Soul Scythe - The Reapers Academy

[GrimmHallows 17]

The guest that had arrived at Avern's house was hardly normal;wispy white hair, and pale wrinkled skin denoted his age, green eyes carefully scanning the family that had silently confronted him as he entered. One of his hands preoccupied with carrying a large, long wooden crate under his arm, his free hand removed the coat the man wore, and he fumbled a bit with the box as he removed the last sleeve from his hand, and hung it on the near-by coat rack.

 

As he hung the coat, he looked to the young boy that was Avern Tarrow; a youth of no more than 12 with a mess of black hair and bright blue eyes. The Tarrow family stared at the stranger, before the woman that was Avern's mother placed a hand behind his head, and guided the youth out into the kitchen.

As the boy walked out, he saw a single tear drop from his mother's face, the sound of the drop echoing in his mind as it crashed on the wooded floor. He sat at the table, his face twisted in confusion, and he waited.

 

Meanwhile, in the foyer, the guest spoke quietly to the man that was Avern's father.

"Your son has lived quite a good life, Alain," the guests voice kind, and gentle, but a hint of sadness hidden in the corners of the sentence. Avern's mother quickly returned, giving a response more bitter than vengeance.

"He'll live longer yet if you leave us in peace, Dalron."

Alain stepped forward, and shook his head, and nodded, motioning to the box. The look the guest Dalron gave him seemed to confirm his suspicion.

Dalron's aged eyes looked to the woman, seeking empathy, and hoing to achieve understanding.

"Carin, you must know why he must come with me. Why he must go to the Academy," his words were soft, "Without the training the boy will-" But Carin finished his sentence, and grimaced in anger,

"Will what, Dalron? Become a demon!? A twisted soul?"

 

Dalron's voice was cold, and Avern heard this from the kitchen, though not exactly what was said.

Suddenly his mother's voice grew loud enough to hear the conversation, and he heard the words,

" . . . you can't just take him!"

Avern felt sick in the stomach now; he was going to be sent away. Sent away for keeping a secret.

Avern shook his head, and looks to his arm, and sighed in exasperation as a black spark raced up his arm from his palm. he looked tot he kitchen door, and saw his mother walking in. He stood, his eyes watching his mothers carefully, and he saw the fake smile which she always wore when something was wrong.

His face wrinkled in anger, and he let a tear that had formed fall to the wood.

If angels were real, they had abandoned him.

 

"Honey, You'll be going with Mr Dalron for a while," Carin said, her son seeming to already understand the situation's intensity. She longed for just a few more days with her young boy, but since Dalron had come, it had to be that time.

The boy came forward and hugged his mother, asking one of the hardest and most common questions that existed,

"Why?"

 

Carin sighed, and held her boy tight, a final embrace as he looked to the window.

His next words shocked her a little; they startled her at thier directness.

"It's because I'm a freak, right? Because . . . " he mumbled. But Carin let him go, looking at her son in curiousity.

"What do you mean? Why would you be a freak?" She asked in a shocked tone.

Her answer came as the boy raised his arm to his side, and black fire erupted from his palm; and Avern's expression changed to shock when his mother was smiling proudly.

She walked up and put a hand on her son's shoulder, and smiled warmly.

"Avern, I'm so proud of you! You can use your gift after all!" She whispered to him, and then leading him by her hand, which seemed to extinguish the flame, she walked him back into the foyer.

 

Dalron looked tot he boy who walked in with curiosity, and he gave a quick bow to them both before speaking to the young boy.

"Mr Avern Tallow. My name is Dalron, and I brought you a little gift. A sort of welcome present."

The boy was blunt in his statement, and reminded the aged man of the father that stood in the same room;

"Your the one who's taking me away." His voice was icy cold, but Dalron ignored it, setting the large box down on it's end and tapping it.

"Your gift is in here, but you'll need to use your powers to get it, yes?"

 

The boy nodded, and raised his arm, reaching out to it, and the black aura formed around his hand; the box reacted with a loud hum and a lot of shaking.

The boy seemed to close his open hand, and then quickly pulled. At this, the front of the box shattered, and Avern suddenly clasped a rather large and intimidating scythe.

It's large long blade reflected a light which shined in his eyes, and he rubbed at his eyes and gripped the scythe tighter, and having regained his sight, looked at the weapon, inspecting it carefully.

