Chapter One - Recruited
Human Realm; Evening of the same day Sparta:
His name didn't matter and has long since been forgotten. He was from Sparta. His days were battle-filled and his nights were devoted to solitary wanderings. During one of his evening rambles he traversed the crest of a hill that overlooked his beloved countryside. The sun was setting and a silver smile of a moon rose in the east.
His long brown hair stirred slightly with the cool evening breeze. With his typically Greek nose he caught a whiff of the balsam of the Cypress trees as the wind sifted through them. He contemplated the humble dwellings in the large valley that stretched out below. The smoke of the distant cook fires was a subtle reminder that things could change. He would grow old and fade into obscurity, or die in glory on the battlefield someday.
He was dressed in sandals that covered his feet and he wore shin guards on his lower legs. He was wearing a simple tunic that fastened at the side and his cloak hung loosely at his back. It's red color was more of a deep wine in the fading light of day. He closed his blue eyes to block out the view in front of him for a few moments.
His Kopis; a three foot sword, hung at his belt. The heavy weapon was deadly in his skilled hands. As luck would have it he found an immediate need for it, as a whisper of footsteps approached from somewhere on the hill behind him.
He turned, a wary hand now resting on the hilt of his sword. A dark figure stepped out of the night. The Spartan didn't recognize the man. The stranger's long jet black hair and dark cape shrouded his face and hid his form. The man's hands were preternaturally pale, which made the soldier less trusting of the stranger. To his eyes it seemed that the area directly around the personage was murkier than the surrounding night that fast approached. The warrior drew his blade in one fluid motion; alarmed by the shadowy apparition.
The figure stepped closer but remained out of striking distance. The soldier growled; "Who are you?" he lifted his blade and it glinted in the half-light of dusk. The figure reached up pushing his hood back which in turn also opened his dark cape to reveal a fine set of midnight black clothing sewn with a silvery gossamer thread. He also had midnight wings that vaulted from his shoulders. The stranger was a foot taller than the Spartan; making the soldier's five foot eight inches seem short by comparison. The soldier stared at the man's face, the man's eyes were pools of black midnight.
The soldier challenged the man, his voice booming in an effort to hide the sudden fear that gripped him; "You're dressed in the finery of court. But which court? The royal court of Sparta wears bright colors and you wear the colors of night. And do I spy some wings?" His eyes narrowed and the muscles in his sword arm went taut. "What do you want of me?"
"You don't need that. I mean you no harm. I have a proposition for you." The man's voice held a depth that reminded the soldier of a distant roll of thunder.
"I'll listen as long as you remain where I can see you. No tricks or I'll gut you." The soldier spoke, his voice was even and betrayed no emotion. Still, the stranger could sense the fear beneath the calm exterior of the warrior.
"It's funny, actually, I'm ready to offer you the world; and like a fool, you've taken me for some common thief." The stranger's voice rumbled his irritation at the lack of trust. The man went silent for a moment then after a brief moment of thought he exclaimed; "So be it! I'll recruit you first, and explain it all to you later." His icy tone sent a wave of fear up the soldier's spine.
His decision made, the man advanced slowly and methodically. The soldier waited ready to strike; "You won't take me alive, you fiend!" The soldier swore, lifting his sword and shuffling his feet into a solid stance.
The dark figure laughed maniacally. "That's exactly the point." With lightning speed the figure moved his right hand forward and tapped the Spartan in the center of his forehead with a skeletal-thin index finger.
The warrior meant to strike back at the creature, but at the touch, the Spartan's sword arm faltered and his grip loosened. His sword slipped out of his weakened grasp and clanged dully on the rocks at his feet. The air around him turned thick as pitch and he gasped for breath. His muscles became leaden and immobile. He tried to rally his defenses but the more he struggled, the weaker he grew. The earth heaved and rolled beneath his feet as his vision blurred.
"Stay alert." He chided himself. His voice struggled to find expression.
"I suggest you stop resisting." The man said in a clipped manner. "You have a transitional period to go through and the more you fight it; the longer the transformation will take."
"Wh...wh...what…did…"
The warrior's tongue tripped over itself as he attempted to form the sounds that now felt like foreign objects in his mouth. Words flailed around in his head seeking release then drained away before he could voice them.
"What did I do to you? I changed you into an immortal. You're going through the accelerated throes of death." The man answered. The stranger's words resonated deep into the soldier's soul as a slow fire sparked in his body. It burned him up, eating away at his bones while at the same time spikes of molten iron knifed slowly through his veins.
His will to live was extinguished by the heat that roiled under his skin. He collapsed into a helpless mound. Visions of blood and death raced through his mind and ripped away his thoughts, splintering them into fragments that flared for a moment, bright as meteorites before being engulfed in the black depths of his agony.
After what seemed an eternity of dark solitude and twisted nightmares; the warrior awoke. It was full night. He lay sprawled on his face and his mouth held the slight taste of blood and dust.
He should've been in pain from lying amongst the stones, yet he felt comfortable as if he'd awoken on a soft bedroll.
He turned over with a huge sigh and stared up at the stars. "I must've fallen asleep out here." He stretched enjoying the sense of satisfaction and well-being that he felt; "Nothing like a well needed bit of sleep, I guess."
Life as a soldier meant that he often wore the injuries of constant battle, but for once the ever-present scars and wounds gave him no pain. "Ha, I guess the night air fixed me right up." He laughed. "Now, why the Hades did I decide to sleep on the ground?" The last solid recollection in his foggy brain was that he'd taken a stroll. And had there been an encounter? Fragmentary images trickled back into place re-assembling the mosaic of his memories.
