Sickle

[WP] Reversed Hades and Persephone situation: the Goddess of Life kidnaps the God of Death to be her new husband, meaning that six months of the year things are normal but the other half literally nothing is able to die.

*****

With a heaving yell, Lukas pulled himself up and over the outcropping. He breathed out only once a bundled boot found purchase on the snowy ground. He stood, dusted himself down, and almost fell right back over the edge when he saw the monstrosity before him.

"Ho, young sardassi! The Sacred Grove is no place for mortals. Begone of this place," the giant bellowed, hefting a club larger than the spindled trees. "Or I will jelly your bones for my tapas."

The mouth was lower down the long face than Lukas would have guessed, but it was hard to see anything through the beard dense as a lion's mane. He winced against the raging wind and craned his neck up to the bloodshot eyes of the Nephilim.

"Step aside, godling. I have come to rescue death!" Lukas spoke, voice almost lost in the storm. "I will send you to wait in your grave if you do not."

His javelin was heavy in his weary hand, but was still too light to fly true this high to heaven. He denied the cold and did not shake, scanning the mountain left to climb above the behemoth and its ceiling of clouds finally looming close.

"With that toothpick, you would speak so boldly?" the giant boomed, smile showing moss-covered stones. "Death's little tryst has made paper heroes of you fools! I may not be able to set sail to the glimmer in your eyes, but I can still set you to rest here."

The giant smacked his belly and a dozen weak moans within cried out in discordant harmony. "You won't be lonely."

Lukas let the javelin fly from his hand, his exhaustion taking nothing from his form. The wind carried it far above the giant's head, tapping against the boulder above but nothing more.

"Hah! I will scrawl that little embarrassment onto your grave before I shit you into it." The giant laughed, hard enough to roll the stones, then harder still at his own horrifying promise. Lukas hoped it was enough.

Lukas sank his pick into the frozen ground at his feet then began wrapping himself snug against it. A distant tapping echoed off the blanketed cliffs above.

"And what game is this? First, you miss me then you try to dig in like a stubborn tick?" The giant stepped forward. The tapping grew brothers, tap tapping together.

"I didn't miss," Lukas said, white knuckled against the handle as the mountain began to roar.

The giant fell, legs busting as the avalanche crashed into the clearing of his home. "Damn you, fool! I'll-"

He was swept off the edge without another word as the white covered Lukas. He felt his skin burn with the flooding snow, filling his eyes and his lungs. He slept for a time.

Were death to be available, it would have taken him. Instead, he woke and set to work digging upward, lifeless strength unabated. He was a grave waiter now, suffering in limbo alongside his father. He looked up the short trail, all that was left of his long journey. He would free death and all the grave waiters alongside.

The garden of life stood framed by a grand wall of vines. Lukas tapped the single knocker, hard to spot through the thickets.

The garden opened its pulsing yonic doorway, spilling flower petals accompanying its sweet warmth. Lukas took no break to savor its radiance.

They lounged, the pair, right in front of him with no pomp, no circumstance, looking so much handsome man and wife rather than Gods.

"And who are you?" The Goddess asked, lowering her wine and raising an eyebrow. "I am quite busy as you can see with my cherished guest." She held a hand unburned over one of the flaming pillars.

"I've come to rescue death and end the suffering of the grave waiters," Lukas said, holding his third and last weapon, the curved blade of his father.

The man chuckled, downing his drink and twirling the thin sickle in his left hand. It chirped in sad birdsong. "I require no rescue, lad. Though I did fight initially, I've grown rather fond of the Sacred Grove and its many delights. I believe I will stay through the winter and return to clean up your messes in the spring. Thanks for the offer, but begone."

"I thought that might be your answer," Lukas said, holding out the sword.

"No mortal hand can wield this," Death said, waving his sickle. "Rob me and it will burn through to your soul."

Kicking over the pillar nearest to blaze against the foliage, Lukas jumped forward. A landing, one clean slice, a muted scream and it was done.

"Bloody scamp cut off my hand," Death said, holding up the stump incredulously.

Lukas gritted his teeth and sliced again, sending his own left hand to flop on the stones. He shoved the god's hand in its place and held the mangled mess over the fires of the Goddess of life. The wound began to mend. The fingers tingled.

"What have you done!" The Goddess yelled, looking at him with either awe or disgust.

"Nothing yet," Lukas said, flexing his new hand. He twirled the Godsteel tool and it chirped with giddy need of work. "But there is much I will."

The sickle sang twice and the garden grew still.

*****

THE END.