Chapter 5

  Glenn crawled on the floor, breathing heavily. He couldn’t believe what just happened. Running his fingers through his hair, he pulled as hard as he could.

  “No!” he screamed. “I have to go back.”

  He tried to crawl toward the portal, desperation fueling his movements.

  Anubis was having none of it. He grabbed Glenn by the hood of his cloak and dragged him toward his office.

  Glenn continued to scream as he was pulled away. “Stop! Let me go!”

  But Anubis was too powerful. It felt like he was being dragged by solid stone.

  As he was pulled along, Glenn couldn’t help but notice the stares from his fellow Reapers. Each gaze felt like a dagger piercing through him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they knew what had happened.

  Anubis reached his office, opened the door, and unceremoniously threw Glenn inside. He tumbled across the floor, rolling a few times before coming to a stop. Anubis stepped in after him, closing the door behind him.

  “Get up.” Anubis’s voice was firm as he walked around his desk. He was about to sit but stopped. Instead, he took a long sigh and rubbed his eyes.

  Glenn slowly pulled himself off the ground and slumped into a chair, feeling the weight of everything crashing down on him.

  Anubis turned his sharp, golden eyes toward him. “What do you think this is, the Reapers? Huh? Some kind of Disney story where you’re the chosen hero? You think you’re special just because Mora gave you a scythe? News flash—every Reaper out there thinks they’re special. Each one has some tragic or epic tale about why they are unique. ‘Oh, I fought some big bad guy, which makes me special.’ ‘Oh, I was a divine god who lived a thousand years, which makes me special.’”

  Anubis scoffed. “But does any of it change anything? People still starve. They still kill each other. Nothing on Earth has changed since I’ve been around, and I’ve been around for a very long time.”

  Glenn’s eyes darkened as he stared at Anubis. “Did you know?”

  “Did I know what? About Hades?” Anubis’s anger seemed to settle slightly at the question. “Yes and no. I knew Management had made a decision to silence him. There are rules we follow to maintain balance. To keep peace.”

  “They killed him.”

  “You killed him.” Anubis’s voice was cold and unwavering. “You and Canis. And look what happened to him.”

  Glenn’s breath caught. “I-I… No. No, it wasn’t my fault.”

  “No? What would’ve happened if you hadn’t gone looking for him? He’s a god, Glenn. A few thousand years in prison is nothing to him.”

  Glenn had no response.

  Then Anubis said something that made Glenn’s heart sink.

  “I didn’t ask you to be a Reaper because I saw something special in you. You seemed like every other human to me. I chose you to get closer to the Sisters of Death. They’re planning something, and your scythe was a clue.”

  Glenn’s mind raced. He had gotten so caught up in this new world, in the idea that maybe he was finally good at something. Maybe he could make something of himself. That finding out about his parents would reveal some prophecy, some grand destiny that would prove he mattered.

  It had all been a lie.

  “What happens to Canis and Hades?” Glenn asked quietly.

  BAM!

  The office door slammed open.

  Charon stormed in. “Where is he?!”

  His glowing, hollow eyes locked onto Glenn.

  “Is it true?” Charon demanded. “Are Cerberus and Hades gone? Did you really encounter Nyra?”

  Glenn swallowed hard. “Last I saw… she was cutting right through them. Even with Hades, we were like ants to her.”

  Charon’s expression shifted. A deep, profound sorrow settled over him.

  Glenn looked from Charon to Anubis. “This is wrong. All of this is wrong. This can’t be how the underworld operates. You’re supposed to be the keepers of knowledge. The ones who guide souls to do the right thing. How can we judge right from wrong when you lie and backstab?”

  Charon stiffened. “What did you just say?”

  “I saw you,” Glenn continued, his voice steady. “You handed Hades over to Zeus and Michael. Betrayed your friend. All because he loved someone enough to defy their orders? No wonder you both survived this long. You play to whichever side suits you best. Or is it fear? Fear that you can die now that you have souls?”

  Charon took a step back, stunned. “How could you possibly know that?”

  Anubis’s eyes narrowed. “Charon… what does he mean?”

  “That’s enough.”

  Lilith stormed into the room, her presence suffocating. “I shall remind you that no disciplinary action is to be taken without HR’s knowledge. That includes verbal.”

  “Lilith…” Anubis growled.

  “How can you blame poor Glenn when he hasn’t even been properly trained?”

  “You assigned him to reap tier-three souls!” Anubis snapped.

  “Yes. And he succeeded in his first reap, did he not? So tell me—who is responsible for him going off track? He completed one assignment. One. Then he decided to reap…” She checked her notes. “Tomoe Gozen? Before proceeding to search for Hades after a conversation with you, Charon—which I would very much like to hear about.”

  Lilith smirked. “This is why HR exists. Here’s what’s going to happen. Glenn, you will go to immediate training. There’s a seminar perfect for new Reapers to learn from veterans. As for you two,” she glanced at Anubis and Charon, “we’re going to have a little chat when I return.”

