Contracted

by Slywolf930

Death

Death

Marx looked down at the tray he was given. Hospital food, his favorite. An assortment of apple products, it was like the town had an infinite supply. Nurse Redheart was looking at him, holding the glass of water and white pill. She was trying to smile, although Marx’s attitude wasn’t helping any.

“You need to take them,” The nurse said, putting the pill on the tray.

“I feel fine,” Marx said, his face not showing his pain as he moved his hoof to try and push the tray away.

“You need to hold still while you heal, we need you to take it,” She said, not sure why he was resisting.

“Just leave it there, if I think I need it, I’ll take it,” Marx said, turning his head.

“Jeez… alright, you win. I’ll leave three pills, you have three more days until you should be better. I recommend you take this seriously,” She said, putting the other two pills on the tray, as well as the glass of water.

“Just take the damn pill,” Rogue said from her bed, tired from the argument they’ve been having over why it was important. It’s been ten minutes of technical and practical explanations from both sides, but neither had budged from their standpoint.

“You don’t control me,” Marx said. Nurse Redheart left hoping that Rogue would knock some sense into him. Figuratively or literally, she didn’t care anymore.

“I can almost stand, and that bounty of yours could pay for my medical bills…” Rogue said.

“Fine, fine…” Marx said, bringing one of the pills painfully to his mouth. He dropped it on his tongue and swallowed it with his water. He felt the effects immediately. When he finished, he noticed the tray of food was blurring, the colors in the room were mixing, the pain melting away as his body relaxed itself.

Marx was going to say something, but then the real drug kicked in. His movements slowed in his mind as the pillow guided him to dreamland. His vision and hearing slowed to a stop as he slept.
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Death ducked a low hanging branch as he ran. The sounds of pursuit still behind him, as the ponies crashed through the brush. Death chanced a look back, the Divine guard showing no signs of stopping as he got closer and closer. At this rate…

Death snapped forward just in time to avoid a tree. He reached a Manticore camp, their growls alerting him to their presence. Death managed to cut one down in seconds as he continued to run. Looking behind again, he noticed the Divine guard had left the Shadow Guards to deal with the Manticores. Now, it was one on one. Death swung his scythe, cutting down the tree to his side. He dashed behind the stump as the guard caught up.

“It’s about time you stop running,” The Divine guard said, his katana rising from its sheath.

“Now it’s your turn,” Death said, taking out a match. He tossed it on the downed tree, now dividing him from the Divine guard.

The match caught and spread to cover the entire fallen tree. Death held the scythe over the fire, heating up the metal as hot as it would get. The Divine guard watched as he did this without a word. When Death was finished he raised the scythe, glowing from the heat.

“Now it’s time for you,” Death charged forward, jumping over the fallen tree as he spoke. “To get reaped.”

The Divine guard blocked the scythe, his katana causing sparks to fly in every direction. Death pulled back and then immediately sweeping his scythe to hit the guard’s neck. The guard ducked, using the moment to counter attack. He struck the back of the scythe, causing Death to go defensive as the guard continued his never-ending assault. When he stopped to catch his breath, Death lowered the scythe, a grin on his face.

The Divine guard looked down at his katana. The used to be sharp edge was now effectively dulled as the only remaining sharp side was the tip. The rest of it was dented and almost melted from striking the intensely heated metal.

“Now die!” Death said, bringing his scythe up to decapitate the guard. He didn’t expect for the guard to charge forward, the dulled katana’s point headed for his heart.

Death stopped his scythe and brought it down, effectively stopping the advance. What he didn’t think would happen, was that the Divine guard would continue. The guard brought the point in a diagonal path as the tip cut into the shaft of the scythe.

Death felt time slow down as the top half of his scythe was cut off, falling to the ground in a flurry of sparks. The pointed katana continued. The target was now his chest as the guard pushed forward. Death closed his eyes as he waited for his end. It never came.
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Marx was sitting in his room, the action figures next to him alleviating some of his boredom as he pushed them around. At his door, he heard a knock. When he went and opened it, he was looking into the eyes of a smiling Dalen, his left hoof out of sight.

“Hey,” Marx said, curious, “What’s up?”

“Look at this,” Dalen said, pulling his hoof back into sight to show Marx the object. It was a red kite, with a blue string attaching it to a handle. The kite was plain, nothing but red and brown sticks to it. It wasn’t the first one Marx had seen, but it was the closest he’d seen one.

“Wow, where’d you get it?” Marx asked.

“I found it, it was in the park and nobody was there, so I grabbed it,” Dalen said.

Marx found something strange about that, but he was too caught up in the moment to say anything about it. “Cool,” He said, grabbing the kite to get a better view.

