Beautiful Death

I'm Isabella Thanatos, Marshal for the City of Athens. I execute criminals on sight.

Killing is easy. Facing what I've become, impossible.

I barely remember a time when the aliens weren't here. I was just a kid when their ships first arrived. They promised peace and sharing of knowledge to improve our lives. Instead, we began dying. A plague thousands of times worse than the Black Death swept through Earth. The lucky ones died in convulsions of blood and raging fevers.

Most of the others...became monsters. Twisted by the viruses that mutated faster than anything we'd ever seen before and corrupted by alien DNA, they murdered and feasted on blood and flesh. If their victims survived the attack, they turned into monsters, too. Werewolves and vampires of legend, I suppose, only twisted worse than any horror movie we've ever seen.

The shapeshifters aren't any beast we can recognize from Earth's natural species. With scales and fur and wings, they resemble vultures crossed with dragons instead of plain old wolves. The vampires certainly don't wear cloaks or turn into bats, although unfortunately, many of them do ooze sex appeal. The better to lure their victims in for the kill, my dear.

They are monsters, real live monsters. And we died by the billions. We're still dying.

The aliens did this. There were two kinds of aliens who came bearing palms leaves of friendship and peace. One kind fed off human lifeforce, non-violently, of course, or so they professed. Their soldiers were shapeshifters called Enforcers. We stupidly believed the Enforcers were simply bodyguards. We stupidly believed the aliens would uphold their promises and not feed off us like sheep. But sheep we were, and we went peacefully to the slaughter.

Only a few thousand humans survived the plague of mutating monstrosity. Our greatest scientists and doctors worked tirelessly to develop an immunization, but as soon as one was developed, the virus mutated again, worsening the epidemic. In desperation, they consulted with the alien researchers, for by then, even the aliens were infected with the virus. Barred from ever returning to their own home planets as carriers of this virus, they were marooned with us, forever.

Unless I kill them all first.

I will never forgive the aliens for what they've done to mankind. What they've done to my family. I've lost everyone I ever loved, although I can't blame the aliens entirely. The one I hold personally responsible is my own father.

A famous hematologist for his research into AIDS and virology, my father left us to join the central laboratories in search of a cure. He left us. My mother, me, and my older sister. I was twelve when I held my mother's head in my lap and wiped the blood from her eyes, nose and mouth as she suffered. We were all sick despite the last-minute shot my father gave us before he left. Despite his promise it would protect us. That he would return and take us to safety. Amelia and I recovered, although we were never the same again. The virus claimed our mother.

Amelia and I roamed the streets for two years. We slept in boxes, gutters, abandoned buildings, graves. She might have been 18 months older than me, but she was delicate, ethereal, and, yes, weak. I protected us. I stole food. I fought off the monsters to keep her safe.

I learned how to tell how dangerous a stranger was at a glance. Later, I realized that I can see people's energy, or aura, and I can tell what they intend. It's like every bad deed the person ever did or intends to commit is painted in bold full color for me to read. This sight told me when to hide with my sister beneath me in the mud and rubbish of the ditch. When to fight. When to run like the wind. When to beg for help.

This gift has failed me, though, so I've learned the hard way not to depend solely on my sight. Blinded by my own special sight, I lost my sister.

I was barely fifteen when we stumbled into a whole flock of aliens. At a glance, I knew they were the real thing. The virus hadn't infected them yet, but they had been touched by it. Their auras were dark and tortured, but they hadn't lost the battle. Not yet.

One of them crouched down before me, his black eyes glittering with a rainbow of stars. His silver hair was so bright I blinked, overcome with the simple, stark beauty in the grimness of my young life. And his aura. Gleaming ivory, pure, sparkling black and vibrant scarlet glowed and swirled, taking my breath away. I had never seen anything like it.

I remember that I actually touched him. I put my hand in his hair, and it was incredibly soft and silky. He picked me up like I was a child, his hands gentle and strong. He cradled me in his arms. He told me he'd been looking for me. That my father had sent him.

My father. The coward who had left us behind to die. The traitor who had gone to help the aliens. He was one of them, now. A monster.

I screamed and fought, using every street trick I had learned over the years. I bit him in the throat, the most vulnerable spot I could reach. I shredded his face with my fingernails. I tore at him with my human teeth and pitiful, ineffectual claws, rage and hate burning up in me, and the alien would not let me go. He held me closer, whispering something to me in his language. His energy roared higher, bathing me in a glorious blaze of scarlet.

Hot. My skin burned, sizzling against his coolness. The more energy he dumped on me, the hotter I burned. I could feel him sucking down my lifeforce, draining my strength, my will to live. He squeezed me tighter, sucking me dry, and I surrendered. In that moment, I died. I gave myself up to him. I was so tired, tired of the constant ache of hunger in my stomach, the filth of the street, the strain of protecting my sister when she could not protect herself.

Something struck him, jarring me free from his grasp. I fell to the ground, too weak to lift my head. He was so beautiful my heart hurt, and so deadly. His own blood stained his throat and shirt, startling against the pale perfection of his skin. His aura had bled almost completely red, clouded now by darker shadow. His silver hair glowed like the moon, and his eyes, a midnight kaleidoscope of dancing stars. Beautiful. He had tried to kill me, and I would have let him.

Someone shouted for the monsters to back off. A man appeared, standing over me with some kind of weapon. The other aliens actually seemed afraid of it and backed away.

The one that had fed off me stared at me. I saw the hunger in his eyes, immense and dark. Desperation warred with his sense of self preservation, and he almost flew at my human rescuer. I could see the tension radiating in his tall, slender frame. Fury radiated like flames in his aura. I struggled to look beyond the beauty to read his intentions.

He would find me again or die trying.

I licked my lips, tasted his blood, and remembered the hatred blazing in my veins when I bit him. And I smiled. I would be more than happy to oblige him in his death.

Isabella died that day, ravaged by the vampiric monster with silver hair and rainbow eyes. He haunts my dreams when I allow myself to sleep. He is the only thing left that can make me fear. Not my death, but my surrender. I don't ever want to give up again.

Now, I am Death. I never stop. I kill because someone needs to protect the weak from the monsters. The weak, like my sister who was carried away by the aliens that day. My father, who crossed over into Hell itself. My mother. Her last words were "I wish to die." She smiled when she found peace after three days of agony.

I give the tortured their dearest wish, as I did for my suffering mother. Some kill with hate, with rage, with fear. I kill with merciless mercy.

They call me Beautiful Death.