Weak links aren't found by leaving the chain alone to rust.

That look - so cold and menacing - haunts my vision even with eyes closed.

Able to dredge up a spare second and quick reflexes, I slip sideways as the dagger slices through air and hooks back towards the user. The dark haired boy is aware enough to stop himself as the point snags into cotton.

Without thinking, I ram him off the platform and use the spare seconds I have to note another route onto the chandelier. A bloody blonde and a psychotic knife-wielder are on my ass, leaving me few options but to risk a jump in the direction I'd once considered a trick.

The faint shimmer from before calls out to me again, hovering off the ground but still potentially offering a landing.

In an hour alone, I had been brought from a peaceful death into this madness. A game of life or death with a kill or be killed set of rules. If tables can grow and walls shift, anything is possible.

I launch myself off the table, flinging all of my weight in the direction of my faith.

Landing on a solid surface, I groan as the air pushes out of me. But this sensation isn't the marble floor. My eyes peek open to reveal a clear substance supporting all of my weight.

My jaw drops in pure astonishment.

In fact, I am higher off the ground than before with four other contestants watching. They're horrified by something, but it doesn't faze me.

Just like the tireless boy crumbled on the ground, I keep trying. Gathering my bearings, I steady myself with arms spread out and refuse to look down. Before me, the bound metal shivers slightly with differing wisps of shadow and gusts of wind. Thick and well crafted, it can surely support my weight.

I pretend I'm eight again, leaping like I did so many times in gymnastics and holding onto the swinging frame for dear life.

The reapers below seldom speak, let alone breathe. Death watches everyone with a calm, calculated eye.

Several others below are minutes away from grabbing their Crystals. Most of them weren't stupid enough to follow me and try to take away my thought process.

My arms shake and tremble under the strain of every eye, my body complaining horribly. I pull myself up just enough to grip the center chain in my fingers, throwing my free hand up as a last resort and claiming the highest gem.

Faint tingles like buzzing little atoms fizzle against my skin when I blink. The transition is instantaneous. One moment, I prepare for a fateful fall. The next, I'm swaying beside Demetri with a dark, pulsing stone nestled in my palm. It glints in the firelight as if it were a beacon.

He reaches out to balance me, resting a hand on my elbow to make sure I don't fall.

"Easy does it," he chuckles.

I glare up at him, his skin warm to the touch and strangely relaxing. "I'm fine."

Demetri nods, the sharp tone washing off as if I hadn't said anything to begin with. Regret sinks into my stomach when I remember how his previous charge only ever addressed him as Asshole. I didn't want to be that person, reaper or no.

A few others appear within the next few moments. The transition isn't as smooth for everyone. The bloody blonde is panting when she's thrust onto the floor with a gem in her fist and a man off the right lands on his head. The sobbing boy appears at Atticus' feet vomiting.

The sound alone makes me nauseous.

The reaper appears to agree, leaning away and grimacing. Everyone in the room is clearly disgusted.

With the last few contestants appearing without their bearings, I note that the standing count is now eight instead of nine.

Death notices as well, a weighted gaze coasting through the entire space before he huffs out a low laugh. "Eight."

He speaks the word with a murderous grace, hints of archaic tongues lacing the language.

Each competitor stands now, attempting to catch a breath after the minutes of chaos just before. My stomach turns when I realize the person gone is the hulking brute I thought posed a real challenge. With a glance back, I see his jarred neck and impaled chest. The knife still sticks out.

I find myself staring at the dark haired boy who'd tried to kill me earlier, a shaded gleam in those eyes.

"It never ends up being ten," the wraith sighs dramatically. "How unfortunate. Moving on now, it's time for names. Introduce yourselves and do try not to bore me. Left to right, no interruptions. And nothing sentimental, I didn't ask."

The Killer is farthest left, his demeanor cold and jaded. "Seb."

"Sebastian, fascinating. I don't get many Sebastians with the stomach to kill."

Seb's eyes flare as he scoffs, clearly insulted by the full use of his name. However, he's still smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

Almost.

"It's just Seb."

"Yes, of course," Death growls, teeth gritted. "Surely you're the sort to disrespect your household name by altering your identity and operating under the false pretense that no one can see the true coward you actually are."

