The sound of a shovel breaking earth softly fills the air.
"I still don't see why we must remove this...thing." The female voice drips with contempt, the glowing white Alicorn staring at the nondescript grave that Death is slowly but patiently digging up.
"That fool's plan has to succeed." The sound of the shovel digging into the ground emphasizes Death's words. Looking up at Life, he sighs. "Tell me, what is the demand for new souls fifteen hundred years from now?"
Life begins to look inward, feeling her connection to the world. "The same as usual, old souls are recycled and..." She pauses, reaching for something that isn't there. "What? That's impossible." Digging deeper and deeper, Life searches for something, anything, past fifteen hundred years.
A sound of annoyance comes from Death. "Do you mind? You're making this even harder." Life blinks and realizes she’d forgotten herself and caused the small clearing to bud and grow, a soft blanket of grass now covering the formerly barren ground beneath them. "My apologies, but what is going on? What could cause everything to suddenly...stop?"
Death resumes his work, the plant life slowly withering and dying around him as Life's presence diminishes and the curse placed upon the land activates once again.
"Chaos is going to die." The sound of Death's slow work fills the air once again.
"You can't be serious, one of the immortals dying is unthinkable. Without one of the fundamental forces the universe itself would cease, and..." Life's words slowly die out, refusing to finish that statement.
Soft laughter rises from the haggard alicorn behind the shovel. "Realized it, did you? The fool's got it into his mind to toy with the very forces that bind everything together. He's made up his mind, and nothing we can do will stop him, aside from killing him. And that would defeat the purpose, now wouldn't it?"
A perfectly white hoof rests itself upon Death's shovel, stopping him from working for a moment. Life's determined gaze looks deep into his milky white eyes. "Only we have that power—only you or I could destroy something like Chaos. What is it you aren’t telling me?"
Death's wheezing laughter croaks from his dry throat again. "Many things, but for now, know that I'm doing my best to make sure that buffoon succeeds; if he doesn’t, everything will unravel." Waiting for Life to remove her hoof, Death continues. "What do you know about us?" He waves a bony hoof around them. "All of us."
Life sighs and releases her hold on the shovel. "Digging up some old memories there, Death. Why ask me? You already know the answer."
The sound of the shovel hitting wood echoes around them. "Humor me."
Rolling her eyes, Life obliges. "The first to form himself out of Magic was Chaos, ever shifting and uncontrollable. The second, forming so quickly after Chaos as to be nearly instant was Time. Her forming marked the beginning of everything we know. After that—"
A soft wheezing laugh interrupts her. "No no, not that part." Death's hooves work on opening the coffin, looking at the skeletal pony resting inside. "Sorry old friend, but our deal is off." Death slowly reaches out and touches the remains with a hoof, angry whispers filling the air as he forcefully purges the liches soul from the world. "I wasn't asking for a history lesson, I was asking what you knew about us.”
"I don't know where you’re going with this, so how was I supposed to know what you meant?" Life huffs and doesn't speak for awhile. While he waits for her to get control of herself again, Death begins looking for a book inside the coffin. Surely it's here somewhere—he can feel the dark magic.
Right as he finds it tucked into a hidden compartment, Life speaks again. "We are formed from the different aspects of magic that came into existance during the instant of creation. Each of us assumes an important role, which is inseparable from our selves; for all intents, we are what we embody. When asked about it, Time once said that we are 'powerful magic that became sentient and took a physical form out of convenience.'"Life sighs. "She doesn't really talk much, but what she does say should be honored and remembered."
Death scoffs. "I wouldn't be so sure. We were under the impression that she knows all: all that was, all that will be. Apparently she's just been cheating. She does embody time, but she never took actions to dissuade our assumption of what that meant."
Working open the hidden compartment, Death's withered hooves roam over the faded leather cover. "She's not omniscient." Life's sound of indignation could either have been from Death's proclamation, or the tome he now holds.
Life looks away in disgust. "You know my thoughts on that magic. I was opposed to its creation from the very beginning."
Death's bony hoof rubs the cover of the book, made in old pony leather, the words Necronomicon emblazoned across the front. "Time may have done experiments to learn necromancy, but she can't hold a candle to something written by me. Some things just aren't possible for somepony to do without my blessing."
Life glares at the tome. "Or mine. That book"—Life practically sneers the word—"is my single biggest regret." Life looks Death square in the eyes. "This is the last time I shall uphold my end of the deal." Life's horn lights up and her voice echoes around the area, shaking the very foundation of the world with each syllable. "The next owner of this tome shall have my blessing to use it, but this shall be its last owner. No longer shall this tome recognize any other as its master."
When she's done, Death gives his blessing as well, but his words are silent, and fill the air with a chill that doesn't seem to fade.
When they are both finished, Life sighs. "Who are you giving it to this time? A street urchin? A pony who's parents were murdered again? Maybe spice it up and give it to Hatred."
Death shakes his head, his soft wheezing laughter filling the air. "Neither. This is going to Lun in a couple hundred years; she's going to have a need for an army. An army we will provide for her."