Reaper’s POV

I am the abyss that devours stars, the terror that bites into your marrow, the shadow that carves your grave.

I transcend human, spirit, and even the wildest imaginations.

I am the nightmare that rips through the veil of sleep to consume your very soul.

Inevitably, you will transform; in truth, you already have.

Three paths lie before you: cry, scream, or vanish into the shadows.

Can you see it? Do you hear it?

You can hear their voices, can’t you?

You can see their bodies, can’t you?

They all kneel before me, scared and begging.

“Take me back!”

“I don’t belong here!”

“Help me!”

And my particular favorite:

“Who are you?”

Who am I? WHO AM I?

I am the Reaper.

Do you wish to understand my purpose?

I search for those consumed by darkness. I attach myself to them. To destroy their inner soul until it’s time for reaping.

I hunt for those swallowed by darkness. I entwine myself with them, eroding their inner soul until it’s time to reap.

Derek. Oh, poor Derek.

You’re a devourer of souls, and when your time runs out, it’s your soul that will become my feast.

Emily. Oh, sweet Emily.

You’re a soul giver. Now that your time is up, your soul belongs to no one—not even me.

It’s a grim bargain:

Derek must hunt the innocent, shedding their blood for me to harvest. In return, I spare Emily’s soul.

A deal with me and my scythe.

A symphony of despair echoes through the darkness, composed of the pleading souls I alone can conduct. Bound by our grim bargain, Derek executes his task with ruthless efficiency, leaving devastation in his wake.

A flicker of amusement passes through my ethereal form as I watch him. Derek, unknowingly ensnared in my game, with his heart shadowed by the darkness I emit.

Tonight, Derek stands before me, his hands stained with blood and a flicker of defiance in his eyes. The balance of our deal hangs by a delicate thread, on the verge of unraveling at any moment.

“Derek,” I intone, my voice a spectral hiss. “Your time draws near. The scales of fate tilt in my favor, and soon you shall reap what you have sown.” Derek’s eyes widen, a dawning horror settling upon him like an oppressive mantle of remorse.

I step closer, enveloping him in a chilling embrace. The air thickens with tension as Derek’s resolve wavers; the once confident murderer is now a mere mortal at the mercy of the reaper.

“You believed you could outsmart death, defy fate,” I whisper, my voice a haunting melody resonating through the shadows. “But every debt comes due, and yours is long past due.”

Derek’s hands tremble, the crimson stains of his sins vivid in the pale moonlight. The ghosts of his victims hover around us, their anguished wails a somber reminder of his blood-soaked path.

Scythe’s POV

“Bingo! Don’t feel sorry for the man who fears you. At least she welcomed you with open arms.”

Reaper tightens his hold on his scythe and sighs, “You’re mistaken, Scythe. I don’t.”

<To be continued>