“Let’s get the others and we can go fly it,” Dalen said.

Marx and Dalen went to the living room, where most of the children spent their time with toys or playing made up games. Sitting on the sofa, bored out of their minds, was Rogue, Stella, Silver, and Mach. They were in a special group they’d created. Whenever they’d wanted to play a game, those would be who they’d want to play with them. The other children didn’t seem to be around, so the two of them approached the group.

“Guys, let’s go have some fun,” Dalen said, lifting the kite for them all to see.

“Ooh, is that a kite? I haven’t seen one of them this close before,” Mach said, standing up to get a better look.

“What’s it made out of?” Silver asked, also rising.

“Where’d you get it?” Stella asked suspiciously.

“Found it,” Dalen responded.

“Let’s go, I want to see how high it’ll go,” Rogue said, grabbing Stella and taking her with her as they all went out the door in the direction of the park.

Dalen led them, his smile already spreading at the idea of flying the kite. When they reached the park, the wind was blowing faster than they’d expected.

“Are you sure it’s okay to fly the kite right now?” Stella asked, the wind blowing her mane in the wind and into her face.

“Why not? The more wind the higher it’ll go!” Silver said, helping Dalen to unwind the string from the handle.

“I want to fly it first!” Dalen said, not taking no for an answer.

Dalen had the handle tied to the front hoof that was on the ground. The other held the string of the kite as he ran across the park, letting the string slowly leave his grasp. When he had fully let go, the kite flew higher and higher. Dalen laughed as he ran, joy in his face. That is, until the wind blew even harder.

Dalen stopped his laughter, the kite pulling on his hoof. He picked up the hoof with the handle tied to it, wanting to reign in the kite, but it didn’t help. In fact, the kite pulled and slipped the loosely tied handle off his hoof. He watched in terror as the kite flew off even higher. The kite soon disappeared, lost in the sky.

“Dalen, what happened?” Rogue asked.

“Somepony didn’t tie it good, Silver…” Dalen accused.

“It’s not my fault, you told me not to tie it too tight,” Silver said.

“It’s all your fault. Now I lost my kite,” Dalen said, feeling upset. He turned away, not wanting to see them as he mourned the kite.

“C’mon, let’s leave him alone,” Mach suggested, seeing Dalen entering another of his moods. Marx stayed behind, as always. He was usually the one that convinced him to calm himself. The others went back to the orphanage, their promise of joy taken from them.

“It’s okay,” Marx said, walking next to Dalen.

“It’s not Silver’s fault, I know…” Dalen said, accepting the truth.

“It’s not yours either,” Marx said, knowing just what to say.

“You’re right… it’s that kite’s fault. I wish I never took it,” Dalen said.

“Wait, what?” Marx asked. His confusion subsided for the moment as the voices of older ponies entered his ear.

“So you’re the punk who took my brother’s kite,” A nearby colt said. Marx turned around to see the pony. His brown mane was falling at his sides. His coat was a light blue, but it was darkened at some spots, like he’d taken a beating on more than a few occasions.

Dalen was visibly scared of the pony. He was only a year or two older, but remarkably bigger. The supposed brother was hiding behind him, the white coat and a reddish brown mane cut short. Marx didn’t know what to say, but apparently Dalen tried.

“I didn’t take it… he left it and I found it,” Dalen said.

“Then explain this,” The pony said, showing his little brother’s other eye when he pushed his brother from behind him. It was dark and bruised around the edges. There were red marks around his snout, where blood had dried.

“Look… Marx help me out with this one,” Dalen said, begging for help.

“I… I’ve got nothing,” Marx said. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, but Dalen had really dug himself into a hole. “You shouldn’t have lied,” Marx said.

“Well I didn’t think he had an older brother!” Dalen said, backing away from the older pony. “He’s like us, so I didn’t know,” Dalen said, referring to the fact they were orphans. This city had three orphanages, the children sometimes playing with each other, although they often didn’t get along. This park was the center area for all three orphanages.

“Get over here,” The older pony said, rushing forward and hitting Dalen on his legs. Dalen fell, unable to get up due to the bigger pony on him.

“Stop,” was all Marx could say, as his morals battled his friendship. He knew he should be helping, but the fact Dalen deserved it, he couldn’t bring himself to help. Not to mention that he wouldn’t have been much help anyways. Now, Dalen was taking a beating as his head was pummeled, his sides not faring well either.

The bigger pony got up, kicking his side before taking his little brother and leaving. “You won’t mess with Accure anymore, okay?” he said, “I don’t want to have to go find you again. I will kill you,”

“Okay,” Marx responded, his head hanging.