  Lilith helped Glenn out of his seat. “This way, Glenn. Please follow me.”

  Glenn hesitated. He glanced at Anubis, who was glaring—but after a moment, the jackal-headed god gave a slight nod, telling him to go.

  Charon said nothing.

  The door shut behind them, leaving silence in its wake.

  Glenn wished he could hear something—anything—from inside. Instead, there was only the oppressive quiet.

  He followed Lilith with his head down, at an all-time low.

  He blamed himself for Canis and Hades. He could tell Anubis and Charon blamed him, too.

  Canis had been his only friend—not just in the Reaper world, but ever.

  And he was gone.

  Glenn had always been alone. But this… this was different.

  Every time someone looked at him, he felt judged.

  And the worst part?

  He agreed with them.

  Glenn was lost in his thoughts, barely aware of his surroundings, until he suddenly found himself at the HR department. Lilith guided him down a hallway he hadn’t been to before, stopping in front of two massive double doors leading to an auditorium.

  “Alright, Glenn. Go on in. When you’re done, check back in with Anubis. If you run into any trouble, come find me.”

  Glenn stepped into the auditorium—a massive, soulless room. The walls were a dull beige-gray, the kind of color that reminded him of his old bedroom. The lighting was just bright enough to keep people awake but lacked any warmth. A large stage dominated the front, featuring a long table covered in endless stacks of paperwork, a sad-looking water jug, and a microphone that screeched with feedback every time someone tapped it. Behind the table, a giant screen displayed an outdated PowerPoint slide titled:

  “Efficient Reaping: Maximizing Your Soul Collection Potential.”

  Glenn immediately searched for a seat in the back, hoping to go unnoticed. The last thing he wanted was social interaction.

  The chairs? Unforgiving. Hard-backed, stiff, and packed too close together, ensuring that no one had personal space. Each chair had a tiny foldable desk attached—too small to be practical, yet just big enough to trick you into thinking it might be useful. It wasn’t.

  Still, maybe this was good for him. He wanted to be the best, and this was his chance to learn. Yeah—one step at a time. Did he really think he didn’t need training? This would be good for him. Maybe he’d even meet some great Reapers, like the Elders he had already encountered.

  The seminar began with a long introduction from the President of Reaper Training, a thin Reaper in a painfully beige suit. His body was so bent you would think he was a serpent. His glasses had so many smudges you couldn’t see his eyes. He droned on into the microphone, his voice so monotonous and quiet that it could put even the most restless insomniacs into a coma.

  “Welcome to the Annual Mandatory Training Seminar on Efficient Soul Retrieval and Professional Reaping Standards. We are honored to have a truly inspirational lineup of speakers today. But before we begin…”

  He gestured toward the Vice President of Reaper Training, who walked onto the stage at an agonizingly slow pace, took an unnecessarily long sip of water, and cleared his throat multiple times before speaking.

  “It’s truly an honor to be here today. Let’s give another round of applause to our esteemed President for his opening words.”

  There was a slow round of clapping—but Glenn couldn’t see anyone clapping. Where was that sound coming from?

  He glanced at the other attendees.

  To his left sat the Enthusiastic New Hire—a young Reaper-in-training, far too excited to be here. He sat perfectly upright, furiously taking notes in a shiny new notebook labeled:

  “Reaper Training – Important!”

  He nodded aggressively at every speaker, as if they were unraveling the secrets of the universe.

  Was I ever like that? Glenn wondered.

  A few rows ahead sat the Ancient Looking Reaper Who Has Seen Too Much. His expression was permanently set to show existential dread. His long, bony fingers tapped rhythmically against his chair, as if counting the seconds until his suffering ended (again). He mumbled under his breath—probably reciting the same seminar speech he had endured for the last five millennia.

  To his right was the Too-Cool-To-Care Reaper—leaning back in her chair, legs propped up on the seat in front of her, wearing sunglasses inside (which made no sense because there was no sun in the underworld). She was clearly forced to be here by HR and had zero intention of paying attention. She gave Glenn a casual nod of acknowledgment, a silent “What’s up?”

  The Vice President continued: “Now, before we dive into today’s exciting seminar, we need to hear from…”

  Another figure slowly approached the podium—the Retired Former President of Training, who had absolutely nothing to contribute but refused to leave.

  “Back in my day, Reapers didn’t need fancy technology or ‘improved efficiency seminars.’ No, sir! We used to walk right up to souls—SLASH! Through fire! Uphill! Both ways! Now, let me tell you about the time I reaped a soul in—”

  What felt like forty-five agonizing minutes later…

  Glenn slouched in his chair, dead inside, staring at the ceiling like a prisoner counting the days until his release.

  The torture wasn’t over. He glanced around to see if anyone else was paying attention.

