Sir's Stories: Tale 2 Part 4

                                          Life and Times of a Storyteller:




                                            “The Cry of the Crow: part 4”



Dearest friend!  I'm glad you could make it!  Now we can continue with our story...


The blows clashed together in a grand symphony of battle.  Death wielded his scythe as if it weighed less than a knife, yet his skill was evenly matched with the speed of the angel.

...but even the gods have their limits...

The angel began to tire, her actions becoming slower, her strikes raining down less often.  Yet, her opponent continued fighting as if he had just begun.  And eventually, fatigue overcame the angel as she dropped her guard.

...Death made his move...

He grabbed the angel by the throat and lifter her up.  He crushed her throat so that her voice could never be heard again. All she could muster was a weak “caw”.  Death, feeling triumphant, begins to speak:

“Foolish child, did you seriously think you stood a chance against me?  Gods and demons can be slain... but how can you ever possibly kill me?  I am Death! Neither Demon or God!  I am Prophecy! And now... little girl... you shall meet your end!”

...chains of fire crawling from his arms, the angel ignites in flames...

The angel writhes in pain, her senses slowly leaving her. Her pure white figure becoming black as coal.  In a last effort of escape, she transforms back into her avian form.  She breaks free of Death's grip and attacking with her claws, removes his hood.  His bare skull is revealed to the rest of the world, an inhuman grimace on it's face.  All of a sudden, Death begins to cry out in pain; the sun that he had denied the world was undoing him.  Death, unable to withstand such pure light, disintegrated; his physical form lost forever.  As for the Angel, she found that she could no longer resume her original form, and that in place of the melodious singing she once made, all that was left was the depressing “caw”.