Chapter 6

  Glenn came back through the gate feeling bittersweet. On one hand, he was one step closer to his goal. He could feel the difference in his power. The cloak responded to every shadow around him like they were whispering to him. But on the other hand, the cost was too great to achieve this. Canis, Hades, and Cheron were all gone. Unlike the times before, there was no one there to greet him. All the mess Cheron caused was already cleaned up. He was expecting something. He just took down a Sister of Death.

  The front desk HA had his head down, typing away. Glenn walked up to speak to him.

  “Where is everyone?”

  The HA looked nervous.

  “They are all out working. You need to see the Director right away. He wants to talk with you.”

  Something felt odd, but Glenn didn’t mind. He actually was excited to show Anubis what happened. He had to be as powerful as the elders now. Maybe he will be an elder Reaper. Then he would be able to speak with Management.

  As he approached Anubis’s office he visualized his next goals. For the first time, he could see them being possible

  Glenn walked right in.

  “Anubis! I defeated Nyra! I couldn’t have done it without Cheron. He sacrificed-”

  But it wasn’t Anubis sitting in the Director’s chair.

  It was a huge skeleton far bigger than any average Reaper. It had an imposing and unsettling presence. His form was skeletal yet regal, draped in elaborate, blood-red robes adorned with obsidian jewelry and bone-carved ornaments. His face was that of a grinning skull, yet his hollow eye sockets burned with an otherworldly, ancient fire. His fingers were long and clawed, resembling bony talons that clicked ominously when he moved.

  “No. Go on. Cheron died. For what? A human?”

  Despite his skeletal frame, his commanding posture and deep, resonant voice made it clear—he was not to be questioned. When he spoke, it was with the weight of inevitability, his words carrying both wisdom and cruelty.

  “Who are you? Where is Anubis?” asked Glenn.

  “Ah. No introductions, Glenn Garcia? Humans are so very rude. My name is Mictlantecuhtli. Management sent me to get things back on track. Anubis is being reassigned. Unlike Anubis, who I must say is calculated but fair, I rule with strict discipline and little patience for weakness, enforcing the laws of death with ruthless efficiency. Please sit.”

  Mictlantecuhtli studied Glenn. Glenn just sat there. There was a great long pause. Glenn couldn’t take it.

  “I-” Glenn spoke first but was silenced.

  “No.” Mictlantecuhtli held up his hand. Glenn held his tongue.

  “Why did you choose to be a Reaper?” asked. Mictlantecuhtli

  “I didn’t choose. The scales couldn’t figure out what to do with me.”

  “Those scales are Anubis’s creation. I do not trust them. It never shows perfect balance, yet two humans in the same decade get scored perfectly neutrality? I don’t believe it. No, I think you chose. So why are you here?

  “I want to make a difference as people cross over. To be the best Reaper. And-” Glenn paused because he hadn’t said this to anyone yet. “ …to make it to Management.”

  Mictlantecuhtli laughed. “Management? A human? You are an anomaly—an offense to the natural order. A mere human wielding the power of gods and Reapers? It’s unnatural, insulting, and dangerous.”

  “Maybe it is what is needed. I see a lot of faults in the system.” Glenn spoke up.

  “You question how things are run? Have you seen how humans run the world? Humans are weak, fleeting creatures who desperately cling to illusions of meaning. Death is the only truth, and humanity’s struggle against it is pathetic.”

  “But-” Mictlantecuhtli sighed. “I am told Management acknowledges your accomplishments in such a short time. But you need to choose. You cannot be the best Reaper as well as the most merciful.”

  He pulled out a file on Glenn. “Glenn Garcia. In a short period of time you have reaped One Tier Three and one Tier Five. That is it.”

  “But one was a Sister of Death! Could you even take her down?”

  “Let’s not pretend Charon didn’t do most of the work. All I’ve seen is you neglect your actual duties to cause chaos in a short time. It is almost impressive how you don’t stop. You are like a lightning rod to disorder. Have you ever even stopped to train to perfect your powers? Have you ever asked why Management gave you certain souls to reap. Have you ever thought we were trying to make you better? Anubis failed, but I will polish you into such a reaping machine that no one will tell you are even human. Walk with me.”

  Mictlantecuhtli got up and headed to the door. He opened it for Glenn. They walked towards the Elder Reapers officers. There was a HA taking the name off an office that said “Cheron” and others were inside cleaning up.

