/it actually did at the time of a mortal’s passing? Maybe no one knew. Maybe all those stories were wrong. Or maybe all of them were right. 

Regardless of what humans thought and what they chose to believe, Thane only knew what he knew and that was his entire reason for being. What was that, one might wonder? It was being the personification of Death itself. His whole name was Thanatos, Thane went through his many, many days taking the souls of thousands -- millions, billions -- in a manner and fashion only he knew how or exercised.

Crossing his feet, Thane watched blankly as the temperature quickly rose in the room. Flames as bright as the sun burned, eating and engulfing everything in sight. Even the couch upon which he was sitting was being reduced to cinders with a heat that would surely melt his skin if he were human. Yet none of the flames touched nor harmed him as he continued to remain where he was. 

Glancing at his watch, he counted down the seconds it would take for the timer to reach its appointed zero. Just off to his left was a group of children who were trapped in the closet. A weak support beam caught aflame, blocking the exit and keeping them from coming out. They screamed at the top of their tiny lungs, shrieking and coughing, begging for help. They could not see him, but still they shouted as if they knew someone was close enough to offer help. 

Thane did nothing but listen to their desperate wails, unable to stop the course that had been set out for them. 

Four children in all, the oldest at twelve, the next ten, then seven, then three. The youngest was barely holding on, her time almost up. Down the line, one by one, they would meet their end and then, only then, would Thane finally make his move. 

Hearing the crack of another weak support beam as it threatened to give way, he adjusted his sleeves and secured the black gloves upon his hands. He drew up the oversized hood of his long black jacket over his head, hiding away his features. Only the sharpness of his red eyes could be seen, the midnight black of his hair blending with the black of his hood.

Another crack, then another, then all of a sudden the whole beam collapsed. It crashed upon the door, everything around it falling upon the helpless children. One by one, hardly a second between each, the flicker of life faded. 

Outside, on the powerline across the street from the burning building, four crows sat in a line. They cawed to each other in dissonant chorus. Down below there was a gathering crowd, firemen, policemen, neighbors, and a screaming woman who was begging for someone to go find her children. 

Thane stepped up to the rubble and leaned over the fiery edge. Reaching out one gloved hand, he held out four glass tubes between his fingers. Slowly, each one filled with an individual glowing light. When all four tubes were full, he drew back and capped each one. Holding them up for a proper look, he studied how much white and dark light shone in the tubes. Then, after making his decision, opened up his jacket and stuffed them in his inner pockets. 

Closing the flaps upon the pockets, he zipped up his jacket and turned around. It was time to leave and move on to the next appointed destination. No doubt there was someone else who would need the personal touch of his deliverance. His job was never done. 

Without a sound or sign, Thane faded out of existence. 

On the powerline, the four crows cawed loudly before suddenly taking flight into the sky and disappearing from sight in a flurry of feathers.