Why do fear death? It's inevitable, inescapable - yet they fear it, cower away from it. Every being dies - and they make a big deal about who goes where.

The Phantom turns from the corner to the hallway heading towards the beautifully carved wooden doors at the end. As beautiful as the door is, the sight at the opposite end is gruesome. Hundreds of thousands of mutilated carcasses scattered all around the snowed ground that now is bloodied. A battlefield was it - it truly is one. It's still snowing, but unlike other times, it holds no beauty but horror. The Phantom hears voices, it catches his attention momentarily - an argument?! He glides closer. The two voices from the other side, at a screaming match, draw near. The Phantom stands in front of the door and pauses. It has been through many of these similar arguments for million years and It will encounter many more - It knows.

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The Phantom ponders -

Aren't these two ever going to stop bickering! All these nagging over which soul goes to where, honestly, this is proving to be rather a difficulty day by day.

The doors ajar and the Phantom glides smoothly towards the bickering menaces. It furrows its brow to the noises these two are making, and by the looks of it, the two of them are still unaware of It's presence.

The Phantom - Must you two always torture me this way! I have had enough of your squabbles.

Angel - We would not be bickering if she didn't try to intervene all the time (he scowled) - Always trying to steal my claims.

Demon - (she snickers) And yet you can't resist having a single portion more than the allotted lot. I merely keep numbers between us the same. Are you really bitching about the odd one out? (directing to the Phantom) I was preventing this condescending jackass from doing something that could cause a potential catastrophe. Did he really get to play the angel? Unbelievable.

Angel - You're the one to talk! What about the soul of that little girl that fell and you tried to claim it? She was supposed to be an angel (he bellows).

The Phantom turned around to walk out but halts.

Demon - For an angel, you have a pent-up rage, darling? Talk to Dr. Phil. (she chuckles sarcastically)

Angel - (he forces a tight-lipped smile on his lips) And you're just as peachy. Here you are, preaching about maintaining balance and showing off your high morals when you try to steal a soul by any means necessary. (he mimicks) preventing a potential catastrophe. My foot.

Demon - Oh for the love of ugh. I am a Demon, what do you expect of me! This is my nature. At least I don't pretend to be something that I am not!

(They continue their fight)

The Phantom remains airborne, unmoving - mindlessly observing the petty quarrel of two unearthly creatures. If there was a possibility It could die, these two could definitely kill It to with all that racket but luck is as always unfavorable. It turned around to face the idiotic duo.


(It bellowed)

It glided closer towards the chaotic duo.

The Phantom - Here we stand in front of what appears to be the aftermath of a massacre and you both claim all the souls to yourselves. These souls are yours for the taking and yet you can't seem to compromise to the slightest. Have I taken up the job of dealing with your issues all the time? This argument is too long drawn to my liking and I no longer possess the tiniest of interest in resolving this matter. It's not my fight - it's not my job to look over you both. What is it that you want! You do realize that the count of souls has to be divided equally, one simply cannot claim more than the other - you know the rules of this game, you have been playing it since the beginning, and yet you can't resist the temptation to tip the balance and mess with fate. How obnoxious can you be! I pity you. Ahh, would you look at that - I found a similarity between you. The temptation to win even with the slimmest measure is high on you both. Did that thought disgust you, oh haloed one? See, even the horned one shares the same feeling as you. As much you try to stay different from one another, how different are you from one another!

Angel - But she always tries to taint the souls to put a claim on it! ( he accused her)

Demon - (she retorts) I do no such thing. Humans can sin all by themselves, all to their own free will, without being interfered with by me or anyone of my kind.

Angel - Stop acting as if you or your kind have no involvement whatsoever.

The Phantom - (it bellowed) All souls are tainted - good mixed in with bad. You're free to choose which soul gets to enjoy the pleasures of heaven and which to spend eons in agonizing pain writhing in hell. Isn't this what you wanted? And yet one wants more than the other.

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(It glides slowly close to the pile of the dead - still at a considerable distance. The horrendous sight could leave anyone traumatized, but It remains unaffected. It noticed something - something familiar yet strange.)

The Phantom - You pricks can't come to an agreement and I have to be summoned to clean up your mess and help you negotiate! Isn't that amusing? Here I am, doing most of the work and you cannot simply do one job without starting another war.

The duo looks down in shame. Although, they're aware this isn't going to be the last time they argued. The fate of the souls is no trivial issue nor taking life at the precise moment is insignificant. The Phantom passes the duo, leaving them behind, slowly inching towards the pile.

The Phantom - This, right here, is constant. The death, the cadavers, the souls leaving the host - this will forever go on, and on, and on. This Is ME. I'm Death - I'm inescapable. I am an ancient being - far aged than you two combined. And I have to play parent with you - do you realize how degrading that is! Why would you? (It pauses) If there's an odd one, it comes to me - the rest you two can claim evenly. If you two can manage not to have me summoned for the next hundred or two hundred years, I'll be thankful.

The Phantom turns and glides towards the door leaving the duo shocked and rooted to their places. It stops, feeling something that calls to him. A strange sensation. It hesitates for a moment but turns to face it - a flickering light of black and white. A peculiarity - an odd one trapped under the pile.

This is a work of fiction. I repeat this is a work of fiction.

To my favorite (recently unfavorited) Hellcat. Death is tricky to write about. I hope it's (somewhat) satisfactory.

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