Luck’s Chosen

[WP] The Grim Reaper has a list where names pop up when their life is at risk due to a decision or action they made. The same name keeps popping up on the list and the Reaper decides to look into it.


The name popped up again and the Grim Reaper stared at it, and then marked off another tick under the human’s name before pausing to count up the tallies. Nine. All dated today.

A quick shuffle through It’s papers revealed a trend- as many as thirty in a single day- rarely less than five- tallies all under the same name.

“What the HELL is he up to?” It growled, bones clicking together. This was beginning to get bothersome!

A twist of reality and It appeared in the Mortal Realms, and immediately stifled surprise.

Gunfire crackled around It, the source, many humans in the same uniform all firing at a single man who dangled by one hand off a cliff, while pulling the pin of a grenade with his teeth to throw up and over the men.

This mortal had to be one of Luck’s favored, because the small explosive landed neatly in a truck, laden with fuel tanks.

The resulting explosion sent the men with guns hurtling over the cliff, many already dead. The Reaper absently gathered up their souls when they fell past It, and continued to watch as the mortal hauled himself up over the cliff edge, only to curse- It was rather impressed by the mortal’s imaginative language- and took cover behind a pile of crates.

More humans with guns arrived.

“Really!?” the moral yelled, sheer disbelief in his voice. Actions bellying his outraged voice, his hands stayed steady as he yanked a gun out of a nearby crate and aimed it carefully over his scant cover. “Look, I just want to get out of here!” He hollered to his enemies, who responded with a hail of gunfire. 

The mortal cursed. The Reaper felt another near-death Choice ding across It’s senses. The mortal tilted his gun up again and began picking the men off with devastatingly accurate ratta-tats of his own firearm.

Another ding as a grenade landed beside the mortal, who-for some unknown reason- snatched it out of the soft sand and lobbed it back the way it came instead of sensibly scrambling away.

The Reaper watched in sheer astonishment as the grenade exploded as fortuitously as the first, neatly in the lap of the man with the rocket launcher. What in the Hells was this mortal up to? The Reaper couldn't seem to find a motive. Although, It had to admit, this did seem to be more a matter of poor judgement on behalf of the men who were hunting the intrepid mortal. They seemed to be dying in droves.

The mortal had outpaced it, and the Reaper hurried to catch up as the sound of a disbelieving “Oh COME ON,” that echoed through the sandy cave ahead. More explosions- two more dings for deadly life choices- and a great deal of cursing heralded a string of bodies.

The mortal was dangling from a rope that looped around ancient stonework.

A fourth ding in thirty minutes- this one felt remarkably determined- and the mortal got himself swinging, before launching himself at a early-featureless cliff, nothing but a long climbing spike in hand.

Sticking the landing meant something rather different to this mortal, but stick he did, dragging himself up the cliff face by finger-holds and clever use of his spike.

The Reaper stared, as the man managed to reach the top of the cliff, taking a moment to catch his breath when there wasn't an immediate hail of gunfire, before running off again.

It wasn't ten minutes before a fifth ding echoed across It’s senses, and it began to count- reaching six before a shattering explosion, the sound of breaking wood, screams, and more cursing filled the air.

“Humans,” It sighed, and twisted Itself back into It’s office. Luck-blessed indeed. It made a note next to the mortal’s name and stuck the whole thing up on It’s wall, easily seen. Two more tallies appeared, almost on top of each other, and It simply shook it’s head, deciding that It didn't want to know after all.