  A few seats over sat the Reaper Who Is Definitely Asleep—slumped forward, arms crossed, head slightly tilted. Glenn wasn’t sure if he had moved in over an hour. Actually… he might just be a corpse.

  To his left, a Bureaucratic Reaper sat upright with a briefcase—which was odd because no one else had a briefcase. She also wore glasses, despite not having eyes.

  Glenn looked for a clock—but of course, there was no time in the underworld.

  How long had he been here? Hours? Days? There was no way to tell.

  Somehow, while he had been lost in thought, another speaker had taken the stage. His badge read:

  Ambassador of Reaper Training Compliance Standards.

  “Today, I want to talk about proper paperwork filing. The Form 7B-Alpha is often confused with the 7B-Beta, but this can be avoided by ensuring the proper attachment of Form 12-Follow-Up-Verification-Analysis…”

  Glenn felt like he deserved this suffering.

  What felt like another eternity passed, and finally, the President took the stage again.

  “Thank you, Ambassador. Now, I know some of you think this is dry stuff, but this is what keeps our organization running. I encourage all new Reapers to get more involved. Come to our monthly meetings and participate in voting—it’s important. Now, we do have some fun planned for you!”

  The slow, disembodied clapping happened again. Glenn still couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.

  “We have a team-building exercise where Reapers must role-play as Lost Souls and Reapers, trying to guide them to the afterlife. A great ice breaker! And of course… BINGO! Who doesn’t love BINGO?”

  The audience remained lifeless.

  “But before we get to all that, my time as President has come to an end. I’d like to introduce the new President, who will give a speech. After that, he will introduce his new Vice President and Treasurer. But don’t worry, the fun is coming! We also have some great instructors here to train you to be the best Reapers you can be! They’re not here yet, so no rush!”

  Glenn exhaled sharply.

  This is where they stick the losers, he realized. The Reapers who will never amount to anything. The ones who won’t interfere with the real job.

  He looked at the Reapers around him—none of them seemed special.

  And what did that say about him?

  He turned toward the exit. Near the door, a Reaper was eating popcorn, giggling as if finding this entire thing amusing.

  Glenn smirked. It was kind of funny.

  Then his smirk faded.

  That Reaper… reminded him of Canis.

  His stomach twisted. The full weight of what had happened finally sank in.

  Canis would never make him laugh again.

  Every reap from now on… he’d be alone. Or worse, stuck with these Reapers.

  Glenn’s eyes grew glassy. He stood abruptly and made for the exit.

  Outside in the hallway, he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.

  Sniff.

  Sniff.

  A familiar scent—sea salt in the air.

  Glenn’s eyes snapped open.

  In the distance, leaving the HR hallways, was Charon.

  Glenn straightened.

  He was going to make this right.

  He took a careful step forward, ready to follow—

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  “Hello, Glenn Garcia.”

  Glenn froze.

  He turned.

  Standing behind him was Tomoe Gozen.

  “T-Tomoe? You’re here? They didn’t send you to the afterlife?”

  She smiled. “Call me Yoshiko. I decided on a fresh start. And, strangely enough…they offered me a role as a Reaper. Just like you. Funny, maybe fate had something more in mind for me and you.”

  Glenn swallowed hard. Worst timing ever.

  "Well, Uhh…" Glenn stammered, blushing. "Maybe… maybe fate thought you could do a lot of good for lost souls, too."

  His eyes flicked back to Charon, who was fading into the distance. Worst timing ever.

  Yoshiko smiled warmly. "Well, I’m grateful for whoever believed in me. I wasn’t ready to go to the afterlife just yet. I’m supposed to attend this Reaper seminar, and… I’d really like it if you accompanied me. Maybe show me around afterward?"

  Charon was almost out of sight.

  "I’m sorry. I would love nothing more, but something urgent just came up. I have to take care of something first." Glenn hesitated, then took off running after Charon.

  "I swear, I’ll show you around soon! I’m really glad you’re here!" Glenn called over his shoulder.

  "Wait! Glenn!" Yoshiko shouted, but he was already gone.

  Glenn sprinted to the end of the hallway, then stopped, scanning for any sign of Charon. He could still faintly smell the salty sea air. The scent was stronger toward the front lobby.

  Don’t draw attention to yourself, Glenn told himself, slowing to a brisk walk. He didn’t want to be caught skipping the seminar—but as he passed by, no one even seemed to notice him.

  Then—

  "AHHHHHH!"

  "NO! STOP!"

  "HELP!"

  Screams echoed down the hallway.

  Glenn’s pace quickened. Then he heard someone yell—

  "He’s trying to use a portal!"

  That sent Glenn into a full sprint.