Teeth grinding, the male says nothing else.

Next is the Bloody Blond, her tangled mane clumpy with sweat and knots. "I-I'm Lacey..."

"How original." His gloved hands clap together slowly. "Were you given a pony on your twelfth birthday? Trust Fund baby? How many likes do you get on Instagram?"

I can't help but snort a laugh at the absurd comment. He barely acknowledges my laugh, which I suppose is a compliment considering Death's viciously dissecting everyone in a neat and orderly fashion.

She swallows and I swear her legs tighten together as if she might piss herself.

"A-actually I-"

"Next!" He cuts her off, ignoring the mortified look on her face.

An uneventful lad named David barely catches my attention. A lanky ginger named Wyatt does nothing but a whisper and even continues to do so when the attention turns.

Suddenly Death's attention is on me, the pressure of the rooms focus scaring me upright. "I'm Holly."

My voice cracks a little at the end.

He comes down a few steps, hood angling up and down and the pinpointing my hands. "A woman has never been The Shadowcaster."

"I'm sorry?" I find myself saying, glancing down between the gem and his silhouette stalking closer.

"The Shadowcaster. You are The Shadowcaster. Tell me, what is your real name, Holly?"

"Holiday."

He pauses to think for a moment. "America, somehow they make strong names out of everyday words. Fascinating."

My lips are sealed, watching him patrol my body like he's solving a puzzle.

Then, as if it never happened, he moves on.

A silent brunette steps out from behind her Handler like an extra shadow, revealing another girl I didn't even know existed. "My name is Lyric," she says calmly, her voice barely audible but strong.

Death doesn't truly pay attention to her. He slips over to stand before Atticus, and inadvertently centimeters away from the vomit. Even the master of death can't help but groan uncomfortably at the sight of the guy's sickness.

The man stands in shock now, eyes hollow and empty as if the worst catastrophe happened before him. Strength glimmers in those irises but I cannot see the stem or root. Nothing is obviously the center of his focus anymore.

"Why you?" Death asks, a strange undertone of disgust bleeding into the words. The hood tilts down, the heavy gaze narrowing in on the crystal clutched in the boy's sweaty palm. "Literally, why?"

Atticus meets his face. "He has a lot to fight for, My Lord. But as you know, I did not choose him."

Death doesn't acknowledge the Reaper, his eyes fixated on the boy.

"Noah," he says. He is just a faint away from losing every chance he had. Noah knew it too. "My name is Noah."

"What ails you so?" Death asks, carefully whipping his cloak out of the way as he stalks over the vomit and circles him. "What could bring a man like you to his knees? You don't strike me as the kind to fear death, Noah."

He doesn't answer at first, the dead feeling slowly consuming him.

Death begins to turn away in disappointment when Noah finally opens his mouth to answer.

"I promised my wife I would never leave her, so I must win."

Death nods in a strange way, head tilting slightly as he covers ground back up to where his throne returns. He slumps back into the seat soundlessly. "Love is a funny notion, isn't it?" He says, giving the room one last sweeping glance. "Fake in so many instances and yet, elusive to those who dare to seek it out. I might go so far as to say most don't truly experience what Love is..."

Something more human, more emotive washes over his presence but no one is willing to either bother or risk opening their mouth. A person is missed, besides Noah. The eighth contestant looking around like a terrible thing is bound to happen to him.

"Don't keep me waiting," The wraith spits, looking in the man's direction.

He surely wets himself a bit, but I avoid checking my suspicions. "C-Connor."

Death snorts and waves a hand in dismissal. "Well, C-Conner, why don't you and everyone else head into the main hall. Eat, Sleep, and whatever you do. Do. Not. Lose. That. Crystal."

My hands clench onto mine, body going stiff with the rage weaving through his voice. Demetri places a hand on my shoulder and guides me away faster than the others are lead off. Perhaps he senses my fear or otherwise is uneasy himself.

I don't know anything.

I just hope the Underworld has good food.

New Update!

Word Count Total: 5,242

I'm still loving writing this so much! It makes me so happy. Plus, getting to write a character as dramatic and sassy as Death always makes me happy. Let me know what you think below and don't forget to vote!

Love you guys!