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Story 2: An Army for Death, by Ban

A fanfic story by Ban
(Told from Seph’s POV)


The grunt coming from me is undoubtedly music to her ears. Astar thrives on it, and we both know it. It’s how she likes it. She wants me to surrender to her, to give in, to have me at her mercy. Sometimes I can give her that, sometimes I challenge her. Today, I don’t care. I don’t want to take control. I want to let go, to forget about the world and how unfair life or, ironically, death can be. It’s absurd of me to think that way, considering I am Death. Astar’s rhythm, while neither slow nor soft, is not enough to distract me. My mind is still full of thoughts about what I will have to do later. The anger at the injustice of it all is still simmering in my belly. 

I dig my fingers into the wooden table she has me bent over. 

“Fucking hell, Astar, harder!” My voice is a loud command even though I am a little breathless. It’s not the first time we’ve done this. She can deal with me in this state. She doesn’t mind my anger and instead encourages it even. That’s why she is here and not Zillah or Sidero. She knows what I need, but she wouldn’t be Astar if she didn’t enjoy being a bitch about it. It’s a power play, and she has the upper hand. Images of her trapping my hands with hers come to mind. Hah, ‘the upper hand’! A chuckle that I fail to hold in leaves my lips, mingled with a moan as Astar pushes in again. 

“Oh, so, you think this is funny, Seph?” I would almost say she sounds amused. I know that if I turned around now, I would face the stern look of War. The comeback I was about to throw at her dies on my lips when her hand finds my shoulder. She pushes me down on the table, a clear sign of dominance.   

“Now, can you take a hard fucking?” It’s her standard question, one to which she isn’t expecting to  receive an answer. I’m pretty sure she gets off on asking it. With the way she gloats, she could be Pride sometimes. I’m convinced it would be one of her retorts if she found herself in one of those mine-is-bigger-than-yours discussions. Her left hand is now not just holding me down, but with her  increasing effort, the tips of her fingers are digging into my shoulder blade. Astar moves her other hand to my hip for purchase. The anticipation is intoxicating; this is what I need. 

Her rhythm becomes wilder with every thrust, her pace unrelenting. Her fucking reduces my vocal abilities to grunts and moans. Her strap-on, a steady companion for Astar, is hitting all the right  spots. My mind goes blissfully blank. I know I will have marks on my back from where she is holding me down as she drives her cock into me over and over again. There are only two sounds that register in my mind. The slapping of her skin against mine and the sound of her breathing growing heavier with every thrust. She must be close, too. 

“Fu—” I groan. When she moves her hand from my hip to my clit without stopping her rhythm, it’s the final straw that tips me over the edge. Warmth washes over me, relieving me of every ounce of dread I felt before. 

With the next thrust, Astar yells out her release and collapses onto my back, panting heavily.

“Better now?” The question is quiet, but I love her for caring enough to ask. All she gets is a silent hum. I can’t make myself say more, the images threatening to take over if I give them the attention of a reply. 


I find myself standing next to my boat. The water of the river is quiet, with nothing here to disturb it. It makes what I’m about to do seem falsely peaceful. Sometimes I hate this job with all my heart. It’s the innocent ones that get to me. The murderers are those kinds of passengers for which I would gladly tip my boat over. They deserve to go where I bring them. Today’s passengers should not be here. It hurts my heart that I have to do this. It’s too early for them to take this ride with me. 

Earlier today, Astar did a great job of taking my mind of this task. I can still feel her fingers digging into my back, the reminder grounding me. All this will be over soon enough, and I know that I’m dragging my feet, trying to avoid the inevitable. 

I turn around and face the facts. And then it hits me again; they’re just kids. They shouldn’t be here.  They should be out in the world, laughing, living their lives carelessly. And yet here they are, three tiny creatures standing huddled together, a few steps from the shore. They look scared to death. I suppress the chuckle that builds within me at this ridiculous thought. Of course, they’re terrified. It’s  not every day that you die and end up standing next to the famous river Styx, quite accurately facing Death. 

I clear my throat and extend my hand towards my boat, silently telling them to get on board. Fear is dripping off their slender frames like water from wet cloth as they hesitantly step towards me, their tiny fists clutching the coins necessary for this trip. At least they have been provided this much. The disdain rises in my throat. I huff. Too little too late. 

What most people don’t know about me is that I don’t do this job by myself. Out on the water, I’m never alone. Hundreds of angler fish are making the dark sky and water seem less scary with their  little candles. It adds a soothing quality to the situation that helps calm my passengers down. While adults don’t trust the floating lights, they’re what distracts children enough to take their minds off the reason they’re here in the first place. Calm passengers make my job easier, both on my feelings and on the boat that would shake quite some if someone began to panic. I can’t help the soft smile at the memory of Harry meeting Winfred. That one time when she got us precariously close to being thrown into the river because she didn’t listen and started panicking at the slightest wobble of the boat. 

