Reaper’s POV
I am darkness, fear, the undertaker.
I am not a human, a spirit, or an entity.
I am your most dreadful dream.
Eventually, things will change; in fact, everything already has.
There are three options available to you: cry, scream, or hide.
Can you see it? Do you hear it?
You can hear their voices, can you?
You can see their bodies, can you?
All of them are scared.
All of them kneel before me.
All of them came begging.
“Bring me back!”
“I don’t belong here!”
“Help me!”
And my favorite.
“Who are you?”
Who am I? WHO AM I?
Well, I am. Reaper.
You want to know 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.
Derek. Oh, poor Derek. You’re a soul killer. Once your time is up, your soul will be mine to devour.
Emily. Oh, sweet Emily. You’re a soul giver. Since your time is up, your soul belongs to no one. Not even I.
That was our deal. Derek’s deal.
I instructed him to kill innocent people for me to glean and, in return, I do not take your soul.
A deal with the reaper and his scythe.
The echoes of pleading souls reverberate through the darkness, a symphony of despair that only I can orchestrate. Derek, bound by our grim bargain, carries out his task with ruthless efficiency, leaving a trail of devastation in his wake.
As I watch him, a flicker of amusement dances across my ethereal form. Derek, the unwitting pawn in my game, his heart tainted by the darkness I exude.
But tonight, as Derek stands before me, blood staining his hands, a glint of defiance flickers in his eyes. The balance of our deal hangs precariously in the air, a delicate thread that threatens to fray 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 in realization, the weight of his actions bearing down upon him like a heavy cloak of regret.
I take a step closer, my presence enveloping him in a chilling embrace. The air grows thick with tension as Derek’s resolve wavers, the once confident killer now a mere mortal at the mercy of the reaper.
“You thought you could outwit death, cheat fate itself,” I whisper, my voice a haunting melody that echoes through the darkness. “But all debts must be paid, and yours is long overdue.”
Derek’s hands tremble, the crimson stains of his sins stark against the pale moonlight filtering through the shadows. The ghosts of his victims linger around us, their wails of anguish a somber reminder of his blood-soaked path.
Scythe’s POV
“Bingo! Don’t pity the man who fears you. At least she welcomed you with open arms.”
Reaper gripped hard on the handle of his scythe and sighed, “You’re wrong, Scythe. I don’t.”
<To be continued>
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