Chapter 2: Death's Attack
Among all the divine entities that governed the vast cosmos, there was none more feared—or more feared to be defied—than Death herself. Unlike the others, who presided over life, creation, light, time, and space, Death held dominion over endings. Her purpose was not cruelty, but balance. In her touch lay the natural conclusion to every creature's journey, be they mortal or magical. It was she who ensured that nothing lingered beyond its time, that the wheel of life continued its steady, unbroken spin.
Yet, recently, a disturbance had shaken her dominion. A mortal had escaped her grasp—a man who had found a way to step beyond the natural order. He had not only survived where others perished, but he had also harnessed powers once thought exclusive to the divine. His soul burned so brightly, it rivaled the light of celestial beings. It was an affront to her law, and worse, he had done something truly terrifying: he had severed the divine tether that bound all mortals. Not even Death could feel his end approaching.
Her realm trembled in fury. The other divine beings watched in silent dread. If one mortal could sever divine influence, what stopped others from attempting the same? But they dared not intervene. Even the gods had limits, and descending into the mortal realm came at great cost. Every step they took into Earth's plane bled fragments of their essence, pieces that could be absorbed, corrupted, or used against them by mortals attuned to magic.
Death, however, was not like the others. She was not bound by the same caution or fear. She was the end of all things—inevitable, immutable. And she had decided that this mortal—this Merlin—must die.
She began by infusing a sliver of her essence into the world, careful to disguise her true nature. From it emerged a woman of unparalleled beauty, eyes deep and ancient, as if reflecting every soul she had ever claimed. She took the name Vivienne, the Lady of the Lake—a name that would echo in legend long after this tale. Her presence rippled through the magical world, even stirring whispers among the centaurs and seers. Some would later say they felt death brush against their dreams.
Merlin, already a legend in his own right, was drawn to her. Wise beyond his years and yet endlessly curious, he had never encountered anyone quite like Vivienne. Her voice sang like starlight, her smile cloaked in mystery. He was wary, of course—his instincts told him something was wrong. But her allure was powerful, and he, for all his strength, was still human.
Unknown to him, Death studied him closely. She marveled at his potential, at how he had bent time and elemental magic to his will. He had learned to speak with dragons in their tongue, to extract truths from the Veil between life and death, and even, according to rumor, to peer into the very structure of souls. It was unheard of. Dangerous.
The plan had to be perfect.
Late one evening, as the fog rolled thick across the surface of the lake, Death prepared her final act. Within the lake, she conjured a hidden domain—a deathly pocket of existence where all things living would vanish, erased not just from the world but from memory, their essences recycled into the elemental weave.
She chose a spell—simple, elegant, lethal. A spell that would become one of the most feared in all magical history: Avada Kedavra. With a single incantation, life would cease, without wound, without trace. It was the first time this magic had ever been used, born from Death's own power.
Merlin, unaware of her intent, made his way to the lake, cloaked in emerald robes that shimmered with enchantments. He had begun to suspect something, though. The air was different—heavier. As he stepped near the water, a pressure pressed against his chest, like a thousand unseen eyes watching. He stopped. Something was terribly wrong.
And then, he felt it.
A surge of magic tore through the air—cold, sharp, final. He spun just in time to see a beam of green light screaming toward him. Every fiber of his being screamed danger. Time seemed to stretch as he summoned his magic and threw himself to the side. The spell missed by inches, vaporizing a tree in its path.
When he looked up, Vivienne stood calmly on the water's surface, her form aglow with unnatural light. Her disguise fell away like mist, revealing her true presence—dark robes woven from shadows, eyes that shimmered with the stars of extinguished galaxies.
She smiled.
"Why?" Merlin asked, breathless, his wand already in hand.
Her voice echoed like a choir of whispers. "Because you were never meant to live this long, Merlin. You have become... an imbalance. A thread that does not end. I am Death. I am your conclusion."
Merlin's gaze hardened. "So, it is pride. You could not bear the thought of a mortal escaping your grasp."
She laughed—a sound so cold it seemed to drain the warmth from the world. "Not pride, wizard. Fear. You are becoming something even I cannot end. That must not happen."
The night air trembled as the two ancient forces faced one another—Merlin, with all the magic of the earth and sky at his command, and Death, the one certainty that all things fear.
It was the beginning of a battle that would echo through time, shaping myths, legends, and the very fabric of magic itself.
Note: The supreme beings mentioned in this story are not actual gods. They are immortal entities, spiritual manifestations of the world's energy, empowered by the natural laws that govern existence.
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