 

He noticed blue inlays on the blade, a blue that matched his eyes, and he smirked at this; it must have been made just for him. The shaft of the weapon in itself could have been artwork, but it's functionality was what impressed the boy; and it's light weight.

 

Avern smiled at the master weapon, and looked to the old man who now beamed brightly back, drawing a pistol, and firing it at a wall.

Instead of leaving a hole in the wall, it seemed to cause a tear; like paper being ripped. He pointed to the rift, and smiled, telling Avern to jump in. At first, the boy was reluctant, but he soon found himself rushing it, taking one last look at his parents, thier faces reflecting pride and pure bliss.

 

"Don't worry! He'll be back for the summer!" Dalron called, and ran into the portal, which sealed itself up after he jumped in.

Alain and Carin stood, and then Carin collapsed, falling to the floor, crying tears of joy, tears of loss, and tears of fear.

And Alain held her close, rose her to her feet, and carried her to thier bedroom. His face rarely showed emotion; but right now agony was written all over his face;

Thier son was indeed to be a Reaper.

 

This ends the first chapter; and as Avern heads to the Academy in the rift, he wonders what his new life will be like.

Edited October 27, 2011 by GrimmHallows

[Calvinchun 3]

How sad to read "And Alain held her close, rose her to her feet, and carried her to thier bedroom. His face rarely showed emotion; but right agony was written all over his face;". But it still good.

Edited October 27, 2011 by Calvinchun

[Kiriashi 117]

That was a quite enjoyable opening to a story I will definitely follow.

 

 

:3

[ShinyToyGuns 29]

Sounds neat...question...do you watch Soul Eater?

[GrimmHallows 17]

Sounds neat...question...do you watch Soul Eater?

I have watched the first season 4 times . . . Death the Kid is so bad ass . . . ^^ Chroma too, although at first I was a little confused as to whether Chroma was male or female.

pink hair and what appeared to be a dress did not help me.

 

And The Grim Reaper! All friendly and stuff, until you get to the kishin, and then BAM! Scary deep voice!.

So yes, yes I have. :clap:

 

-Grimm

[GrimmHallows 17]

As Avern stepped out of the dark vortex, he actually tripped, and landed on a hard stone floor; he'd never really been clumsy, but that portal had his bearings completely twisted. With the large scythe in his hand, he scrambled to his feet, and simply blinked, trying to allow his eyes a chance to adjust to what appeared to be candle light.

Dalron emerged from the portal, and seemed anxious, his pistol holstered, and his eyes fixed on a sillouette by a table. Avern's blue eyes darted about and his eyes finally revealed the face of a young lady; and her rather impressive scorn. Dalron uttered a few curses under his breath, and Avern looked to the elderly man and suddenly froze; sitting at 6 absolutely massive tables, the faces of thousands were fixated on him. Avern almost fell from consiousness there, and if it weren't for sheer force of will, he would have passed out; his face was easily brighter than the large torch fires that lit the place so well.

 

The woman walked very deliberately, the heels she wore echoing menacingly with each step, and she stopped in front of Dalron, who quickly sighed and placed his hands in his pockets, the portal that led them to this dark space closing.

"Dalron. You are late! How many times have I had to tell you? You are supposed to get here BEFORE the ceremony begins, not halfway through my talks about the rules!" She practically screamed in the elderly mans face, who grinned the whole time. A short flash of light and suddenly that elderly man wasn't so elderly; he was young, and he offered a quick smile that caught young Avern by surprise; a full set of white teeth now hailed the man's smile.

 

"Thanks for bringing the only Scythe-blade Mr. Dalron; No problem Miss, I did as instructed," Dalron muttered, imitating a much kinder Mystera. The young woman couldn't help but smile, and several of the students chuckled.

"What will the world do when you leave us, Mr Dalron?" She uttered, and for this Avern spoke up, bravely smiling and answering with his own retort;

"Enjoy the peace and quiet?"

 

The woman looked to the boy in surprise, and a large chorus of laughter erupted from the masses; even Dalron offered a quick thumbs up and chuckled to himself.

When the laughter had died down 10 minutes later, though some where still snickering, the woman approached the boy and offered a warm smile, then eyed Averns large scythe with curiosity.

"So this is the Soul Scythe . . . ?" She muttered softly, but Avern's puzzled look presented his knowledge on the term. The young woman, dressed in a fine long gown, smiled, and whispered that he should meet her in the library shortly,

"Dalron will guide you, hopefully."