  He bursted into the lobby, where chaos had erupted. Security guards laid scattered across the floor—some injured, others helping their comrades to their feet. None seemed seriously hurt, but they were clearly shaken. The front desk Hermes’ Assistant was hanging from a ceiling beam, kicking his legs helplessly. A few Reapers were on the ground, desperately trying to piece their broken scythes back together.

  In the center of it all, barking orders, stood Anubis.

  When Anubis saw Glenn, he rolled his eyes.

  Glenn approached him. "What happened here?"

  Anubis, still directing others, responded without looking at him. "Why is it that every time something unusual happens, you’re always around?"

  Glenn barely processed the comment—his attention was on the scene around him. The doors to Upper Management and Lower Management were both sealed off with tape marked DO NOT ENTER. But the door to Earth? The tape was ripped.

  "Charon," Anubis muttered. "He removed the tracking chip from his scythe and went after Nyra."

  Glenn’s stomach dropped. "Nyra? Why?"

  "I don’t know. This is very unlike him. I’ve known Charon for a long time—thousands of years. Something must have gotten to him… or maybe it was something you said."

  Anubis’s golden eyes flared as he turned his full attention to Glenn.

  "Glenn. What did you see?"

  There was no lying past that gaze.

  Glenn hesitated, then admitted, "I saw Charon before he was Charon. I saw him hand Hades over to two deities—Zeus and Michael—in exchange for Persephone’s safety. In return, they gave them… something. A flower. When they ate it, it turned them mortal."

  Anubis narrowed his eyes. "Mortal? And how did they do that?"

  "Zeus pulled out a flower I’d never seen before. When they ate it, their divinity was stripped away. But when Charon ate it…" Glenn paused, remembering the image vividly. "His skin melted. It hurt him."

  Anubis’s expression was unreadable—his face calm, but his posture tense.

  "I see."

  Glenn expected him to ask more, but instead, Anubis exhaled slowly and folded his arms.

  "I am almost as old as Charon," Anubis finally said. "For over five thousand years, I’ve worked to keep the balance of life and death. Sometimes as a ruler, sometimes as an advisor. The last thousand years, I’ve been here, with the Reapers. Even though I am not a Reaper myself, our roles are similar. We ensure the machine that is the afterlife keeps turning—which, in turn, manages life on Earth. It is a cycle. That is what it has always been about."

  He looked at Glenn, his gaze weighing heavily.

  "Good and evil? Those are human beliefs. Deities follow different rules. Look around you. Every creature here has a soul. They were once lost—wandering, without purpose, causing chaos. Here, we give them structure. Guidance. Purpose. All to keep the balance of the scales."

  Anubis paused.

  "But…" He sighed. "There have been times when the balance has been off. And now…" He studied Glenn carefully. "The winds of change are blowing through this department. And something tells me, you are at the center of it, Glenn Garcia."

  The weight of his words sank in.

  "I believe Charon knows this too. That’s why he’s acting now. He’s doing his part. And maybe…" Anubis’s expression darkened. "Maybe it’s time I have a conversation with my peers in Management."

  Glenn furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

  Anubis turned to him fully.

  "I’m sorry for saying you’re not special."

  Glenn blinked.

  Anubis studied him in silence for a long moment. His jackal eyes seemed to pierce through him, as if unearthing secrets Glenn himself didn’t even know. Then, in a deep, measured voice, he continued—

  "You care, Glenn. No one else can be Glenn the Reaper. And that is rare."

  Anubis took a slow step forward, his presence pressing down like an unseen force. It wasn’t hostile, but it was powerful.

  "But caring is not enough."

  He lifted a hand, tracing an invisible line in the air. Suddenly, images flickered into existence—memories from different cultures, different times.

  Faint voices echoed as the shadows moved around them, whispering forgotten wisdom.

  "Throughout history, great humans have believed in a single truth."

  In the West, the words of a philosopher emerged:

  “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”

  The vision shifted. A Buddhist monk sat in silent meditation; his voice soft but firm:

  “To delay in doing good is to allow evil to grow.”

  A desert landscape appeared, and the words of a prophet rang out:

  “When you see injustice, stop it with your hand. If you cannot, then speak against it. If you cannot, then know in your heart that it is wrong—but that is the weakest of faith.”

  A Hebrew sage stood before a crowd, his voice grave:

  “Do not stand idly by while your neighbor’s blood is shed.”

  And finally, an ancient battlefield took shape—warriors falling in battle. The words of Charon’s time echoed:

  “Heroes do not fall because they lack strength. They fall because others turn away when they are needed most.”

  Anubis closed his fingers, and the visions faded.

  The weight of his words settled over Glenn like a heavy cloak.

  This wasn’t just about being a Reaper.

  It wasn’t just about him.

  It was about something bigger.

  His golden eyes locked onto Glenn’s, the weight of countless souls in his gaze.

  “Apathy is the glove into which evil slips its hand. You must never wear it.”

  “You are not the strongest. You are not the fastest. But you are here. You are aware. And that means you must act.”

