Ep 67. Hide Well, Hide True. (1)

 

An elderly couple came to a stop before the approaching young man.

“Excuse me.”

The figure was wearing a pleasant smile; charming, even. It was a typical, humble beginning of a conversation. Aside from his small, black wings, the young man didn’t particularly strike them as odd.

But Clyus begged to differ.

It’d been decades, if not centuries, since he’d last seen Felicir in the presence of non-deities; watching his friend approaching civilians so humbly was quite unnerving to the elven deity. Although, Felicir himself cared little for what his friend was thinking, continuing the conversation with the couple.

“If I could have a moment of your time. Do you two know where the mana deity is?”

The man blinked in confusion. He strained his ears to hear better, even though Felicir’s words were quite clear.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“Felicis. Do you know where she is?”

Confirming that he’d heard right the first time, the old man frowned, backing off a step from the young man before him. What he once thought was a charming smile now seemed like a madman’s grin.

“…No.”

“Hm…”

Felicir then turned to the man’s wife, beaming the same grin towards her.

“And how about you?”

The woman softly chuckled at the question.

“My, what a strange question you ask, young man. Though, I’m afraid I don’t know, either.”

“…’Young man’?”

Felicir burst into a hysterical laughter at the response. It’d been a long while since anyone had called him ‘young’ – or man, even. It’d always been deity this, Reaper that.

‘I should really descend more often. My last visit was…’

Centuries ago. And some would consider even that too often.

“Thank you, that was rather entertaining. It’s a shame you don’t know though.”

Just before the Reaper could proceed to his next step, the woman interrupted him once more, this time with a more useful bit of information.

“Now that I think about it…I do recall my son saying something a while ago…”

“Oh?”

“I believe…he said that the deity of mana was at his school. Though, I’m sure it was just a children’s tale.”

“And what school would this be?”

“Interested, are you? The Magic Institute…just over the corner at the end of that street.”

The woman pointed towards one of the connecting streets. She innocently beamed a motherly smile towards the deity of death.

Felicir beamed back at the woman, petting her like an elder would a child. To the oblivious spectator, seeing the elderly lady being treated like a child by someone seemingly so young was quite the odd sight.

“Thank you. Sweet dreams.”

“Mm…?”

The woman’s eyes tiredly blinked a few times, and soon closed shut. It didn’t seem too different from simply falling asleep.

Her legs fell limp, and she powerlessly fell down. The man hurriedly held his wife, glaring at the winged figure with a furious gaze.

“What was that?! What did you do?!”

“My name is Felicir. That answers both, does it not?”

“….Fel-“

The man’s elderly voice soon died out. His wife was the first to fall unto the street floors as his arms gave away.

The deity’s unnerving grin was the last thing that filled the elderly man’s vision. He followed suit after his wife, falling to his knees before crashing unto the hard stone surface to sprawl over by her side.

“…They really ought to know my appearance better. I’ve never been fond of hoods, and I’ve never held a scythe…and yet, they assume I would.”

Felicir beamed a satisfied grin towards Clyus who was standing a few steps away.

“‘Magic Institute.’ That does sound like a place where Felicis would be at, doesn’t it?”

“…”

Clyus glanced from side to side; several passersby that had taken notice of the fallen couple were beginning to talk. A whole crowd would gather before long.

The elf kicked his tongue. He briskly walked over to his friend, pulling Felicir along with him.

“Let’s go.”

“My, you’re rather in a hurry.”

“You know I’m not fond of crowds.”

Felicir snickered at the reply.

“I suppose you are. Hermits do run away an awful lot.”

 

✧   ✧   ✧

 

One hour. It’d taken exactly one hour.

Clyus threw a brief glance behind. Rows of cold, lifeless bodies filled the silent hallway, leaving a trail of death behind the Reaper’s steps. Ever since some sort of danger announcement, everything had gone silent within the buildings.

A hundred lives had perished in the last hour – if not two.

When the elf returned his gaze forward, Felicir was nonchalantly singing a soft tune to himself. The deity of death was comfortably strolling the deathly corridor towards his next set of victims.

Harbinger of doom. Disagree as he may, Clyus struggled to think of anyone that came even remotely close to fitting the description as well as his winged friend.

And soon, Felicir arrived at the following classroom. However, genuine surprise filled his expression when the door refused to budge; the Reaper turned to his elven friend, the evil in his grin was thickening by the minute.

“My, they locked the door. Whatever should we do?”

“…Would you like me to get you in?”

“Oh please, it was a joke.”

Felicir turned towards the locked door, raising his voice higher to be heard from within.

“Felicis, in case you’re in there – I’ll count to 3.”

After his brief announcement, the deity of death raised his hand. One finger lightly touched on his thumb, and a quiet count began to tick through his muttered voice.

“Since we can’t see the inside, shall we make it a little louder this time? 3…2…1.”

A snapping noise followed.

Immediately after, the door smashed open from the inside. A bludgeoned student burst out of the door, crashing into the opposing door before sprawling into a bloody mess.

When the deities turned to the opening, they could see their victims wildly moving about. A maddening scene ensued within the class.

