EPISODE 13: Fear Not Death

Years passed as Broderick Zayne trained under Gérard Roux, learning the Disciplina Arcani and gaining sacred wisdom. Though Roux was a knowledgeable mentor, Zayne found him a curious contradiction. He was talkative and wide-eyed, yet lived like a recluse. Beneath the ancient stones of Vatican City, Roux hid away in the catacombs, shunning even the most devout pilgrims. He moved through the shadows like a rat, scurrying beneath the city at night. But sustaining himself on fine wine, rare fish, and the occasional puff of pipe tobacco imported from South America. To Roux, cursed never to die of natural causes, each day became a celebration of life’s small pleasures. He savored every taste, every sip, but isolated himself in drabness...his strange way of balancing his defiance of time itself. 

Though friendly, Roux remained guarded. He kept Zayne at a distance, always watching, always testing. For an Eternal, time stretches a man thin. Roux had seen everything he loved fade. Trust once given had too often turned to grief. To him, immortality was a burden that demanded purpose. And so, the trials he set for Zayne were never arbitrary. They were designed to teach that life was not to be squandered, and that the gift of existence carried great weight. 

Yet, at times, he’d peer deep into Zayne’s eyes, searching for something hidden, questioning if there was darkness within. Especially since Zayne spent time in the void, Roux was looking for shadows.

Those suspicions would finally erupt in violence. Without warning, Roux drove a holy relic, a spear known as the Rhongomyniad, through Zayne’s chest. Said to have once belonged to King Arthur, the weapon was forged to slay demons. Zayne, of course, survived. Roux said nothing of the event, but in his silence there was finally acceptance... Zayne was the man he claimed to be, of a deep faith in God

But for Zayne, he believed Roux to be mad. The Frenchman would mutter or gesticulate toward phantoms. He’d pause mid-sentence to speak to empty air. More than once, Zayne questioned his sanity aloud -- but one night, over a bottle of port, Roux let him in, confessing to his student how he became an Eternal...his words carried an echo in the vaulted stone of the archives... 

ROUX: We marched into Mansurah like lions, heads high, banners bright. Thousands strong under the cross. Believing we’d break our enemy, as we were chosen...But they knew the land better than we. Every bend of the Nile, every grain of cursed sand. We were slowed by hunger, worn thin by the sun. The few of us who weren’t slaughtered were dragged away in chains. Wounded, half-mad from thirst. We prayed the worst was behind us. It wasn’t.

ROUX (cont'd): We were held in chambers beneath the city, crawling with rot. Months bled to years. Some men starved. Others simply stopped breathing. We were forgotten there. But one night a rare storm, the guards went out to marvel the rains...and someone forced open the gate. Maybe it was luck. Maybe not. We didn’t stop to question it…We ran. Barefoot and broken, hunting the shadows for a path out. I remember the breath in my lungs like fire. 

ROUX (cont'd): I lost the others. A turn, too fast, a shout behind me. I ended up alone, slipping through an alley as dark as a tomb...and that’s where I saw...A figure, kneeling over a body. No noise. No movement. But stillness, so deep it felt like a dream. Then I saw what it was doing, drawing something from the man’s chest. Not blood, not breath...but his soul. Like watching a candle snuffed from within. It was Death. And I believed He had come for me. I dropped to my knees begging for a mercy I had no right to ask for. And in that moment...my fingers touched His icy hand. I felt something ancient pass through me, leaving a wound no blade could match...And then, He was gone. The alley was empty. The dead man lay still. And I…I felt changed. From that night on, I did not die. I did not age. And I’ve carried that touch every day since.

Zayne sat and listened...and any lingering doubts about Roux’s origins or motives were dispelled when Death itself emerged from the shadows, revealing its presence to Zayne. As the men were both Eternals, Death could address them directly, unbound by the mortal consequences its presence typically invoked.

The entity appeared not as some twisted beast or abstract fear, but as the world had always imagined him. Clad in a flowing black cloak, the air around him seemed to thin, as if resisting his presence. His features were stark, haunting gray eyes, porcelain skin, a smooth, bald head. At first glance, he might have passed as a monk. But the illusion frayed at the edges. From the corner of one’s eye, or in the fleeting flicker of peripheral vision, you could glimpse past the human façade. Catching sight of his true wraith-like embodiment...A skeletal visage, grisly, the face of finality.

Correggio’s Portrait of Death, completed just before the artists death in 1534 - © 2025 Headless Horseman Productions, LLC

Death was a lonely figure, an intermittent visitor drawn not by obligation, but by a quiet, inexplicable affinity for man. There was something in humanity’s endless curiosity, its need to question, to reason, to search for meaning, that seemed to compel him. He welcomed conversation, and Zayne, curious enough, was more than happy to oblige. 

ZAYNE: Do you remember everyone?

DEATH: I remember the moment they leave.

ZAYNE: Not the life they led? Just the end??

DEATH: The end tells me who they were.

ZAYNE: Do you...remember my mother?

DEATH: She longed for your return. She missed you deeply, wondering where you’d gone. She loved you, without condition, without end.

The words settled in Zayne’s mind. A tear welled in his eye, but a small smile broke through. Peace, at last, over thoughts that had long haunted him. Then his expression shifted, clouded by deeper questions.

ZAYNE: Are Heaven and Hell real?

DEATH: Yes...but not in the ways the scriptures describes. Heaven is a plane of existence known as Aeturno -- a realm of harmony, without form or material, where anything may exist...Hell is the antithesis. A realm defined by collapse, anger, want.

ZAYNE: Tell me of God, and of Angels?

DEATH: There are no Angels, only solitary entities, bound to maintain the workings of the Universe. There was once a God, the Almighty, who watched over creation. But He’s now absent.

ZAYNE: Where is he?

Death shrugged. Not knowing.

ZAYNE: What about the Devil?

DEATH: He takes a much greater interest in the working of the Universe then the Almighty. 

ZAYNE: I suppose true malevolence does always seek to corrupt.

DEATH: He’s not the one you imagine. No tail, nor horns, or hooves…He was once the Architect of Morality, who crafted a perfect balance between right and wrong. But the invention of free will shattered that balance. So, he rebelled, and was cast down, becoming the Adversary.

ZAYNE: Then what of the battle between good and evil? It’s about free will and rebellion?

There’s a look shared between Death and Gérard Roux. 

ROUX: The war is real and has been raging for eons. 

DEATH: And Satan seeks to end it...once and for all.

ZAYNE: How?

DEATH: Hidden within the creation of mankind are Seven Souls. If their destinies are fulfilled, the fallen may end the Ancient War...and restore balance to the Universe.

ZAYNE: Restore it? What does that mean?

ROUX: The end of existence...as in everything.

ZAYNE: Has he found them? The souls?

DEATH: Pieces. Fragments. Echoes of their identities are scattered through time. Some remain hidden...others are already in motion.

ZAYNE: Do you know who they are?

Death would fall silent. As that’s not a question he could answer...And without another word, he’d fade from the room, leaving Roux, who having held the truth, finally told Broderick Zayne, of the dark, of Orem Black, the Processions, the dark’s plan unfolding...and of Zayne’s purpose in all of it. Not as an observer, or student, but as a participant. He was driven by the divine to search for the Book of Amar, to wander through the void, to cross ethereal planes and become undying...

Though God may be absent, those fighting for the light have not abandoned mankind. They needed warriors, like Zayne. But the path of wisdom is never complete. Roux knew this. There was more to be taught, to unlock. Roux turned his thoughts to the East, and to Heng Shao. 

TO BE CONTINUED…