  “There is a vacant spot now. Could be yours if you play your cards right.” They kept walking to the front desk. Mictlantecuhtli pointed at the names of all the top Reapers on the board. Glenn recognized most of the elder names, but there were also some others.

  “See that? That is what matters. If you want to be the best, you have to be at the top of that list. I don’t care who you reaped. I care about results.”

  On top of the list, La Parca was racking up numbers as they spoke.

  “Ah see. La Parca. No one does it better. She sees the folly of humans. You see Glenn, humans don’t deserve mercy. They don’t deserve someone like you to be there to guide them. They should be scared. Evil after all is their doing. It’s a human construct.”

  “What?” Glenn asked, confused.

  “The afterlife. Where we put the souls. How many non-humans do you think get punished? How many go to your version of Hell? The truth is, Hell is grossly overpopulated with humans. The things you all are so capable of.” Mictlantecuhtli's eyes filled with anger.

  Mictlantecuhtli continued. “I propose a deal to you Glenn. A contest. If you can beat one of the best, La Parca, I will take you to Management immediately. Vouch for you to be named the next Elder Reaper and even see about getting you a position in Management. But if you lose, you will go back to your desk. Reap who I say to reap when I say and only when.”

  This seemed like a no-brainer. Mictlantecuhtli was underestimating Glenn and his new powers. If he didn’t do something, more people were going to die. Like Yoshiko. That’s right. She was now a part of this too.

  “I accept.”

  “Good.” Mictlantecuhtli smirked. He turned to the HA at the front desk. “Set the passage to the training center. And send word to La Parca to meet us there.”

  “Don’t we have to do something with our badge?” Asked Glenn.

  “What? The badge doesn’t do anything besides keep track of you. Some Elders prank younger Reapers into weird rituals. Don’t be a sheep Glenn.”

  Glenn couldn’t help but chuckle and think of Canis and how many times he must have held out his badge while others laughed.

  Mictlantecuhtli and Glenn walked through the door and the underworld office faded away, replaced by an ancient battlefield arena. There were other lesser reapers sparring with each other or practicing moves.

  “This arena is basically your gym created by Management to test Reapers’ skills. Here you can go all out without worrying about damaging the office or causing any harm to others. It is in a realm by itself.”

  The other Reapers stopped what they were doing and all stared at Glenn.

  “Some of them looked angry at me.” Glenn stated.

  “Well of course. They are all working hard and training while you expect greatness to be handed to you.”

  “Hiyaaaa”

  Glenn looked over and a bunch of Reapers got knocked on their butts. The cause of the commotion was Yoshiko. She was fighting not one but three Reapers at once. She looked over and spotted Glenn. She smiled at him.

  “Clear out.”

  Mictlantecuhtli only had to say it once. All the Reapers hurried to gather their stuff and leave the arena. Yoshiko waved and then exited as well.

  Glenn looked around. The area was pretty blank, like a white room. Glenn couldn’t tell where the room ended because the walls were the same color as everything else. Then Mictlantecuhtli walked over and leaned on a wall. So there is a limit to the size of this place, Glenn thought.

  “When is the Reaper going to show up?” asked Glenn.

  A mist started to roll in from the doorway. Decay rotted the walls and Glenn could then make out the size of the room.

  “I’d say she is here,” said Mictlantecuhtli.

  Glenn tightened his grip on Mora’s scythe, the weight of it feeling heavier than usual, as if responding to the overwhelming presence of his opponent.

  Then La Parca walked into the area. Her form was wrapped in a tattered, soot-stained cloak, reminiscent of the plague doctors who once roamed Europe. Instead of a typical Reaper’s skeletal face, she wore a plague doctor mask, its long, bird-like beak cracked and aged with time. Faint wisps of black mist seeped from the mask's eye holes, as if the essence of disease lingered within her.

  Her hands were wrapped in aged, leather gloves, and her Reaper's scythe was warped, rusted, and covered in darkened stains, its edge carrying the weight of countless lives lost to sickness. Around her belt hung glass vials filled with eerie, glowing substances, perhaps remnants of the plagues she once reaped.

  La Parca stood motionless, her gold-embroidered cloak swaying with an unnatural breeze, hermask reflecting Glenn’s own uncertainty. The faint glow of Nyra’s shadow-cloak wrapped around Glenn’s form, pulsating with power—but it felt unstable, unrefined.

