Summary: Reaper's followers take things the tiniest bit too far, leaving him in a very interesting situation.
(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing, blood, and injury.)
Dark storm clouds that stretched far beyond the horizon tainted the blue sky, threatening to soak the mortal lands below. Thunder roared. Lightning crashed, striking the earth with the anger of the gods. Shrubs, grasses, and flowers were whipped around by fierce gales, which periodically swept across the land; trees strained to keep their trunks from bending beneath the force. Local wildlife scoured every place imaginable for suitable shelter- from the dumpsters in alleyways to the chambers of old abandoned buildings. Some dared to burrow into the earth while others sought unoccupied caves/tree hollows. Anywhere dry and protected was fair game. Humans similarly hid in towering skyscrapers and small houses, fearing the destruction the weather was bound to create. However, the streets were not as empty as one would imagine.
A tiny figure - small enough that one might mistake them for a doll - dashed down the deserted roads, moving under as many slightly elevated obstacles (cars, benches, postboxes, etc.) as possible. Weaving and slipping into hard to reach places, they ran without pause while desperately seeking out a hiding place. Unfortunately, the stretches of open space made it near impossible to vanish from searching eyes. And, though the being appeared to be no more than a black blob due to the dark cloak shrouding them, it provided very little camouflage.
He, Reaper, the embodiment of mortality and decay, feared for his life and wanted to put some distance between himself and those responsible for the current situation. The rumble of their gait pounded in his invisible eardrums. His bare feet hammered against concrete, shooting discomfort through each tibia/fibula with every step. Rough asphalt scrapped his poor metatarsals and phalanges. The death god would not be surprised if deep red marrow was leaking from the shallow cuts and sores. Regardless, he continued onward. The pain his wounds caused him seemed like a small price to pay for freedom.
As he traversed the open space, his eyes locked onto the next thing that he could hide under and shifted his course to that direction. The target was a car. Small, dull red, and lived to see more crashes than necessary, judging by the numerous dents and scratches it bore. It would not provide cover for long, yet Reaper still aimed for its inviting shadows. He intended to escape the greedy eyes tracking his every move. Even if for a mere few seconds. While running, a heavy pressure sunk into the cloaked skeleton's bones, making a few joints stiff and difficult to move. Something in the air stirred. Howls ripped through the air as the winds began to rush across the land, slowly building in speed with each passing moment. The soft scent of sky-bound water tickled his nasal cavity. Rain- It would start raining soon. He could feel it in his bones.
Reaper quickened his pace despite his body's strong protests. Dampness made its way onto his aching bones, partially due to sweat and somewhat due to marrow leaking from his foot wounds. The small, inverted heart-shaped organ pounding in the morbid god's ribcage worked overtime to regulate his magick flow. His nonexistent lungs heaved for air, leaving him nigh breathless as he zipped down the road. Luckily, the biology of magic skeletons allowed them to survive extended periods without oxygen, so Reaper saved his worry for other matters. Like potentially getting trapped in a heavy downpour with pursuers right on his trail. An activity he had no plans on adding to his itinerary. Ever.
Once approaching the rear bumper of the vehicle, he internally cheered and began a mad dash toward the shadows. The dreaded sensation crawling along his back disappeared as he vanished into the lovely shelter darkness provided. Vulgar curses sounded behind. Reaper, however, concentrated so intensely on relief that his brain did not register the words. His feet swiftly carried him to the opposite end of the car, where they then stuttered to a halt. The harrowing divide between comfortable darkness and unescapable exposure laid before him. Insufficient daylight lightened the asphalt extent beyond and brightened the sparse few structures useable for cover. The God of Death stood at the edge, panting. Aching, bony legs trembled under his weight, daring him to sit down and never walk again. Dark eye sockets gazed behind, and invisible ears listened for footfall dampened by the shrill sky. Focusing, he training his hearing on the distinct noise. A set of clopping hooves along with several pairs of softer treads sounded beneath the winds. Lightning crackled, illuminating the world long enough from him to see a blob of shadows approaching from the distance. His pursuers were not an immediate problem, then. He had a minute or two at most to rest- ample time to lean against the front tire for support and catch his breath, which took little convincing to accomplish.
Reaper shuffled over to the rubbery wheel and slowly allowed his back to ease against it, taking away a bit of the burden his legs carried. A soft sigh brushed passed his jaws as the weight shifted off the damaged bones. The agony coursing through them only lessened a minuscule amount, but the effect still proved to be satisfying. Though, the longer he remained unmoving, the less and less he wanted to continue forward and place more pressure on his legs again. Why would he? He was a god. Building up that type of endurance never crossed his mind after spending eons floating/flying around and teleporting to where he needed to go. His brother and many other gods, on the other hand, could walk for days. Hell, even Geno could walk faster and farther than him on a good day. Levitation was Reaper's best (and favorite) form of transportation.
Worth a shot, he thought. Summoning what little magick was available in his reserves, the tired skeleton willed it to flow through every bone in his body, coating them in a near-invisible light blue glow, and attempted to lift them (and by extension, himself) off the ground. Inch by inch, he climbed into the air. A weary grin stretched across his skull as he gained enough height to wiggle his toes freely, without meeting any earthward resistance. The happy expression wavered when the delicate glow encompassing his bones sputtered and vanished. Soon the god found himself falling feet-first to earth. He floundered in the air, flailing his arms like a helpless hatchling and struggling to reignite the levitation magick. It did little to ease the impact. Upon meeting asphalt, a sharp sting shot up the already throbbing bones, causing a pained grunt to escape Reaper's throat. He glared down at them with narrowed eye sockets, feeling betrayed.
Damn!
That transformation left me weak- weaker than I have ever been. How long will I be able to hold out? I know I can't run forever.