  “The dead cannot save the dead, Glenn. Only the living can.”

  He waits, letting his words sink in.

  “Let me go after Charon.” Glenn said.

  “There will be no going back from this choice. Are you sure?”

  “I need to make things right.”

  Anubis headed over to the front desk and gave a nod.

  Glenn walked over to the door. He took a deep breath and looked back and saw the scene.

  “Glenn! Glenn! Do not go through that door.” It was Lilith from HR running down the hall.

  But it was too late. Glenn stepped through and was confused as he reappeared in Greece where Hades and Canis perished. The battlefield did not look the same. It seemed as though time had passed since the battle. How long was he in that seminar for?! The sky was dark but it did not seem to be night. Something was off.

  Glenncould see a trail of death around the plant life that led to the Acheron River. He followed the gloomy trail down and spotted Charon’s ferry docked on the shore.

  Glenn stepped cautiously onto the dock, the wooden planks groaning under his weight.

  Ahead of him, a lone figure stood at the edge of the boat, motionless.

  Charon.

  The ancient ferryman, older than any god, gripped the pole of his ferry with a hand that had never once faltered—until now.

  Glenn watched as Charon exhaled, the breath of a man who had seen too much for too long. He did not turn as he spoke.

  "You're late."

  Glenn stepped forward, the water lapping gently at the dock, though the river itself did not move.

  "Where are you going?" Glenn asked.

  Charon was silent for a moment. Then, his fingers tightened around the ferry’s pole.

  "To correct a mistake."

  Glenn eyed him carefully.

  "Nyra?"

  For the first time, Charon turned to look at him. His hollow, sunken eyes, like the depths of an ocean that no light reaches, seemed to hold something Glenn had never seen before in him—grief.

  And guilt.

  “Hades is gone,” Charon says at last. His voice was even, but heavy, as if every word dragged against his throat.

  Glenn didn’t respond. He knew.

  Hades—the God of the Dead, the King of the Underworld—had fallen. And Glenn had been forced to flee, leaving behind Hades and Cerberus to face Nyra alone.

  "It should have been me."

  Glenn’s gaze snapped to Charon, startled by the words.

  "What?"

  Charon stepped onto the boat fully, gesturing for Glenn to follow. Without thinking, he did.

  The moment Glenn walked to the center, the ferry began to move—though Charon never pushed it forward. The river carried them, despite being still just moments ago.

  Charon spoke again; voice low, steady.

  "Hades was my friend. One of the few I had. And I—" he hesitates. "I was supposed to be there."

  Glenn furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

  Charon watched the black water ripple beneath them, his expression unreadable.

  "I felt it when Nyra arrived. The moment she entered those ruins. It was like…" He searched for the words. "Like something old had returned home."

  Glenn gripped the railing, listening intently.

  "The Sisters of Death—they are not just entities. They are part of this world, just as I am. I should have known she was coming for you after I saw that scythe. I should have warned you."

  His fingers tightened.

  "I did nothing."

  Silence stretched between them. The air grew colder as they drifted further down the river. Thick fog rolled in and Glenn could no longer see land, just an endless stretch of water in front of him. This river was looking more like something familiar. He remembered the magical pool in Charon’s office looked exactly the same. This was the River Styx. Time itself seemed to shudder under the weight of something older than the Underworld itself. The Styx did not flow like mortal rivers—it waited.

  "So, what now?" asked Glenn.

  Charon’s ancient, sunken eyes rose to meet his.

  "Now, I found her. I will not let my inaction be the cause of another death."

  Glenn watched as the fog thickened, curling around the ferry like skeletal fingers reaching from the void. The river, which had been vast and endless, now felt narrow, enclosed.

  Then, he saw it.

  A shape formed in the mist, at first just a dark outline against the nothingness. But as the ferry drew closer, it became clear:

  A city, impossibly old, impossibly ruined.

  The buildings were massive, carved from blackened stone, their surfaces etched with runes so ancient that even time had forgotten them.

  Once, this must have been a place of great power—a kingdom, perhaps, or a civilization that rivaled the gods themselves.

  But now?

  Now, it was nothing but a tomb.

  Cracked bridges stretched over endless chasms, their edges crumbling into the abyss. Towering statues of nameless figures loomed over the streets, their faces weathered away, as if the world had erased their existence.

  And in the center of it all stood a monolith, tall and defiant despite the destruction around it.

  A monument to the fallen.

  Glenn swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the place pressing on his chest.

  "What is this place?"

  Charon did not answer immediately. He stepped off the ferry, boots touching the worn stone of the dock.

  When he finally spoke, there was something haunted in his voice.

  "This was the last city to defy the Three Sisters of Death. It was a city that immortals and humans shared."

  Glenn's breath stilled.

  "They wiped it from existence. Every soul. Every name. Every trace of what it was. It is nothing now, except a reminder that no one escaped them."

