A Conversation Between Death and Death

Today, the space appeared as a house. A nice one, comforting, warm, inviting. Of course, it didn't really exist. Nothing did out here, in this astral space so far removed from reality. But gods and beings could still think and feel, and their surroundings influenced their emotions just as it did to any mortal. And Death knew that, if he was to have this conversation with his sister, he would need their surroundings to be as comforting as possible.

She walked in after he'd been waiting for an hour in our time. She did not hang her head like he expected, like he hoped. Instead, Death walked in normally, staring right at Death from beneath her mask. From his seated position, the cloaked figure looked at his sister, and if a face was visible behind the shadowed cloak, it would've been something like pity and worry.

"Sister Mask," he said.

"Brother Cloak," she replied. And they stayed silent for a painful minute or two, simply staring at each other. Eventually, Cloak gestured for Mask to sit in a chair across from him. She sat down, and there was another minute of silence.

"The others are angry," Cloak said. "Your latest rampage was far greater than normal. I've had my hands full for a while trying to clean it up." Mask said nothing, and simply waited for him to continue. "The others think you should be erased. Removed from reality."

At this, Mask scoffed. "They say that each and every time I collect my souls. If they truly wanted to, they would've done so already."

"It's not that simple," Cloak responded. "Mother Etera created us all to serve a purpose in this universe. Remove one cog, the entire clock stops working."

Mask looked over towards an empty fireplace, and created a warm fire that was and was not real, was warming without any actual heat. "There are two gods of death, brother. Could one exist without the other?"

"You are evil Death," Cloak said. "At least, that's how everyone views you. And I am good Death. If you are erased, your essence will merge with me, and we will become one. And the natural order would be upset."

Mask scoffed once more, and looked back at her brother. "Evil Death. I bring death to those who are evil, brother. Where is the evil in that?"

"You know just as well as I that when you go on a rampage, it isn't just the evildoers who are brought to the afterlife. What of the babies who you killed in their sleep? The victims of diseases you implanted in them so long ago? Were they evil? Did they do harm?"

"I…" Mask had no answer for that. Cloak simply sighed.

"Sister, you are still naive. You still do not understand what your actions do, the ripples they cause."

"Then enlighten me."

Cloak nodded, and the windows nearby them flashed and warped, the outside changing from empty black to a funeral scene. Through the window, the two Deaths watched a crowd of figures dressed in black. A woman, a mother, stood on a podium, and wept and wept as she spoke of her young son, barely two years old when he was struck by lightning during a storm.

Cloak solemnly looked out. "You stole Ikara's lightning and thunder. Killed a child. Several others too in that storm. He's been taking his anger out on the ocean. There's a hurricane out in the center of it. It'll dissipate before it reaches land." The mother left the podium, someone else went up and began to say a prayer to Cloak, for safe passage to the afterlife. "I gave it to him, of course. He rests well in our domain. But I would rather he never have gone there in the first place."

Mask shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "I… I do not remember doing this."

"You rarely remember these moments. Your rampages are caused by madness, sister. Etera was weak when you were brought into this realm. She made you imperfect. She made all of us imperfect, in one way or another."

The scene changed again, and a man could be seen slumped against a wall, slowly fading out as hunger overtook his body. "You moved him away from food, and another life is gone." It shifted once more, and now they were looking into the past, as a house collapsed. "A family lived there, sister. You destroyed the foundations, and destroyed them all."

Mask now looked decidedly scared and nervous. "Brother, what is the point of this?" Her eyes from behind her mask remained rooted at the window, though she desperately wished to look away. The scenes kept changing, rapidly moving through various innocents that Mask had unknowingly taken. Eventually, she cried out, "Stop this, please!"

Cloak waited a moment, and then relented. The scene from the window blinked once more, and returned to astral dark. He looked over to his sister, who was now staring at the ground, head in hands, breathing heavily.

Mask spoke, her voice muffled by her hands. "Why… why did you show me that?"

"Do you feel their pain, sister? Do you understand what your actions have caused?"

"I… I feel it. Feel it tenfold, all too clearly. But why? Did you just want to torture me?" She looked up at him, expression hidden behind her mask, but her feelings all too clear.

Cloak stood up, and walked over to his sister. He kneeled down beside her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I do not wish to torture you. I wish to make you understand, sister. The others are angry not just because you took senseless life, but because you did not show remorse. You were flippant. Even now, when you walked in, you walked in not with shame, but with your head held high. It is unbecoming, it will only further incur the others' wrath."

Mask sighed and looked away. "So what would you have me do? I will show remorse from now on, that much I promise."

Cloak took Mask's hand. "I have something for that. Come with me." The fire went out. The house began to disappear, wall by wall, piece by piece. Eventually, they were standing in astral dark. Then, the air around them shimmered, and they were standing in a field. In front of them, for a few yards, rested green grass. Beyond the grass, trees. And somewhere in between, rows and rows of unmarked headstones stretched out before them.

Mask observed the stones. She let go of her brother's hand, and walked up to one, kneeling down in front of it. "This is…"

"The afterlife. My realm. I found an empty space, away from the homes of the dead, where no one except the gods would think to go. And I constructed this. It was just after you came back, and the others were squabbling."

"What does it have to do with me?"

"This is your way to prove your remorse. On each headstone, you will inscribe the name of a life you took before their time."

Mask looked at Cloak with a noise of surprise. "But… brother, that's so many people. I doubt I could mark each and every one of their names, and how they met their end."

Cloak reached into his robes, and pulled out a sheet of paper, tossing it to his sister. "You need not mark each name. You just need to start from your latest… venture. I will construct a list each time you do this, of their names and causes of death. And you will show penance by immortalizing their name in these stones, so that none may forget, least of all you."

Mask looked at the stones, then at Cloak, then back at the stones. "The others find this acceptable?"

"They'd prefer your madness was removed entirely. But such a thing would be impossible unless Mother Etera awakened once more."

A pause. "Then I will do it."

"Would you prefer I stay with you?"

"No. This is a task I must see to alone. Besides, you probably have some new souls to lead."

Cloak nodded. "Very well." He walked up to Mask, and she stood up, and Death looked at Death. Then, the two of them embraced. No words were said, and no words were needed. The embrace held for a while, before they eventually broke apart. "I will tell the others of this."

"I expect so," Mask responded. "I will also tell them when I see them next. I expect it will be a hard conversation. But a necessary one."

"But a necessary one," Cloak agreed. "Well, sister Mask, I will leave you to your task."

"Farewell, brother Cloak."

"Farewell." Then, a door of darkness opened before them. Cloak walked through. Death departed, and Death was left alone.

She turned towards the headstones, a list in one hand. She walked up to a headstone and knelt down to face it, the list placed beside her on the grass. I will need to carve it by myself, she thought. Simply willing the carving into existence is no proper way to carry this out. And so she fashioned for herself a hammer and chisel. And she began to carve out a name. The first of many.

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