Several students were growling like beasts, beating and clawing at their friends. Several others held makeshift weapons in hand, bludgeoning each other with chairs or broken pieces of their desks. Over half of them lied motionless on the floor. The instructor’s body was limply sagging on the window by his neck, his neck skewered and torn by the broken pieces of glass underneath.

Felicir observed the deathly parade with a disappointed grin.

“I suppose she wasn’t in there. How many does that make? I-”

“Watch it.”

Clyus interrupted his friend, flicking his cane in the air. The black mana bolt zipping towards Felicir’s oblivious figure immediately disappeared from sight, reappearing ways off behind them before harmlessly crashing into one of the walls.

The Reaper slowly turned to face the source of the sudden attack. An amused grin was eerily curving his lips.

“My, that could’ve killed me.”

“A shame it didn’t.”

The reply came from an elderly man. Although their voice sounded calm, Felicir could make out the anger being held back in his tone. The man came to a stop to stand before the two deities with evident hostility in his eyes.

“I cannot allow this to continue.”

Felicir raised a brow at the stranger’s audacity. Oblivious they may be, it was still quite daunting to think a human was deciding what was allowed or not for him.

“Really? And who are you to decide that?”

“…My name is Gio Dugrin.”

The mage fixed the grip on his cane, raising it to eye level.

Security personnel had long perished in the first hour. Now, it fell to him to stop the assailants – at least until the enforcement sector would arrive.

“The headmaster of this institution.”

The deity of death slowly clapped his hands, nodding in acknowledgement of the mage’s bravery. He also took a step forth, mockingly bowing his head to introduce himself.

“Felicir. Deity of death.”

“…Or so you claim.”

Gio briefly glanced to the side towards the last classroom that fell victim to the two terrorists. Every single person was now motionless on the floor, the classroom’s floor haphazardly painted in streaks of blood.

“The Twelve would not stoop to your lowness. Nor would they claim so many innocent lives.”

Felicir struggled to hold in his laughter. He turned to Clyus with a maniacal grin, pointing at the headmaster with a hysterical look.

“He has an awful lot of faith in us. I almost feel sorry to break his fantasy.”

The elf sighed, shaking his head. Even though he knew it wouldn’t matter in the end, Clyus wanted nothing more than to hide his face and run from the unwanted attention.

“…In all fairness, I haven’t killed a single life since arriving here.”

“In all fairness, you brought me here.”

“Pft.”

Gio’s expression hardened at the terrorists’ idle conversation. The only reality that mattered was that these two individuals were holding a massacre – in the very facility he was responsible for.

The archmage’s cane crackled in thickening black bolts. When he swung forth, they exploded outwards in waves of lightning, swallowing the corridor ahead and the two men up ahead with an explosive sound.

But when his spell faded, the two were nowhere to be seen.

‘?! Where…’

As the headmaster rapidly scanned his surroundings, he felt a hand dropping onto his shoulders. He darted his gaze to see the death deity’s devilish grin.

“Quite the talented mage, aren’t you?”

Instead of answering, Gio plunged the rear end of his cane into Felicir’s abdomen. However, the weapon instead sank into a small crack in the air between him and his enemy; the mage immediately let go of his cane, backing off a few steps.

The cane was soon swallowed whole. The crack disappeared without a trace afterwards, vanishing from sight with his weapon in tow.

‘…Magic? But I didn’t sense any mana usage?’

Felicir smirked at the archmage’s evident confusion. He pointed towards his elven friend with his thumb, casually turning the blame.

“Do forgive me if you were expecting a fair duel; in my defense, I only govern death. You can blame Clyus over there for the loss of your beloved cane.”

“…The Reaper may imbue death, but he does not toy with the living like you. You’re a mere terrorist, feigning to be divinity with strange magics to control others into killing and dying.”

Not a single existing scripture told of Felicir’s ability as anything more than the power to imbue death unto the living. In fact, even that was majorly a concept from children’s stories. Resultantly, mankind had remained oblivious to who the Reaper truly was.

They couldn’t – not when none lived to tell the tale.

“Oh, you poor thing. You don’t understand what it means to rule over death.”

Felicir proudly his arms. No other mortal even came close to his understanding of his own domain.

But he still told it regardless, time and time again. Perhaps one day, someone would come to understand – and remember, without dying at the end.

“Have you not yet realized, dear headmaster? Death is not a singular event that marks the end of your life. No, what you call life is merely a process of dying. That is, to say…”

Felicir beckoned his hand towards Gio. Immediately after, the archmage could feel his body completely falling out of control, beginning to walk towards deity against his will; he stopped before the Reaper and fell to his knees, shuddering at his own helplessness.

The Reaper benevolently smiled down at the mage kneeling before him. He grabbed the man by his hair and forcibly raised their gaze to meet his own.

‘…This isn’t magic.’

The headmaster could see the deity before him; he could hear their voice, and feel their grip. But despite his screaming senses, he couldn’t so much as lift a finger.

No one was born equal. And yet, all were equal before the end that loomed over them.

“I am death; I am the days you live. How you live those days, and how you reach your end, is mine to decide.”

So look up, and behold.

Death comes.