  Mictlantecuhtli watched from a distance, his skeletal gaze devoid of emotion. “You stand upon the precipice of power, Glenn Garcia. But power without control is weakness.” He raises a bony hand. “La Parca, I call upon you to show him his place.”

  Glenn was pissed. How dare they underestimate him. They were trying to make an example of him. In front of Yoshiko! Glenn didn’t hesitate. He launched forward with speed, Mora’s scythe whistling through the air, dark energy crackling from the blade. He aimed a diagonal cut at La Parca’s chest, but she was already gone.

  A sudden chill ran down his spine. The mist around him thickened, shifting unnaturally. He swung the scythe again—a deep, powerful arc—but it sliced through nothing but air.

  Then, cold fingers brushed against his throat.

  Glenn barely reacted in time. He leapt back as La Parca materialized behind him, moving like a ghost slipping through reality.Her leather fingers had nearly clasped around his neck.

  “Predictable,” she murmured, voice distant, hollow.

  Glenn grits his teeth. He won’t be made a fool of. He closes his eyes for just a moment, channeling the power of Nyra’s cloak.

  The shadows around him twisted and coiled, wrapping his form in living darkness. His body flickered—there then gone. He moved at impossible angles, disappearing into the mist like a phantom.

  La Parca stopped.

  For the first time, she tilted her head slightly, intrigued.

  Suddenly, Glenn reappeared from the mist behind her, scythe raised for a devastating strike. This time, he was faster than before.

  But La Parca was faster.

  She caught the scythe mid-swing, her skeletal grip locking onto the blade with eerie calm. The moment their weapons connected, Glenn felt it. Decay. The mist was poisoning him.

  A sickening, cold drain ran through his entire body. His vision blurred. His limbs felt heavy. His breath caught in his throat.

  La Parca’s grip tightened. “You wield shadows without understanding them.”

  And then she twisted.

  The force ripped the scythe from Glenn’s grasp, sending him tumbling backward into the mist. He crashed onto the cold, white floor, coughing as a crushing weight pressed onto his chest. He started to puke black bile.

  Before he could recover, La Parca was already upon him.

  She didn’t strike like a warrior or overwhelm with brute force. She simply existed where she needed to be.

  Glenn moved, and she was already there.

  He swung, and she was already behind him.

  He teleported, and she stepped through the void with him.

  She didn’t dodge; she didn't block—she simply did not allow herself to be hit.

  Mora’s scythe was lethal.

  Nyra’s cloak was deceptive.

  Glenn was strong.

  But none of that mattered against experience.

  La Parca had been reaping souls for centuries, for millennia. She did not waste energy, she didn't hesitate—she moved with the inevitability of death itself.

  Pain.

  An unbearable cold erupted through Glenn’s entire body, seeping into his bones, his lungs, his heart.

  He collapsed to his knees, gasping. His vision blacked out at the edges. The battlefield felt so far away.

  La Parca stood over him, unimpressed.

  Glenn was dying. As he gasped for his final breaths, his powers started to awaken. He started to breathe easier. His black mask started to form.

  La Parca noticed. She quickly removed all the mist. And in a moment, Glenn could breathe. But in recovering, his black mask vanished. His power went dormant.

  “I see. You have to die to awaken that power.”

  Above them, Mictlantecuhtli watched in silence.

  Then, he spoke..

  “Pathetic.” He walked toward them. "No matter how much power you wield, you will always be a creature of flesh, fragile and temporary. I thought you would show more of a fight.”

  “I-I can go again,” Glenn said, not willing to give up.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “You lost.”

  “No. Let me-”

  Mictlantecuhtli had enough. He put his foot on Glenn, slamming him back to the ground. Glenn tried as hard as he could, but he could not move Mictlantecuhtli off of him.

  “From now on. You do not speak to me unless I give you permission. You do not go anywhere without my knowledge, and you definitely do not reap anyone unless I say so. Got it?”

  Mictlantecuhtli applied more force to Glenn.

  “Ahhh. Got it,” said Glenn, in pain.

  “Get something straight, Glenn. You are a Reaper. Even Reapers know their place in Management.” Mictlantecuhtli turned. “La Parca, who would win in a fight, me or you?”

  “Without a doubt, you sir.”

  Mictlantecuhtli grinned with pleasure.