  Glenn stared at the ruins, realization setting in. This place was Nyra's handiwork.

  She is here because she is tied to it.

  Charon gripped his oar like a weapon.

  "I am tied to her. The ferryman and the Sister of Shadows—we are connected through death itself. That is how I found her."

  Glenn exhaled slowly, tension gripping his shoulders.

  "How do you know she will show?"

  Charon looked ahead toward the towering monolith at the city's heart.

  Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward into the ruins.

  "Because you are here."

  Glenn felt a chill that went right down his spine. He was afraid.

  Glenn and Charon stepped deeper into the forgotten city, the echoes of the past whispering through the cracked stone. The shadows here felt alive, stretching unnaturally, creeping along the broken streets as if the city remembered who ended it.

  Charon walked with purpose, gripping his oar-turned-scythe, his boots scraping against ancient cobblestone. Glenn followed close behind, gripping Mora’s scythe tightly, every instinct in his body telling him to turn back—but he didn't.

  A cold wind cut through the ruins, though no breeze should exist here.

  She was watching.

  Charon halted beneath the great monolith at the center of the ruins, its black stone scarred with age, marked with the deaths of countless souls erased from existence.

  “She will not be able to resist,” Charon mutters.

  Glenn swallowed hard. “And if she doesn’t take the bait?”

  Charon looked at him. “She will.”

  And so, Glenn stepped forward into the open, standing beneath the towering monolith alone.

  He did not speak. He did not call for her.

  He waited.

  The city grew darker, the silence suffocating.

  Then—

  A whisper.

  “Come to atone?”

  The shadows gathered.

  The temperature plummeted.

  From the darkness of the ruins, Nyra stepped forward.

  Her silver eyes burned with unrelenting fury, her midnight cloak swirling like a living void, shifting as though it contained the weight of all the souls she had claimed.

  Her voice was quiet, but every word cut like a knife.

  “You should not have lived.”

  Glenn readied his scythe. “I didn’t ask to.”

  She moved. Nyra lunged at Glenn, faster than thought, her shadowed blade slicing through the air. Glenn barely twisted away, feeling the force of her attack rupture the ground behind him.

  Charon was there in an instant.

  His oar-turned-scythe clashed against Nyra’s blade, the impact cracking the stones beneath them, sending shockwaves through the ruins.

  The battle began with precision, each strike of their weapons ringing through the city like a death knell.

  Nyra darted between the shadows, reappearing from impossible angles, striking at Glenn and Charon with inhuman speed. Charon blocked with his scythe, countering with sweeping arcs of soul energy, each swing disrupting the shadows for only a moment. Glenn was forced to react faster than ever, dodging narrowly as Nyra’s blade cut through the air, missing his throat by inches. Charon and Nyra moved like echoes of the same entity, their styles eerily similar, their strikes lethal and deliberate.

  Nyra’s blade locked against Charon’s scythe, their weapons grinding as their faces hovered inches apart.

  Nyra smirked, her voice soft—mocking.

  “You, of all gods, dare to challenge me?”

  Charon’s eyes darkened, the weight of eternity behind them. “It was never my choice to exist.”

  Nyra tilted her head. “No. It was mine.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Glenn, panting, gripped his scythe tighter. “So it is true then?”

  Charon did not look away from Nyra. “I was born from her. From the moment she erased this city.”

  Nyra chuckled, low and bitter. “A consequence of my power. I needed to send a message to all the others. You were to conquer, not comply.”

  She leaned in, voice a whisper.

  “But look what they did to you! It seems you were my mistake.”

  Charon did not flinch. “And you were my regret.”

  Then, they clashed again.

  Nyra’s cloak unfurled, and suddenly, the entire battlefield shifted.

  The ruins trembled. The shadows engulfed the sky, turning the city into a realm of pure darkness.

  Buildings twisted and collapsed, their rubble rising into the air, suspended by unseen forces.

  The battlefield was no longer real. It was a place void of memory, a graveyard of forgotten souls.

  Nyra’s power doubled, tripled—and Glenn and Charon were no longer the hunters.

  They were hunted.

  Nyra attacked with impossible speed, appearing from every direction.

  Charon intercepted where he could, but she was everywhere at once.

  Glenn tried to counter, but she was too fast, too strong.

  Then—Charon faltered.

  A shadow blade ripped off one of his bones.

  Glenn yelled in horror as Charon staggered, blood dripping from his eye sockets pouring onto the cursed stone beneath them.

  Nyra stood over him. “You cannot run this time, Ferryman.”

  She raised her blade for the killing strike—

  “I. Am. Not. Running.”

  Suddenly, the entire battlefield shifted again.

  A new force erupted from Charon, his form darkening, his presence expanding.

  His wounds seared with golden fire as his true power unlocked.

