Death slid like a shadow through the battleground, a soft hiss of her scythe the only forewarning before and angelic head rolled to her feet, the eyes open in a look of terrified desperation that brought a smirk to her lips. She had always been a good soldier, even in life. In death she was better, an invisible wraith that whispered among the bloody throng, dealing death left and right like the air she had once breathed. Stretched out slightly, she spread her flowing robes around her like wings, sending her strength outward in a great swath of death that cut down everything good and holy that was still fighting. She had grown much stronger in the millennia since her rebirth. Her sentence was long over, but she had refused to relinquish her position as the hand of Death, and the Dark Lord himself had given her an...extension. One she was very happy to receive. She had always loved to kill, the power of taking another's life, of feeling there last breathe empty from their lungs just as the tide ebbs from the shore was as intoxicating as any alcohol. She found her greatest joy in the slaying of innocents, their blood like a river of sin flowing from her hands. Now, she was a formidable weapon in this holy war. The demons of Hell had once again risen against the Father and his children of heaven.
Silver winged angels wielding swords of flames like the angel Gabriel had years ago to bar the gateway to Eden, defending the golden gates of heaven from the demon onslaught. The attackers came in a steady rush, as much-tormented souls fought with every modicum of strength their depilated bodies could muster. The ghoulish skeletons of the undead warriors clattered like a bizarre death knell as they hurled themselves at the white-robed defenders. Indeed, the good side was the losing one; as for the first time ever in the history of the universe evil was beginning to triumph. The wickedness of mankind had become it's undoing; it had made Lucifer strong; it had fed his unholy power and provided the army he was now using.
God was dead. There was no great thunderclap, like there had been when his son gave his life for the sins of man, just a great shudder throughout the land that stretched through the universe to it's edges and beyond, a signal of the victory of Satan. Yet the war raged on, the Angels refusing to concede; if they were going sown, there were going to do it fighting in the name of a dead lord. Death moved among them again, dealing out blows left and right like candy at Halloween. Heads rolled. Then a flutter of wings and one of them was directly in front of her, barring the way forward. It raised its blazing weapon and charged, shrieking out its death cry, even before the shining scythe blade was in motion. The head slid neatly from the Angel's shoulders and tumbled to a stop by Deaths feet as the body thumped to the ground next to it. The face, frozen forever in its eternal rest stared up at Death; it's face an expression of serene peace, a lock of red hair resting on a pale cheek, contrasting a jade green eye.
Death felt the quiver begin in her belly and spread to her fingers and toes before reaching her eyes, a burning sensation accompanied by a wetness on her face; tears that she had forgotten she was capable of. Only one word was mouthed, two syllables of truth in a place built on lies.
"Mother."
And the war drew to a bloody conclusion all around her as she stood and wept for lost innocence and the death of love. It's not over. It will never be, and I'm not afraid to believe. I have faith. With that thought, Death raised her scythe a final time and took her own life.