With the calm that washes over my passengers when they focus on the floating lights, sadness settles over me like a blanket. When you do this every day, it becomes easier to keep your walls up, to shield yourself against the overwhelming flood of emotions. It’s always different when it’s innocent children. The injustice is sickening. 

The rattling of the boat hitting shore rips me from my thoughts. I look up and meet the expectant, fearful gaze of my passengers. I put on a brave face for them and give them a warm smile. They don’t need to see how fragile Death is behind the mask. I help them off the boat and point them in the direction of their destination. I give them a final nod before I turn my back and take my leave. 


The tears I’ve been holding in throughout the entire journey break free the moment I’m back on the river. It feels freeing to let it out. There’s no one to judge me; no one to think of me differently because they’ve seen my weakness. Deep down, I know that showing vulnerability is strength, but I’m Death, for fuck’s sake. It’s not something I do. 

Another sob shakes my body while I keep my arms wrapped tightly around my body. The water moves the boat, and it’s as soothing as the light that’s getting closer. I know this light like it’s part of  me. I could point it out among hundreds of my other pets. The blueish-green light is always a stark contrast to the warm glow of the others’ candlelight. Winfred. A chuckle escapes through my sobs when I think back to that drunk version of me that told Harry that Winfred was my best friend. I was not lying. He is the only one who gets to see this version of me, the sad Persephone of the Underworld. 

“Hello, Winfred,” I greet him. He must’ve noticed the sadness in my voice because his light flickers and starts changing color. I don’t know how he does it considering his light is a glass ball that I filled with bioluminescent algae when I fixed him. And yet, I’m looking at this little miracle. The glass ball glows like a sunset. It’s a smooth transition from orange to dark purple, dipping our surroundings in soothing light.  

He keeps me company while I sit there, crying my heart out, the sobs becoming less frequent with time. That’s when I notice something else. Where there was just this one light, in the beginning,  there are now about twenty tiny lights zipping around just below the surface. I try to follow them with my eyes, but their movements are too hectic. They remind me of fireflies whirring around  bushes and trees at night. I’ve been doing this thing for centuries, and yet this right here is something I have never seen before. Trying to make sense of what I’m seeing, I reach into the river. The iciness of the water stings my fingers as soon as they touch the surface and push deeper.  

It’s fascinating how my hand seems to attract the attention of those tiny lights. Winfred hasn’t moved, his light still resembling a beautiful sunset. Now surrounded by light, I cup my hand. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. What first looked like an army of tiny lights is nothing of the sort. There in my hand, a stark contrast against my pale skin, a black mini angler fish is swimming back and forth. None of this should be unusual. And then I spot what makes him different. It’s the small bulb at the top of its head where a candle should be.  

I take my hand back and watch the tiny lights flicker in all colors of the gradient that Winfred is still displaying. They are miniature replicas of Winfred. Another tear rolls down my face, this time  accompanied by a wide smile. He has introduced me to his family. It’s almost ironic. A life for a life.

“Thank you, my friend,” I whisper as I set the boat in motion again. I don’t know how he does it, but, once again, I feel infinitely lighter as I leave his presence.  


Astar is leaning against a tree when I get back from my trip. It’s almost like she was waiting for me to get back. She’s staring at me intently, studying me, trying to figure out whether I’m okay. I stop walking and meet her gaze. Like earlier, I can feel the ghost of her hands on my body without her having moved an inch. Astar is still right where she was before my mind wandered. 

“You okay?” It’s all she says because she knows. She knows, and yet we don’t talk about it, don’t put it into words, don’t give it the time of day. It’s a silent agreement, and it wasn’t the first time she’s had to distract me from the darkness of my existence. Then again, it’s not like we need a reason for doing this. 

“Why? Are you offering?” I’m better now. Winfred’s presence has helped tremendously, and as cruel as it sounds in light of recent events: life goes on. 

Astar smirks. The smugness would be annoying if it didn’t make her so fucking attractive. I’m not sure what she thinks will happen this time. This time, I will challenge her. This time she won’t just have it her way. 

I stare at her and notice the excited glint in her eyes. She nods in the direction of her chamber, turns around without another word, and leads the way. I follow her, excited about what’s to come. After all, this is War.

Published by tjdallas

Hi, I'm TJ, and I'm a Scottish sapphic erotica and romance author.

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