Contrary to popular belief, death isn't unseen. At least, not where I'm from. We see the reapers when they come for us, misty black cloaks and all. Despite how ethereal they appear, they are very much physical until they begin their teleportation phase into the underworld with their victim.

That's why we fight.

In order to stave off death for as long as possible, every child in my village is chosen by a weapon at their coming of age. Legend has it that a pitiful sorceress had cast this tradition on us to give us a fighting chance. These special weapons were the only things that could hurt the reapers. Naturally, the deadlier the weapon, the greater the prestige for the family. But here's the truth: the weapon is only as deadly as you make it to be.

I was chosen by a pen, or more specifically, a quill. I guess the sorceress's spell wasn't feeling it that day. I was mocked endlessly for my selection, especially since my older sister had been chosen by a great sword. However, I made sure to not let my quill's feeble nature hold me back. Since the first time I held that little thing between my fingers, I've brought it with me to hell and back.

Well, almost to hell and back.

One grim reaper really had the balls to try and drag my pregnant sister to the underworld. Keyword is try. I still have trouble getting over that incident, even to this day. I mean, did he really think it was like some kind of two-for-one deal at the stores? This was my family. I had already failed to save her husband earlier that year, but I wasn't about to make that same mistake twice. The wraith of death had no idea who he was fucking with.

It was the middle of the night—classy as ever—when I heard a commotion coming from my sister's room. Banging, thuds, screams. I leaped out of bed with my trusty quill already in hand, fearing the worst as I ran across the hall and kicked her door in.

The reaper whipped his grotesque skull-like head my way the moment I made my entrance. I pointed the gleaming nib of my quill at him like a gun, eyes narrowed.

"Back off, asshole!" I growled.

My sister nervously peered at me from the corner in which she cowered. Her great sword lay at the foot of her bed, probably from being knocked from her hands in the earlier struggle. This room was way too small to swing it around effectively.

The grim reaper took one glance at my tiny weapon and scoffed. "A pen? Are you going to write me a restraining order, human?"

Without wasting time on any heroic words, I pounced on him like an orangutan, stabbing into his eye sockets with the nib. The bastard should've known I sharpened it everyday. He screamed, stumbling into all four walls as he flailed his bony arms in an attempt to shake me off. I kept stabbing, turning one eye to mush and jabbing several pointed teeth out. He eventually threw me to the ground, but I managed to quickly scramble to my feet.

"You think I'm scared of pain, human?" he roared as his unrecognizable face began to repair itself. The lumpy goo across his cheek sucked back in to reform an eyeball, the broken teeth on the floor flew back into place in his mouth. "Pain is my domain, fool!"

"Quite your rhyming!" my sister hollered by his feet. During the stabbing frenzy, I hadn't even noticed her crawl to her great sword. She gripped it tightly and thrust it up the reaper's black gown.

Even I winced at the location.

The sound that escaped the reaper's mouth was as ungodly as a litter of puppies being strangled. He collapsed to the floor with his skeletal hands clutching his crotch, or whatever was under that cloak. I seized the opportunity and pinned him down. I knew whatever was damaged would regenerate soon. I needed to inflict true pain on this monster, irreparable damage, hurt that could still be felt for hours after. I needed to invade his nightmares. I needed vengeance for my brother-in-law.

I could feel my face twist into a horrible expression. I saw my reflection in the reaper's eyeballs, and it was more maniacal than the Joker's grin. I twirled my quill in my fingers. It spun in slow, methodical circles until the fluffy plume finally halted at the reaper's face.

"No..." he uttered as horrified realization dawned in his eyes. "No!"

Without mercy, I waggled the feather across his face and neck like a madman. The reaper screamed out in laughter, black tears pouring over the sides of his face. His body convulsed so violently that he nearly threw me off, but I was relentless like a starved hyena facing off a pride of lions for the final bits of flesh on a carcass.

"Stop," he wheezed. "Please, stop!"

I didn't. I went for his ribs next, then his toes. This hyena wasn't about to return home hungry again. Time seemed to lose all meaning as I tortured the soulless wraith with the mirth of a child high on sugar.

Something grabbed my arm and I nearly turned on them next, but luckily I snapped out of my craze long enough to realize it was my sister.

"He's had enough," she said, tears brimming in her eyes.

I was still, the sudden silence making me realize it was my own laughter that I had been listening to; the reaper had lost his ability to expel sounds from his deflated lungs long ago. I was breathing hard as I stared down at his defeated form still writhing under my weight. I couldn't believe what I had made my sister witness. I was a monster.

That's when her water broke.

I had just enough sense left in me to help her onto her bed before throwing my hands to my head with my mouth agape. I had no idea how to deliver a baby; I had been too busy training with my quill.

As my sister moaned in agony, an idea sprung to mind. I whirled on the reaper, who had managed to get on his hands and knees. "You! Help my sister and I'll spare you!"

"W-what?" he squeaked.

I grabbed a fistful of his black gown and threw him to the foot of the bed. "Help her! Now!"

"This is not my job! This is the exact opposite of my job!" screamed the grim reaper as my sister went into labour.

"Shut up and deliver the goddamn baby!" I yelled back, pointing the cold point of my pen at his throat.

The whole experience was the most horrifying and beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. We named the baby Quillard. I was true to my word and allowed the reaper to return to the underworld, empty-handed. The sun was creeping over the horizon when my sister and I marched into the village, Quillard and my pen held above our heads like trophies. Everyone flocked us in celebration. The grim reaper must have told his deathly friends about my fearsome victory because from that day forward, people stopped dying.

We became immortal.

~

From the Golden Quill Society Creative Writing Marathon day 3 prompt. I apologize to anyone who's had to read this.