  His eyes burned with divine fury. Parts of his body regrew skin. Half of his face was a skeleton; the other was human-like. You could almost make out what he used to look like. His cloak became a shifting void, not unlike Nyra’s own. His scythe grew, now a weapon of pure judgment. Charon became what he was always meant to be—not just the Ferryman, but the Executioner of the Damned, Thanatos.

  Nyra laughed. "Yes. Finally."

  They clashed again, this time with enough force to tear the city apart.

  The air shuddered as Charon rose, his once-solemn form now warped by raw divine fury. His cloak no longer fabric but a void, shifting like a cosmic abyss, swallowed the last embers of light from the ruined city. His scythe, once a humble tool, had become a weapon of absolute judgment, its blade dripping with an energy that erased existence itself.

  Nyra tilted her head, her expression unreadable. Then—she smiles.

  "Yes. Finally, you remember what you are."

  She rushed forward, vanishing into the shadows.

  The battle erupted.

  Charon swung his scythe with the weight of eternity, the force splitting the battlefield in half.

  Nyra twisted through the void, dodging reality itself, her blade slicing through the collapsing space. The ruins of the city exploded outward, gravity breaking and reversing, as the two beings waged war beyond mortal comprehension.

  They moved too fast for the eye to follow—each strike unfolding in multiple timelines, the past and present collapsing upon themselves in their wake.

  Nyra shattered into a hundred forms, attacking from all angles at once—Charon parried each one with an effortless sweep of his scythe. The sky cracked open, revealing not stars, but the River Styx, full of remnants of souls Charon had reaped and sent to Lower Management. Charon reached out, pulling a single soul chain from the River Styx, whipping it across reality, binding Nyra’s shadows in place. She screams in rage, twisting free, her cloak unfurling, stretching into an endless black maw, consuming everything around them.

  Charon slashed downward—

  The world inverted, the city shifting between existence and oblivion, as if unsure which state it should remain in.

  Nyra lunged, her blade meeting Charon’s scythe in an impact that should not exist.

  The force ripped through the underworld.

  Charon breathed heavily, his divine form flickering. Nyra stood before him, barely scratched.

  She scoffed. “You are strong. You knew only you or my sisters could actually cause any harm to me. Only members of death can defeat me. But I cannot allow you to succeed. First I’ll correct my mistakes. Then, the boy is next. You should not have brought him. He cannot even pierce me.”

  Her next strike pierced through Charon’s chest.

  Glenn screamed as the ancient ferryman staggered, his form collapsing toward the very river he once commanded. Glenn took this opportunity and rushed towards Nyra. Her guard was down because she viewed Glenn as so insignificant that she did not pay attention to him. He gripped his scythe and for a moment, a black mask flashed on his face as he swung at her. At the last second she noticed and tried to dodge. She jumped back and smiled.

  Charon watched this unfold. But instead of fear—he smiled.

  Nyra saw his smile and flashed a confused look on her face. Then, she looked down at her arm. Black blood was dripping from a blow from Glenn.

  "Glenn." His voice was soft and shaky. "There is one last thing I can teach you."

  He reached out and signaled Glenn to come closer.

  “In order to beat her. You have to die.” Charon slowly pressed his scythe into Glenn.

  Glenn collapsed, convulsing, as shadows swallowed his body.

  Charon fell to his knees. “Well, temporarily. Remember, Death is not the end, Glenn. It is just the beginning. Embrace it. Become DEATH.”

  Nyra watched, her expression unreadable.

  Then—Glenn stood.

  Glenn didn’t just move—he emerged.

  His body warped and shifted, a swirling mass of black smoke and spectral fire forming a monstrous silhouette. His scythe was no longer a weapon—it was an extension of himself, stretching and reshaping.

  His face was obscured behind a black skull mask, cracks glowing with an unnatural, deep red light.

  Nyra raised an eyebrow. “Impossible.”

  Glenn did not hesitate. In a flash, they clashed.

  Glenn’s first strike toretears through the entire battlefield, the sheer force leveling what remained of the ruined city. For the first time, Nyra was the one retreating, trying to make sense of this.

  Glenn chased her, feeling nothing but rage, each strike fueled by the loss of Hades, Canis, Charon—all of them sacrificed to stop her. Nyra lashed out with impossible speed, her blade cutting deep into Glenn’s side making him bleed. Glenn did not stop. He didn’t care.

  Blood poured from his body, but he moved through the pain, tearing through Nyra’s defenses with raw, relentless power.

  Nyra stumbled. For the first time, she looked… unsure.

  Glenn twisted, slamming the scythe downward—

  Nyra dodged, barely, but the impact sent her crashing into the ruins.

  Glenn staggered forward, his entire body failing, bleeding, breaking.

  Nyra rose, her cloak tattered, but her silver eyes burned.

  “Who are you?”

  Glenn spat blood. "I don’t know."

  And with one final surge, he lunged forward, driving his scythe straight through Nyra’s chest.

