Angel Monarch

Harold found himself in an unfamiliar darkness. He recognized the place from descriptions, but he didn't want to accept it.

After all this time. After all he had done. He couldn't believe this was his destination. Where he would end up.

When his eyes landed on the bright horizon, on the Afterlife, he fell to his knees in despair and hopelessness… This was it. He was finally dead after over 80 years of living…

Even worse, all his research was gone. The worst outcome wasn't the loss of his facility; death meant the permanent loss of every information inside his head.

His sacrifices for a better future remained unknown. The good his research would've brought. His name would remain tarnished, and he would be forever remembered as a sadistic scientist.

"You deserve to be remembered like that!"

A dreadful voice spoke from Limbo's eternal depths. His voice echoed around Harold, as if the very darkness surrounding him spoke into his ear.

The man's words held full authority, and judging by the commanding tone, Harold didn't take long to figure out the person's identity.

From the darkness, a ghost-like figure stepped out. A white cloak covered His translucent body. In His skeletal hand, He carried a staff with a lantern attached to its top.

A golden flame burned brightly in the lantern, zipping around in its confines. The flames perpetually changed shape, taking unnatural forms. They looked like screaming faces.

A shiver went down Harold's spine, just from witnessing this being. But His words left a deep impact on Harold, and his pride overtook his sense of fear.

"I don't deserve such treatment! Yes, I committed horrible atrocities, but they were all just means to an end! A few more years, and everyone would've celebrated my genius…"

He wanted to continue, but at that moment Death's awful laughter echoed in Limbo.

"The sheer audacity you speak with is truly impressive… But tell me this Harold… How many?…"

Harold stared at Death, like He was insane. "What?" he asked in confusion.

Death stayed silent for a few seconds, or maybe an hour. He stared at Harold from behind the white cloak, which hid any expression he could've made. His voice turned serious, and even angry, causing pain to Harold just by hearing it.

"How many?… How many lives were you willing to sacrifice for this greater good?… Would people celebrate you from their graves?… Would any of them show concern for the living?… Would they feel happy to die for your greater cause?!…"

His voice became a scream by the end. Harold fell to his knees, holding onto his head, which was consumed by deep suffering.

He felt a sudden force crawl around his body, lifting him to the same level as Death. Harold stared at the terrifying creature, as his body trembled with fear.

"Let me tell you this… I'm the Shepherd of Souls… I'm the God of Reapers… I'm Death incarnate… Every soul passes through Limbo… Even Gods end up here at the end of their lives!… I see into every soul… I know their desires and regrets… And you know what every soul you've sent here has in common?… They all want you tortured to death!…"

The power suddenly disappeared from around Harold, making him fall to the non-existent floor.

His body shook as he crawled up on his knees. Harold intensely glared at Death, searching for a way to escape Limbo. But his thoughts only caused Death to chuckle.

"It seems you don't understand the graveness of your current position… You are dead, by my request towards Seraphine…"

Harold's eyes widened at that, and he couldn't hold in his mad laughter.

"So that's how she broke from my spell! Of course! How can I be so blind?"

He began mumbling to himself, but Death's voice quickly silenced his every word.

"No… That's not how she broke it… The truth is Harold, you could've never controlled her from the very beginning… Her fate isn't to be some idiot scientist's attack dog…"

"What do you mean?" Harold asked with confusion.

Death looked away from his kneeling figure and stared towards the Afterlife. His eyes looked past the brightness and stared into each and every soul within.

All the souls that weren't destroyed ended up in the Afterlife… Except a select few… The 'Lucky' ones…

He knew everything they knew, and even the vast knowledge of all the dead brought no clarity to the future's events.

"Everything changes… The order, which existed before Time was born, is close to its dusk… Seraphine is destined for a greater future than you could ever imagine, while you would've always died by her hands…"

Harold gritted his teeth. Death's words explained nothing and only brought more questions. Harold hated unanswered questions more than anything.

"What does that mean? Change? Destiny? I don't understand!"

Death just chuckled at Harold's confusion.

"You weren't supposed to understand it, but… Why not?… You're already dead, so anything I say will stay hidden… Very well… Here's a quick explanation to think about while you still exist… But beware… You asked for this!…"

A shiver went down Harold's spine, upon hearing Death's words, but before he could've asked more questions, Death pointed his staff at Harold, causing mental images to appear in his mind.