A hand came up to clutch the left side of his chest. Higher up and to the right laid the skeleton's second most prized possession (the first being the wedding ring Geno gave him), something worn on the dark cloak every day without fail. To most, it appeared to be a mere trinket- a draconic skull pendant that rested on the front of the article, attached where a metal clasp fastened the two sides of the hood. But it was so much more than that. His father or creator, Gaster, gifted the pendant to him shortly after his 'birth.' It held an unimaginable amount of power. That of the likes humans had warred over in past eons.
Dare I- Dare I unleash this formidable power?
The cloaked skeleton shook his head, hand slowly drifting in the opposite direction of the artifact and limply falling to the side.
No.
No, I can't. There is no telling how it will affect my current form. That much raw magic rushing through a tiny, frail body like this may very well obliterate it. And I'd prefer to make it home to Geno and my brother in one piece.
With a sharp breath, he stepped toward the rift separating him from those on the hunt- those whos gait was becoming louder and louder by the second. Invisible eyelights scanned the beyond. A postbox laid behind a wooden bench on the left side of the sidewalk roughly eleven feet ahead. Broken and damaged boxes abandoned by inconsiderate people surrounded its base, making it impossible to scurry underneath the metallic mail-holder. Being beaten by the harsh winds had caused the awkward stack to explode into disarray. Some boxes looked ready to tumble off without short notice. Sight drifting in the opposite direction, Reaper noticed that not a single form of cover laid on the other sidewalk. It was an open field decorated by a fire hydrant and several lampposts. Worryingly, even cars were absent from the asphalt road extending past the horizon. Meaning the bench would be his only protection unless he managed to devise a plan before his pursuers get too close.
He clenched his teeth, mentally preparing himself, and bolted out from under the car, intending to make up any ground lost during his short break. The physical strain aggravated his poor, ancient soul. Pain nipped at his heels and burrowed into the sore bones, making itself at home like a tick snuggled in a dog's fur coat. Sadly, the skeleton's growing familiarity with its presence did not make it any more tolerable. Then a sharp chill crept up his spine as the bench drew nearer. The unsettling gaze had returned, adding onto the stress. Its voracious eyes froze his bones to the core and induced panic and uneasiness in his soul while seemingly piercing through his black cloak and eyeing the bones beneath. A cold sweat broke out on Reaper's back. If he had normal eyelights, they would have reduced to mere pinpricks at this point- or vanished entirely. Shuddering, he used the distant postbox's shiny surface to view the people running close behind. The reflection showed seven robed figures in pursuit.
The first, and at the head of the pack, was a cloven-hooved bipedal monster with two curled horns poking out the hood of their robe. A raven's skull laid where the clothing item fastened around his neck. Ajax, if Reaper recalled correctly. However, doubt lingered in the back of his mind. As a God of Death, there were many more significant activities/tasks than memorizing the names his followers went by. Therefore, he could not trust himself to recollect any of their chosen monikers. What he did know was Ajax's role amongst his following. (Many gods found it crucial to keep track of those loyal and those not. No one wanted to smite or curse the wrong person, after all. And, naturally, one needed to be sure they were rewarding the right person for their devotion.) The middle-aged monster led those devoted to the God of Death in the lower, northwestern half of Europe. Other than that, Reaper's mind supplied nothing relevant about the crazy goat. His nonexistent eyelights moved to examine the others. Two dog monsters (a jackal-esque male and a rottweiler-like female) flanked their leader. Following close behind them was a cat monster, two rabbit monsters, and a lizard monster.
The tiny skeleton grimaced, directing his attention back to the open road. Three monsters with a decent nose on their face made hiding difficult. How on earth would he lose them? Hiding under the upcoming bench hardly seemed plausible- eventually, someone would reach under and grab him. If not that, then he may become surrounded and forced to surrender or starve/give in to fatigue. Either way ended with him being caught. As disgusting as the notion may be, perhaps he could conceal himself in a garbage can or dumpster. Geno would, without a doubt, ban him from kisses and cuddles until the stench was gone, but Reaper could live with that if it meant evading his pursuers; Especially since he did not want to know what they planned on doing once they caught him. Whatever it was, though, seemed to be the opposite of moral due to the situation at hand.
Puffing out labored breaths, he straining his tiny legs to carry him further and further for those chasing after him. He kept his head faced forward, refusing to spare a backward glance over his shoulder. Possibly out of fear for the group merely a few paces behind. Or, more plausibly, fearing that the gesture would slow him down and allow the cretins a chance to snag him. All seemed well as he approached the wooden legs of the bench until a sudden gust of wind blew through the streets. The gust caught his cloak, attempted to push him into the hands of his pursuers, forcing him to slow and stumble back several steps. Before it could propel him further, his little arms latched onto the nearby bench leg, barely fitting around, to prevent himself from being swept away.
His arms began to throb as the force of nature raged on, and each air push made his ironclad grasp slip more and more. It would be a lie if Reaper said he wasn't the slightest bit worried. Or afraid. Or utterly terrified of the consequences of losing his grip/letting go. The duty he fulfilled took him many places within his AU- the mortal realm, the dwelling of Reapertale's panthéon, and all planes in between. In the event the shrunken skeleton got captured, Geno may notice something amiss when he fails to return home to harass him with late-night snuggles. But it would be nigh impossible for the genius to locate Reaper quickly. Let alone save him from his crazed followers. The worst part was: Geno saw this coming, and Reaper completely ignored the other's concerns and placed too much faith in the loyalty of his followers. He wished he had taken his lover's concerns more seriously. Had listened to what Geno attempted to tell him. If the tiny god had- well, then he would be in an entirely different situation right about now. Their conversation haunted the depth of his mind even now, taunting him for disregarding the concerns thrown his way.