“Thanks Clutch, can we go get something to eat now?” Accure asked, staying near his brother.

“Yeah, where do you want to go?” Clutch said, bringing his little brother closer as they walked away.

Marx looked over to Dalen, his body still. He knew he was still conscious, his moaning making that present. As Marx approached, he immediately regretted not helping. Dalen was giving him the coldest stare he could manage with the inflated eye and bleeding mouth. Marx started to drag him to the house, the silence causing his heart to bleed. That was the first day he’d questioned morals with duty. He decided that morals weren’t worth the trouble.
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Death opened his eyes, the seconds of nothing having grown his curiosity. What he saw, sent shivers down his spine. He screamed and he couldn’t run as the soulless eyes looked into him. The face of the Divine guard was looking at him, but the life in his eyes was gone. The blood was coming out from every part of his face, even the eyes. Even he was disgusted as the body fell forward, the crunch of his skull as it shattered on the solid ground echoed in the forest.

Death looked up at the one responsible. There was a cloaked figure, his eyes red and staring. His coat was white… wait, no. He didn’t have a coat. It was just bones. The grim reaper raised his scythe, the cracks and caked blood giving the scythe a red glow. The grim reaper stabbed the bottom of the scythe into the ground, walking forward to Death.

“Well, Dalen, do you know who I am?” He asked in a quiet but menacing tone.

“D-Death!?” Dalen asked, backing away.

“Oh, no, I’m not Death. You are obviously Death. After all, that’s what you call yourself, isn’t it?” The reaper asked sarcastically. His eyes were looking deep into Dalen’s soul.

“N-no. That’s not me… I…” Dalen tried to say.

“Then I think you understand why I’m here. Let me explain further…” The reaper said, stopping his progression. “You’ve been using my name, giving me a bad reputation. I need to punish you, however I’m giving you a chance to live. Spread my name further… take this scythe and reap the souls of all that you meet.”

The reaper pointed at the scythe, the handle glowing black as Dalen looked at it. Instinctively, he reached forward, the scythe coming closer.

“But that is not all, I want you… to kill your closest friend. When you do that, you may keep the scythe. Until then, think of it as a loan,” The reaper said, an evil chuckle escaping his lips.

“W-why me?” Dalen asked, confused.

“Because you’re the most wicked pony I know that would accept, as well as the fact that you still have somepony you can call a friend,” The reaper said.

“But, I don’t have anypony like that,” Dalen said, worried he’d lose the opportunity.

“Oh, but you do. In fact, he’s vulnerable as we speak. Marx… he needs to die right now,” The reaper said, throwing the scythe to Dalen. Dalen caught it, the contact giving him a warm sensation. His mind suddenly had one thought, to kill.

“I’ll do it. Consider him dead,” Dalen said, “And I’ll be calling myself Death until then,” Dalen said, the power flowing through him, changing his thoughts and causing him to feel anger.

“Alright Death, go reap the unreapable,” The reaper said, slowly disappearing in the void. As Dalen ran back to the Organization to turn in his assignment, the reaper stood there, waiting for the inevitable.

“What did you just do?” The voice asked, right behind him. It was soft but demanding.

“I thought I’d make this easier for us,” The reaper said, smiling.

“This could harm the balance…” The other pony responded, stepping in front of the reaper. Her white and light blue scythe hung at his side, the blade shining in the sunlight. She wasn’t smiling, and she looked exhausted under the pure white hood she wore.

“I’ll take the chance,” The reaper said, before walking away, his smile growing at the thought of beating his sister.
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Marx woke with a start, the pain in his head causing him to hold back a cry of pain. His vision was blurred, everything in the room was starting to come back to him, but he wasn’t worried about that. His mind was spinning. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together. The words, they were connecting with his dream. Suddenly, it was clear as the pain he was in.
“That amateur's his younger brother," Stella said, echoing in his head.

Clutch had a brother. That brother was named Accure. The dream he had reminded him of the first time he met Clutch and Accure. They were inseparable. They were both in the mercenary group. Now, he had just beaten Accure, nearly killing him. That meant one thing. Clutch, the one with the third highest bounty in the group, was coming to get him. And more importantly, Accure would tell him what happened, and where Marx was.

Author's Note:

I don't think I've mentioned this, but if you thought this was going to be a short three chapter story, I'm sorry to say that isn't the case. Although the ending has already been planned, it'll be a few more chapters before then. If you're okay with learning about an even bigger plot that should deserve it's own story, then be prepared with the next few chapters, because who doesn't like a good bloodshed? (If you thought he'd die this chapter, then you really should read between the lines and not just the chapter title.)

Next Time: A quick recovery, a quick encounter. Marx vs. Clutch.