  Nyra fell.. Slowly, she crawled toward a shadow of what was left of the ruins. But she did not reach it. She turned to face Glenn. Nyra’s eyes dilated like she was seeing a ghost. Her body shuddered, her voice a mere whisper. “Wait. I understand now. I know why Mora gave you her life.”

  She faded—absorbed by her own cloak, which dropped back silently to the broken ground.

  Glenn stared at it, panting, barely able to stand.

  He ripped off his cloak the Reapers gave him. Glenn reached down. The cloak reacted and moved. At first, it seemed to pull away and reject him. Suddenly, it shot up his arm, swirling around his body in a black shadow until it settled on his back as his new cloak.

  Nyra’s final gift.

  Chapter 5.1

  Deathnibbles arrived in Sayulita, a bright Mexican town with a vibrant, bohemian coastal town known for its colorful streets, laid-back atmosphere, and world-class surfing. A once-sleepy fishing village had transformed into a lively, artistic hub without losing its small-town charm. No one there seemed to be afraid of death.

  Jumping from roof to roof, he explored, dodging golf carts driven by tourists and bikes driven by the locals going about their days. The food looked so good he got distracted and tried to steal some. But alas, he was dead and could not enjoy the world’s pleasures anymore.

  Deathnibbles pulled out the adoption paper and looked at the address. He rushed off at the speed of lightning to the address. This must be a mistake. There was no orphanage or hospital or anywhere that would sign adoption papers. It was a graveyard.

  Filled with rage, he tore up the paper. There must be something here. He wandered tombstone to tombstone looking for a clue. Reality set in. Whoever created that fake document wanted whoever found it to go on a wild goose chase. Then, right when he was about to give up, he saw a tiny grave in the back. Something about it was calling to him.

  Deathnibbles went up to the tombstone. It was so small, only about the size as Deathnibbles himself. It could barely be called a tombstone. It must have come from a poor family. The name was hidden behind dirt so he rubbed it away with his cloak and fur.

  “Glenn Garcia. Age 3.”

  This doesn’t make sense. Glenn lived his life in America.

  “Ah, I see you found it too, little one.”

  A voice echoed next to Deathnibbles. He didn’t hear her, yet she was so close. If he was alive, he would have had a heart attack. It was a woman standing with an eerie, quiet presence, her form wreathed in a spectral mist that seemed to drift unnaturally around her. Her eyes were cold and distant, as if staring through time itself, untouched by the weight of mortality.

  “My name is Lytha. Do not be afraid as you are not the one I am looking for. I’ve been coming to this grave hoping the boy who stole this identity comes seeking truth.”

  Deathnibbles looked perplexed and gave a few squeaks.

  “You are after the one called Glenn Garcia, too? Why?”

  Deathnibbles squeaked angrily.

  “I see.” Lytha looks closer at his scythe and shoes. “As of now, you stand no chance of battling him. But I can show you how to get stronger enough to take on a god, but whether you succeed is all up to you. Do you accept?”

  Deathnibbles nodded yes.

  “Your scythe has a unique power to adapt to powers. It's why you are able to use it at its size and why it allowed you to wear those shoes. It made its wielder an unstoppable force. He rose to ranks and in order to defeat him, his enemies had to separate it from him. You wield it now. There are three creatures absorbed by that scythe that would give you cosmic powers. But there are two conditions. One is you must keep items from each creature in order to use its power, just like those shoes. Two is that it does not make you invincible. Any one of these creatures can kill you, and even if you get all three you can still be destroyed. But it will give you a fighting chance.”

  Deathnibbles didn’t care. He nodded yes over and over. Lytha knelt down and laid out a map. It was blank. He looked at her, confused.

  “Touch it.”

  Deathnibbles put his paw on the blank paper. A “X” appeared and then a path formed leading to a beach, then across an ocean to an island.

  “Go find a boat. Luckily, there is no shortage of boats here on the coast. Follow the map to the island destination. Along the way you will find the first creature, the Bakunawa, a colossal serpent that devours moons, defies gravity, and bends reality through the cosmos. This will be a battle on the sea, so be ready. If you defeat it, then you can unlock a power to get to the island where ancient beasts live. Do not be distracted by others. You are looking for two distinct creatures that the gods put on that island because they were afraid.

  The first will likely come greet you with promises of death. he Cipactli, a gigantic, crocodilian chaos monster that devours everything in its path will make itself known. It is said to even devour gods. The last will be hidden up in the mountains on an island locked away. The Grootslang, an ancient primordial beast, part elephant, part giant serpent, is said to be one of the first creations of Upper Management. But it was too powerful for them. Free it from its prison, then take its soul.”

  Deathnibbles didn’t hesitate. He wrapped up the paper and gave a salute with his little paw. He was off to face the biggest battle of his life. But he did not fear. His determination was far too great.