The first image depicted a tiny, decrepit, old woman. Her creepy, toothless, wrinkly face stared up towards the night sky. In her white, blind eyes, the Universe itself reflected.

The image changed. The second one showed a small room with a single object inside. An old barely functioning loom, with a bunch of different colored lines connecting together into a beautiful tapestry.

The old woman sat near the loom, hands working with years' worth of efficiency. Within minutes, the tapestry was done, and as she lifted off the loom, Harold saw what it depicted.

Harold saw a man's head and chest depicted on the tapestry. Blood dripped from his broken body, and in front of it, his heart burned in a feminine hand.

He recognized the image immediately. It was hard to mistake his own heart burning in Sera's hand when he died.

She surveyed the tapestry with satisfaction, then tossed it onto a nearby pile.

She then went back to her loom and began making a new tapestry. She sang some old song while working, but Harold wasn't certain, since the language the woman used was unfamiliar to him.

The image changed again. It returned to the first one, but the initial image felt altered. Harold couldn't explain the feeling until it was too late.

The elderly woman gazed skyward. The stars were replaced with bright lines, each reflecting, shining in the depths of her eyes. Harold stared above in awe, as more lines constantly appeared.

Thousands, millions, trillions, an infinite amount of bright string weaved into the tapestry of the Universe. Each symbolizing a life, a soul, an existence.

The strings connected and broke apart, some randomly snapped, while others appeared out of nowhere.

A sudden pain assaulted Harold's mind. The strings covering the sky tried to burrow into his skull, bringing endless depths of suffering with them.

In that instant, he understood these strands were beyond what mortal perception should've ever witnessed.

The elderly woman smiled, her gaze shifting from the strings above to Harold's prone form. Her milky-white, blind eyes held unimaginable understanding and insanity.

It was unlike Madness. Her insanity was much more pure, it came from the overwhelming knowledge. From the secrets nobody should ever witness.

Her mouth didn't move, but Harold heard her voice echo inside his mind, absorbing all the pain from the strings.

"A Hag unlike any sitting in her room.

Her hands moving quickly, weaving on her loom.

Her eyes are blindly staring into the world's doom.

Her cackles echo while she creates all your tomb.

Who might this Hag be? You might seem curious.

Wonder if the truth will make you furious.

She stares up at the sky, watching the Strings of Fate.

Her hands move with them, changing all their state.

Her whims become the world, as you figured it out.

But let me introduce myself just to clear some doubt.

I'm the Hag of Truth, the Weaver, the Goddess of Fate herself.

And you, small man, are already dead, so take care of yourself!"

As her rhymes ended, the world around Harold fell apart, and he found himself back in Limbo.

With a groan of pain, he climbed back to his feet, and stared at Death with annoyance. But after gritting his teeth for a moment, he stayed silent.

Harold finally realized that he couldn't do anything to reverse his death. He conceded defeat, making any further complaint futile.

"Good… I'm not Life you know… I could've never brought you back to life… Anyway, let's get this over with…"

Harold turned towards the Afterlife and sighed. He tried walking towards the light, but some force stopped him.

"What are you doing?…" Asked Death from behind him.

With confusion evident on Harold's face, he glanced back at Death.

"I going into the Afterlife. Isn't that the final destination for all the deceased?"

After hearing his words, Death burst into laughter. It wasn't just a small chuckle, but a full body, roaring laugh, something he rarely done.

His levels of amusement only increased after seeing Harold's dumb, bewildered expression.

"The Afterlife doesn't exist!… That light on the horizon is where I dumb everyone's souls, but it's not paradise or heaven or whatever… Also, that's not where you are going!…"

Still confused, Harold glanced between Death and the 'Afterlife'. A few moments later, he blurted out a simple question… "Then where am I going?"

Harold heard the smile in Death's deep, hoarse voice.

"The absence of heaven doesn't rule out the possibility of hell… Let's just say your reservation's been waiting…"

Harold's expression turned shocked, as Death gently reached up and opened the lantern.

The sound of unending scream of suffering and despair echoed around Limbo. The golden flame in the lantern flickered, trying to escape, but an invisible force prevented it.

This wasn't the case for Harold, though. His soul instantly got sucked into the lantern, joining its fellows within the golden flame.

Death closed back the lantern and watched as the flame took form. A new screaming face appeared in its depths… Harold's old, pain-filled, screaming face…