A dark figure had said something about killing him. But how could that be when he felt fine? "I'm alive, aren't I?" He spoke the question aloud.
The stranger stepped out of the shadows in answer; "No, Marcellus you're now eternal. You died and were reborn. You are changed."
The warrior barely reacted to the sudden reappearance of the mysterious figure, he merely shook himself and sprang up on his feet and began a debate with the dark figure; "I'm not dead. You're wrong, because I feel very much alive!"
"Being changed into an immortal doesn't make you feel any less alive. Although, I can't say the same about the actual metamorphosis, that's always been viciously painful. I'd say I sympathize but it wouldn't be sincere." The man winked, a half-smile played at the corners of his mouth.
The soldier suppressed an involuntary shudder at the vague memory of fiery pain.
"So...I died? Why kill me, or change me, or whatever you did to me?" He shook his head in disagreement and confusion.
"I chose you as my new Enforcer, Marcellus. I'm the God of Death and despite the unpleasantness of earlier you'll soon learn of the strength that comes from immortality."
"Um...okay." The Spartan shrugged still not sure what to believe. He flexed his muscles and stretched; "I certainly feel more powerful. If this is being immortal then I like it. It feels great!" He spied his sword and bent down to retrieve it. He slid it back into it’s scabbard wondering off-handedly why he'd even bothered to brandish it at the God of Death.
"I knew you'd like your new body Marcellus." The man's tone was self-satisfied.
"Why do you keep calling me Marcellus?" The warrior asked.
"A new name for a new creature. If you don't like it, you can change it." The man smirked.
The warrior thought for a moment trying to recall his own name. But he couldn't, he shrugged and gave up, knowing it had died when he had; "I think.. I would prefer to go by Marcel."
"Marcel it is then." The man laughed. "Not that your name matters much. You'll be too busy with your duties to care about such trivial things."
Marcel perked up; "Duty. Now that's a concept that I understand." He was already adjusting to the strange new way of things. "And now for the rest of the introductions; I know you're the God of Death, but do you have a name?" Marcel asked.
"Ahem, his name is Thanatos." A heavy voice from behind them chimed in. Marcel turned to see a figure emerge from a grove of Cyprus trees. "Thaumaustus!" Marcel exclaimed. "What the Zeus are you doing here? And why can I still remember your name and not my own?"
"I'm doing the same as you, actually." Thaumaustus had a self-congratulatory smile on his face, as he chose to answer only the second question. His light brown closely cropped hair curled around his visage, making him appear a fresh-faced youth and not the scoundrel that Marcel knew him to be.
Thaum had wider shoulders than Marcel, but in height and physical strength they'd always been quite similar. Now in one quick glance, Marcel surmised that both he and Thaum had grown more muscular and nearly a foot taller each. Marcel was now six feet tall and Thaum had grown as well, though Thanatos still towered above them both.
Other physical changes wrought by their new immortality were none too subtle; Marcel's eyes were now a silver gray. Thaum's had gone a dark shade of red. In the moonlight, Marcel could see that his own hair had changed from brown to silvery white.
"Hey, how many Enforcers do you need?" Marcel turned back to Thanatos seeking the answer.
"Only one, Thaumaustus is the Watcher." Death replied with a yawn, already bored by his new minions.
"And, what exactly will we be doing?" Marcel wondered aloud.
"Bringing rule breakers to justice." Thanatos replied as if Marcel should know the answer already.
"What rule breakers?" Marcel raised an eyebrow.
"Enough questions, you'll soon learn your place and what's expected of you. Follow me." Thanatos waved him forward, then pulled his hood up over his head to conceal his face.
"Lead on, sire." Thaumaustus replied with deference. Marcel glanced sideways at Thaumaustus and wondered why Thaum hadn't been given a new name? 'He may be immortal now, but he's still the same scoundrel that he's always been.' Marcel thought. The fact that Thanatos had chosen Thaum made Marcel a bit uneasy about his new master's judgement.
Death smiled, his teeth sharp and his black eyes glinting with excitement; "Time to show you the Underworld."
He headed north towards Mount Olympus with Marcel and Thaum trailing behind as Artemis's silver moon bow sank below the horizon in the pre-dawn hours.
As they entered the Underworld, Thanatos recounted a brief history of why they now found themselves as Enforcer and Watcher.
"In the beginning there were only the gods. Then there were humans, and humans, being what they are stole knowledge from the gods. To punish them Zeus sent Pandora as a gift. She brought a container with her. Her curiosity got the best of her and she unleashed the plagues, creatures of the night and even myself; Death.
Over time, the plagues and night creatures got out of hand so a tribunal was held. A council to decide on a course of action now that the worst had been unleashed. Gods, Demi-gods and such convened for weeks. They labeled the event Pandora’s folly.
We born of Pandora's box call the event Pandora’s blessing; as it was a gift of creation and freedom, but with our freedom came a price.
We have to follow the rules that were defined. As the God of Death, I'm in charge of ruling all vampires and plagues and creatures of the night.
It seems a sad state of affairs to be restricted and regulated like this but it's the only way that we're allowed to live our lives now. However, every once in a while a few vampires or a plague gets out of line so it's now your job, Marcel, to see that this doesn’t happen.
Mostly, the vampires are the ones you'll need to keep an eye on, as the plagues are only ever allowed out of the Underworld one or two at time and they're easily controlled.
As for the Underworld, Queen Makaria is in charge there, though I'm the master, I choose to live in New Olympus."
"New Olympus?" Marcel asked a bit confused.
"Yes. You think that there's only one Olympus? The Underworld is everywhere, so Zeus found it prudent to create a New Olympus on the other side of the world so that there would be at least two places for the Gods to reign from."