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Death's Apprentice: The Glitch

By Kiercy Collins All Rights Reserved ©

Thriller / Fantasy


Waking up in the rift between the living and the dead Kamille is faced with a choice; form an alliance with Death himself or be relinquished into nothingness. With help from a close relative of Death himself, Dimitri, Kamille learns to adapt to a life which she could have never envisioned. Yet when Dimitri goes missing and Kamille is tasked with his rescue she must exhaust all of her resources if she’s to find him before time’s up.


Kamille struggled against her captures as they dragged her into a dark alley, she felt as her heart raced when one of her three darkly clad captures thrust the barrel of a handgun into her back. She grimaced as the two men on either side of her threw her to the ground, unable to catch herself with her arms bound behind her back; she could feel the rope digging tightly into her skin. Before she could make any attempts to get up the two that had been dragging her thus far forced her to her knees.

She would have screamed, but there was no point, not when she was bound and gagged, she felt like she was going to gag from the odor coming from the nearby dumpsters making her stomach queasy; at least that’s what she thought it was, there was a chance the knowledge she was going to die soon was making her sick.

“I’d tell you to say hello to your father for me, but you won’t be seeing him for a long time where you’re going. Maybe this will teach daddy a lesson about where he sends his men.” Kamille looked up at the figure holding the gun, he had a black hood pulled over his head but she could still make out the shadowed outline of his, his jaw was narrow as was his nose, she couldn’t make out the color of his eyes, but Kamille stared right into them. She wasn’t afraid to look her killer in the eye, not when she knew who this man was. Not by name no, but he had held her prisoner for weeks, he had tortured her with knives for fun. He tried everything short of rape to break her, but Kamille wouldn’t break.

Kamille wasn’t a fool, she knew that he would’ve kept it up for months if he and the two others hadn’t been ordered to kill her. She was no longer a valuable hostage in the eyes of their boss; and that meant she was no longer worth keeping alive. Kamille looked her killer right in the eye as he shot her, the sound of a gunshot ringing throughout the alley, it would be a while before the police came.

Kamille was only aware of the searing white-hot pain of where the bullet pierced her body as she was thrown roughly to the ground, her captures moving quickly to leave the scene of the crime, leaving her lying there, growing numb, bleeding out as her breathing grew shallow, as she was soon greeted by nothingness.

That was the last thing that Kamille could remember before she woke up to the feeling of a foggy head, stiff body and heavy eyes. Where am I, was her first coherent thought after she woke; but no matter how she struggled, she couldn’t conjure an image for where she was or how she had gotten there.

It didn’t take her long before she remembered the scene in the alley way, but that still left the question of what had happened between the time she fell unconscious and the time she woke up wherever it was. The whole thing felt surreal, strange; she felt the years she had spent with her father kicking as she carefully stood, careful not to make too much noise in case somebody was watching her. Taking in her surroundings carefully, she determined that she wasn’t out of danger yet.

Kamille had no idea where she was, but what she did know was that her current surroundings left her unsettled. She took note of the darkness, that brought out a feeling in her she hadn’t felt since she was a small girl afraid of the dark. It was silent, even the slightest of noises could’ve shattered the silence, her surroundings held an eerie feeling, one that made her fight or flight instincts go on hyper-drive. It was cold and if she could see she was fairly confident that she’d be able to see her breath. Her second thought was much like the first but only with a heightened sense of needing to know, this thought, where the hell am I?

Taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it Kamille counts to ten, breathing in and out as she does so. It was her mother that had taught her at a young age to always count to ten when she was nervous; her father had always told her to take her fears and make them fear her. Opening her eyes again, Kamille jumped back upon seeing a pair of crimson red eyes. What the hell; that is definitely not normal was her third thought.

All around her was nothing but the darkness, directly in front of her was a pair of crimson eyes. A deep chuckle coming from the abyss shattered the silence and Kamille’s heart skipped a beat as she gulped while her surroundings lit up in a blinding white light, burning her eyes. As the light died down she wiped the water from her eyes and took in her now dimly lit surroundings.

Kamille found herself in a small room, it was dark, damp and empty the room was made of old bricks, taking in too deep of a breath caused her to cough slightly as she was assaulted by the smell of must. As she caught her breath she looked at the walls to see that they were lined with torches, providing the now dim light that showed the chains also lining the walls. This place is a dungeon. The figure with eyes of blood stood there, less than a foot away from Kamille, seeming not to breathe.

The figure stood just a few inches above six feet; he was dressed in a black cloak, the hood up covering his head, shadowing all but his eyes and covering the rest of his body. His left hand was all that showed as it was gripped tightly around a spirally staff. The hand wasn’t flesh, and it was not bone, it was like the skin was water, and you could see everything that lied beneath. The figure laughed forcing a shiver to run up Kamille’s spine, his grip tightened and if he had flesh, his hand would have been white from the lack of circulation, the knot in Kamille’s stomach tightened.

“What…what are you?” They were the only words she could think to say, and when she finally found them her throat was dry and her voice came out quiet and broken. The laugh sounds again, less of a laugh, and more a violent cackle. It stops…just briefly, before starting again, but rather than being eerie and gut wrenching as she expected, the sound of the laugh was melodic and serene. Suddenly, her entire body seemed to relax, but Kamille’s mind went on edge, trying to analyze the situation.

“They have called me many things, many names over the years, Mors, Thanatos, the Grim Reaper, but most commonly, they refer to me as Death.” His voice was soft and gentle, as though he was trying to relax her, but the shiver running up her spine contradicted the relaxing feelings. As did the blade appearing on the staff turning it into a scythe sending her stomach plummeting as the words finally registered…this figure before her was Death.

The room had no doors, no windows, and no escape, Kamille was trapped in a dungeon, alone with only Death for company. One final thought ran through her mind, am I dead?
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