It was night, or so I thought. A vast land of rocky desolation lay before my eyes. Boulders and bones were strewn here and there, and a peculiar cold fog billowed knee-height, burying this place in mystery. There was no moon or stars to lit the surface, but a faint white light on the horizon defying the black dome that was the sky.
I didn't belong here. I had no doubt about that. This was not Earth anymore. The fact that I had been given a scythe wasn't particularly encouraging either. What if I had to fight for my life? What if I had been lured into a deathly trap only because I wished to cook a chicken soup? What in the world was I--
"It's dinner time!" Ramses yelled into my ear. I winced. His voice echoed for far too long inside my mind.
I slapped my forehead and shook my head. Then, I turned toward him. He was sitting in front of me, hidden under a black robe and holding a scythe, just like me. A flat, oval-shaped boulder separated us, which he was using as a dinner table, for an enticing steaming bowl lay on it.
"Tom," Ramses said. His fiery, shifting visage was clear even under the shadows of the hood. "Taste this."
My stomach grumbled, and the fact that the herbs and spices scent was so delightful wasn't helping in the slightest. I leaned over and stretched over the boulder to get the bowl. My mouth salivated. Was it broth? Perhaps it had some pieces of a new chicken he wanted me to tas--
Ramses caught the bowl with the blade of the scythe, and threw it far away, shattering my hopes of getting something to eat, and kindling a fire inside of me.
"Why did you do that?" I yelled, anger coursing through my veins. As I said that, however, the anger transformed into sheer terror. Had I really just screamed at a demon? "I-I'm s-sorry."
Ramses' robes burned in a split second, revealing his skin glowing the same orange like molten metal he had shown in my kitchen. This time, however, the heat was overwhelming. His face was featureless, no grin, no eyes, no nose nor ears. The only thing left were his twisting horns and gaping scars.
He stood up, the stone ground boiling and gurgling under his feet. "Did you look at the bowl?" he asked as he took a step toward me. His surroundings wavered and distorted, as if I were looking at an enormous bonfire.
"Y-yes? It was br-broth, wasn't it?" I gulped, immobile and stiff.
"What was wrong with it?" He took another step forward, and waited for me to reply before taking another. I pondered over the idea of not answering, and simply ran away. I had seen him chasing that chicken. He wasn't fast.
And then, I pictured the bowl and the steaming broth, and realized something. "It had no chicken. It was just broth," I said, in what I hoped was a stroke of brilliancy.
Ramses raised his four hands into the air, and let out a deafening scream that made the ground tremble. "Yes!" He sat next to me, crossing his legs, and with a snap of his crooked fingers the robes covered him once again.
I felt my bowels loosening, almost to the point of shitting myself. But when I saw his grin spiraling across his face, I knew I had passed some sort of test.
"Listen, Tom," Ramses said, and took a deep breath. "You are smarter than I thought, a natural chicken soup cook. Not everyone realizes that chicken soup can't be chicken soup without broth and chicken together. You are a mortal, so you should understand that chicken soup without the chicken is like if you were born without bones. You would be a useless sack of skin... is life worth it that way?" His voice shattered at the end, and he turned his face away from me. I, however, could heard the sizzling sound of water meeting a scorching surface.
Was he truly crying over his own words? Did he realize what he had said didn't make any sense? It didn't matter. I had to play along, lest I unleashed his wrath again.
"Those were some beautiful words, Ramses," I said and patted him on the back, the robe was hot, but not to the point of burning. "Mind if I ask you why are we here?"
He turned to me. I focuses on his grin, avoiding the hollowness of his nightmarish eyes. "Glad that you asked that. We are in Death's little realm. Do you want to know a secret?"
"Of cou--"
"He uses the souls of mortal beings to feed his chickens," Ramses said, the words rushed out his mouth. "See that ridge over there? It's enclosing Death's house. We are lucky too, he's interviewing beings to take care of his business while he's away harvesting souls."
I frowned and narrowed my eyes. Was this why we were dressed like this? "Are you trying to say that we are going to steal a chicken from Death himself?"
"Well..." Ramses said and stretched, moaning exaggeratedly. "Yes?"
My limbs felt weak, and I took three deep breaths. Why had I jumped into that first portal? Whatever, as I had said before, I was too deep into this already. "Doesn't he sell his chicken meat somewhere else?"
"Of course, in the supermarket," Ramses said and chuckled. "Do you think he lives of harvesting souls? No. His chickens are his main source of income. They are unique."
I wanted to ask him why weren't we going to the supermarket so badly, but I knew the answer: scalding skin, melting ground, endless wrath, and a speech about how to know the perfect chicken you have to taste all the chickens while pretending to be the farmer. Why did I had to follow my grandmother's recipe? Why didn't I just google it?
"Do you have a plan?" I asked.
Ramses grabbed my shoulder. His presence was overwhelming. It made me feel like a toddler. "Yes, first we try to get hired. Then we improvise."
And just like that, to steal a chicken from Death himself we went.
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