( TW: Mentions of death, use of alcohol and drugs, and suicide )

Ophiuchos managed to find Somied sitting at the kitchen, his faint red eyes on a book. ‘Since when does a bloodthirsty troublemaker ever wanted to take the time to read a book?’ they thought. They looked around the kitchen and didn’t see Phobos, which was rather strange, given the idea that Terrible Twins were inseparable.

Ophiuchos jumped at a voice.

“He needed to have a personal talk with Mars.”

They heard a chuckle and realized it was Somied, either he had guessed their thought or somehow entered their mind without their permission. They hoped for the former, but knowing him, part of them doubted it.

“What do you want?” Somied asked without putting his book down, disinterest in his tone.

Ophiuchos walked over and took a seat in front of him. They nearly snorted when they spotted the title, The Shining by Stephen King. Of course, someone like Somied would be interested in books, if only they provided horror content.

They was given a growl from Somied. Within his eyes, impatient burned wildly, and Ophiuchos supposed they would have to make it quick. They was not in a mood to get another room on fire because of Somied’s pathetic tantrum.

“Your name,” they replied calmly, their head tilted as their sharp gaze fell on Somied’s, analyzing, seeking. They found their fingers tapping against the wooden table. A waiting game was on.

Somied stared at them. He finally let the novel go and let it landed on the table without even giving it a bookmark ( which Ophiuchos thought that was a dramatic move, but, it’s Somied. Obviously, he would do something like that ). The glowing brightened as he laughed, amusement spilling into the reality that soon became distorted by his wonder. “You know.” A statement falling from the tip of silver tongue with no hesitation.

Somied glanced away for a brief moment and back at Ophiuchos, their rough lips stretched widely into a horrible thing Ophiuchos could only describe it as a smirk. All teeth with no gaps between them. They was staring at Death. “You are quite of a clever being, I must say,” cooed Somied, “It had been a long time since anyone had figured it out. The last time they found out, they died from a heart attack.” He paused, as if he realized what he just said. Though, either with intention of giving that detail away or not, he added ominously: “It wasn’t my fault, though. They asked for it.”

Ophiuchos narrowed their eyes. In his voice, they could tell he had something more to say, so they only remained silent and allowed him to steal the moment for the most part.

“Ophiuchos Sapientia, if I tell you my real name,” said Somied, leaving his seat to come closer beside them, his face now several inches closer to their ear, “Will you promise me you won’t die so easily as well? I genuinely like you, and that is something I don’t give to many entities, especially if they are bound to last.”

A dark chuckle sent a wave of electrics down in Ophiuchos’ spine. They shuddered as his hot breath passed their ear. At this point, they nearly thought they was meeting Death.

“If it makes you feel any better, you can hold my hand,” offered Somied. Sarcasm was apparent between every words uttered, but in their eyes, surprisingly, he meant it.

Ophiuchos shot him a funny look, but despite their annoyance, they silently gripped his hand and nodded. Sure, they was not fond of his attitude, though, somehow, they trusted him. “Tell me,” they said. “I promise.”

Somied lifted his other hand to conceal the world from hearing his name, and in the most softest way possible from an entity of horror and rage, he said:

“Deimos.”

Images flashed wildly between Ophiuchos’ visions. They couldn’t move or think, forced to only watch them as screams and wails filled their mind, managing to hear the damned and the lost sobbed while they fell to their defeat, their misery. Bodies scattered across battlefields and even the most simplest places like malls and schools. Some of the livings, though, they survived, but ended up having alcohol and drugs in their veins as when they bled, there were only wastes spilled. Some ended up swinging in their bedroom, stomach filled with pills or thousand of lines in sins and apologies on their body—their maimed thing of nothing.

Death sung, and the Afterlife was alive.

Ended in a blinding light, a sob burst from Ophiuchos‘ dried throat and they shoved Somied away before they threw themself onto the floor. Pain flared across the body, yet gone ignored, their nails scratched against the cold surface, chest heaving as they gasped for something that was not apart of his name. Desperation run deep through their veins. They couldn’t think, couldn’t believe, as they stared blankly at Somied, shivering violently. His eyes were not there but a pair of sanguine lights. Darkness slowly crawled from the corner of their eyes, and they would never forget that those terrible lights were the last thing they saw before they fell unconscious.