Epilogue: Telling a Story

Marcus slowly closed the book. He gently ran his hand through his shoulder length dirty-blonde hair and blinked his blue eyes. "And that, Miria, is how the line of the reaper began. Every child of the family Black is born with the power of Death inside them...and a weapon of Death at their command, though only the Reaper himself will wield the scythe." He brushed the sword at his waist: a blade so thin it was invisible, and a skull and crossbones hilt motif. "This is the story of our family. So, Miria...any questions?"

The three year old girl looked up at him. She had midnight black hair and her mother's black eyes. Reaching under the blankets, she pulled out a chainsaw with a glowing blue chain. She revved it up. "Can I cut you to pieces?" she asked, her voice high pitched and adorable.

Marcus chuckled, and kissed her on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, sis," he said, and tucked her back in.

Getting up, he walked out to watch the stars of the underworld.

"Finally asleep?"

Marcus turned and smiled. "Yeah, Dad. GOt her to sleep with the family history. She loves that story, you know."

Grim nodded. "You always seem to know how to handle her, Marcus. YOur mother and I just don't seem to know what to do."

Marcus shook his head. "Just glad to be of help. ...does this mean you'll start teaching me martial arts?"

Grim chuckled. "In the morning, Marcus. In the morning."