Author's Notes: I know that this has been really delayed. This chapter has been sitting on my desktop for months, and I've finally remembered to finish it. But better late than never, right?

Please be advised: this chapter is not pleasant. I'm not going to tell you why it's unpleasant, because that'll just ruin it. I'm just notifying you that the ending of this isn't a happy one. At best, it's bittersweet. If you were expecting a happy finish to this, then I'm very sorry. If you wouldn't like to read such an unpleasant story, then I'd suggest reading one of the many other, happier stories here.

Thank you to all have reviewed (and will review) this, by the way. I always appreciate the support.

The Scythe
Apprentice, Part III

"Do you see that candle upon the ledge? It is no more pronounced than the others, and it is placed amongst them. Notice that it's black. Before, that candle was red, just like the others. That candle is mine. Someday, your candle shall be black as well, and it will burn slowly, so slowly that you might never notice any progress. When you are Death, you must be patient."

"Patient for what?"

"Your end."

Soon after the honeymoon, Sam started feeling ill. She rested often and ate little, but assured her new husband, "It's probably just a bug. It'll go away soon. . . Can you grab some Tylenol? I have a headache."

Unsure, Danny – who, secretly, was Death – took her word, and he attempted not to worry. It wasn't extremely difficult to be optimistic, given the circumstances. In fact, he hoped that this wasn't just some passing illness; they'd been on their honeymoon, after all. Sam had been vomiting in the morning, mostly. Women feel sick at the beginning of pregnancies, don't they? he thought. Please, please, please, let her be pregnant. . .

"When you are Death, you must take everyone. You can't be biased," Danny's mentor had lectured for what seemed to be the thousandth time. "You take the rich and the poor, the young and the old, the beautiful and the ugly. Eventually, you'll take your friends and your family, and you must take them as you take everyone else. You can't hesitate. Don't even consider tampering with the candles."

"I won't," Danny'd assured, "but why can't I mess with the candles? What would happen? Would the Observants be angry?"

Death let out an amused snort. "The Observants? Oh, yes. But you scarcely need to worry about them."

"Why?"

"Because, little ghost," Death had explained condescendingly, yet with a tinge of fondness, "Death is at the mercy of a higher power, and that power can do far worse to you than an army of Observants."

When the pregnancy test came back negative, and when the affliction did not subside after an entire month, Danny felt that he could officially worry. He hardly ate and slept even less. While Sam went for medical testing, he reaped souls. His job had taken on an edge of fear, for any moment, he could be called to take Sam. He was terrified to go to the Underworld, to his cave of candles, where he would know exactly how long Sam had to live. Upon becoming Death, he was able to find the candle of any person. Each candle now possessed a name in his mind, a name which presented itself whenever he looked upon it. When he was younger, the candles were only candles, mere sticks of dripping wax. Now, they showed themsleves for what they truly were: lives. Each candle was a life Danny would eventually have to take, and there were billions of them. He'd have to take away billions of people – and some of those people would be taken from their lives far too early, in Danny's opinion.

"Danny," Sam said as she laid in bed, "stop worrying. I'll be fine."

"God, Sam," Danny said. He felt sick himself; his stomach churned, and it seemed as if a rock had permanently lodged itself in his throat. "I really hope so."

That was when the doctors called. They apologized; the news was unpleasant and fear-affirming and it tore Danny apart. They gave the couple three options: surgery, radiotherapy, or chemotherapy. Sam said that she would think about it, and she was advised not to take too long; after all, brain tumors, especially malignant ones, were very serious, life-threatening things.

Three days later, Danny went to the Underworld, reluctantly. He had to. "Because, little ghost," he said to himself, under his breath, "Death is at the mercy of a higher power."

What he found didn't surprise him. He stared at it for what seemed like ages, and fought back the human urges to scream and cry and break things. He needed to be inhuman. Unbiased. Apathetic. He needed to be Death, who was at the mercy of a higher power.

And that higher power which might decide to punish him and his wife, if Death decided to be human.

That night, Death came to Sam Fenton at precisely four twenty-seven in the morning. When she saw him, she smiled and asked, "What took you so long?"

"Sam," Danny said, "you don't understand what I'm here to do."

"I see the scythe, Death," she said. "If anyone is going to take me, I'm glad it's you."

Death took his scythe, raised it, and paused. He felt a pang of abject humanity, of remorse for an act not yet done. He could still change his mind and let her live. . .

. . . And then he lowered the scythe with the speed of a falling guillotine's blade, just as he had thousands, if not millions, of times.

It was over.

Another job done.

September 9, 2010 – Samantha Fenton (née Manson), age 27, passed away yesterday of a brain tumor, at approximately 4:30 in the morning. She was the recent wife of Daniel Fenton, popularly known as "Danny Phantom," age 27. She was diagnosed with the tumor four days ago. She is survived by her husband and parents, Jeremy and Pamela Manson. The viewing will be held on September 13 at the Hartman Funeral Home, at 7:00 pm. The funeral will be held on September 14, at the Amity Cemetery, at 10:00 am.

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading/bearing with me. Hottiegally passed away from her brain tumor on September 8 at 4:27 am. I wanted to incorporate that somehow. Since this was her challenge, I felt that she should be some part of this. Requiescat in pace.

The end.