 

Avern was instructed quietly to simply wait by the side for the assembly to finish, but not before Dalron recieved a healthy serving of minor abuse at the hands of Mystera. Not that Avern minded one bit; it was more than mildly amusing when the young woman called the man an "incompetent, useless old fool with no sense of time, direction, or respect! You should-". Although more was said, it would be more prudent to get back to the story.

After the small fit of abuse, the young fireball of choice words dismissed all the students, and looked to Dalron menacingly, whose face was very pale at this point.

 

"If he is so much as 10 seconds late, Dalron-" She started, but Dalron's cheeky smile popped up, and a gleam returned to his eye as he interjected before she could finish;

"So I'm allowed to be 9.99 seconds late, then? Excellent! Avern! Over hear! We're going to tour the school!"

Avern sighed and walked over in brief resignation, and shook his head in expectant dismay as the young man that was now Dalron recieved another, much less 'controlled' burst of abuse (some of the words she used would burn this page at the mere completion upon print, as the author of this story found), and walked with Mr Dalron out of the hall into what appeared to be large cavernous hallways.

 

"Dalron . . . Why do you stir her up?" Avern asked as he was shown the Dining room of what Dalron explained was a fortress.

Dalron's quirky voice simply surmised an answer in two brave words,

"Why not?"

As they ventured through the school, the 12 year old found it easy to memorise all the locations of the halls, though was a little apprehensive as they got to the library; Avern wasn't sure if Miss Mystera had any more new words to yell in Dalron's smirking face.

They walked in quietly, and the smile that befitted the cheeky young man beside Avern fell away, revealing a heavy expression.

His eyes never connected with Avern's own blue eyes in the library; not once. As they rounded a book case, Avern looked down the aisles. He saw the book cases reaching higher than he could see; and he found it difficult to believe that there was really that many books here.

"Oh, don't doubt it, Mr Avern Tarrow. There are books in here even I haven't read in my long lifetime." Dalron stated bluntly, as if reading his mind, and he continued to lead the boy to what appeared to be the center; a large orbital room consisting of lounges, chairs, tables and left out books.

As they walked past, Avern quickly caught the title of a book with a peculiar topic; "Blood Magic; Rarest of Magics".

But he didn't have time to ponder it's contents too long, as Miss Mystera quickly grabbed his attention by hurling whispered abuse at Dalron once again, holding a stopwatch and seeming intent on stabbing him in the eye with it.

 

"And I told you NOT to be late! How many times!?" were the only words Mystera said that were clean enough to publish. Avern stepped forward, and lightly scratched his head, his scythe resting against his body lazily.

Mystera looked to the boy, and smiled calmly, quickly adding "I'll deal with you later, Dalron" to the man, whom departed quite quickly with a massive grin on his face.

Mystera, who now took a seat and motioned from Avern to do the same, grabbed up a rather ancient looking book, and tapped it lightly.

She looked quite peaceful, given her rather rash outburst moments before, and Avern couldn't help but smile, in spite of his normal self control.

He sat quickly, and looked to the book expectantly, and Mystera's calm smile faded, her words cold as the Library suddenly seemed to scream the silence around the words she spoke.

"Do you realise just how rare a scythe like that is, Mr Tarrow?" She said, almost seeming dead cold to him, "Do you realise what you are?"

The child merely looked to his scythe in wonder, and then concluded that the news would be bad from here on out; and he was right, as he soon discovered.

"This book is the only known record on the abilities and behaviours of Soul Weapons.

This book," she continued, "has every known Reaper weapon fully detailed except your scythe.

In fact, all the pages related to scythes are written in some sort of code, which we can't figure out. It's a complete enigma to us. So here's what will happen. On top of normal classes, you will be attending special classes to see just how far we can push you.

I'm mostly curious about one thing; A Death Run. Some sort of secret technique, from what ancient texts say, though they may be exaggerating, I hope, on how deadly it is."

 

When she stopped, Avern lightly ran a finger along the flat of his scythe, propping it against him and sat reflecting on what had been said.

A scythe, a traditional reaper's weapon, and no-one knows anything about them; Avern's thoughts raced now, feeling both intimidated by the intensity of the revelation, and a sudden home-sickness that rose in his stomach.

 

And Avern suddenly realised as he sat; There was no way his parents didn't know about the scythe before it was presented to him.

Why wasn't he told of anything?

[LeviCore.exe 0]

Wanted to make a game with this theme and plot . just dont know where to start -__-

great story btw