  “But-”

  Mictlantecuhtli's grin faded.

  “He has immense power. If the boy unlocked his power, he would have beaten me. It seems his heart had to stop for it to be awakened. All I needed to do was just keep him barely alive and I could have defeated him with ease.”

  “Hmm I see. This is good intel, La Parca. You are dismissed.”

  “Sir.” She bowed and then excited the arena.

  “As for you, Glenn Garcia. You are in luck. Seems you have potential after all. But first, we are going to train your body and mind so much that you will be a walking embodiment of what Management wants a Reaper to be.”

  Mictlantecuhtli stepped off him and walked toward the exit.

  “Go back to your desk. You will find a file of your first assignment. Once you complete that, come find me for your next. You have a long way to go.”

  And just like that, Mictlantecuhtli was gone. Glenn was alone now in the arena. He laid his head back on the ground. All that power for what? That goal he envisioned was thrown out the door. Or was it?

  As he laid on the cold battlefield, barely able to move, he finally understood—raw power won’t save him. Mora’s scythe, Nyra’s cloak…they are tools, but he was not yet their master.

  He closes his eyes. He knew what he had to do.

  He had to train.

  He had to evolve.

  Glenn started to pick himself up. His goal was not gone. It was just going to take longer than he expected. They were right. He barely could keep up when Charon and Nyra were fighting. He was not ready. He needed to earn the respect of all Reapers.

  He limped his way towards the door. As soon as he got through to the front desk lobby, he was healed. He looked at his body.

  “My wounds. They’re gone.”

  “Yeah. This is the underworld. Your body can only be affected out there in the physical world. Did you never notice your body resets and all the wounds heal as soon as you come through the door?”

  “Oh. That’s right.”

  Glenn walked toward his desk. He hadn’t been back since he and Canis left for Hades.

  Glenn adjusted the chair next to him, staring at the empty desk space where Canis once sat. It felt wrong seeing it bare—no scribbled notes, no half-empty coffee cups, no little bone jokes scattered across the surface. His chest tightened. Canis was gone.

  And now someone else was going to take that seat.

  A shadow fell over the desk, and Glenn looked up. His breath caught.

  Yoshiko.

  She stood there, poised, wearing her Reaper attire with the same silent confidence she had when they fought. But there was something different about her now—less warrior, more… professional. Controlled. Yet still effortlessly cool in a way Glenn could never match.

  She arched an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

  Glenn snapped out of it and immediately looked busy, shuffling some meaningless papers around. “No, I wasn’t.”

  She smirked, placing a folder down on the desk. “Mmm-hmm. Sure.”

  Why did she have to be here? Glenn wanted to be excited. He should have been. Seeing Yoshiko again was… nice, familiar, thrilling, nerve-wracking, all at once. But then his eyes flicked to the empty coffee cup ring stains left behind by Canis.

  Not that he was trying to replace Canis. No one could. But still…

  He forced a half-smile, trying to keep it casual. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. I mean, not like I’m complaining.”

  Yoshiko sat, crossing her legs, eyes scanning the desk setup with unreadable precision. “Management thinks I should get a feel for the day-to-day operations.” She glanced at him, her smirk growing slightly. “Guess that makes you my mentor to this Reaper thing. Funny how things turn out.”

  Glenn choked on his own breath. Him? A mentor? To Yoshiko?

  Absolutely not.

  He recovered quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah, well… I wouldn’t say mentor. More like… desk neighbor. Desk neighbors are chill. They help each other out, but like, in an unspoken way. Real casual. No pressure.”

  Yoshiko tilted her head. “So you’re saying you won’t be helpful?”

  Glenn pointed at himself. “I’m saying I’m a phenomenal desk neighbor. You are still a better fighter.”

  She gave a light chuckle, leaning back slightly, the soft glow of her nameplate reflecting in her sharp, observant eyes. “We’ll see.”

  Yoshiko watched Glenn carefully as he turned back to his work, tapping his pen against the desk in some absent-minded rhythm. He still had that boyish energy, that underdog attitude, but now she saw it mixed with something else—loss, determination, and the weight of what he’d been through.

  For a second, she almost felt bad.

  Almost.

  Glenn looked at a folder staring at him right on his desk. Must be the first assignment from Mictlantecuhtli. He opened the folder.

  It stated: The Blood Countess.

  “What do you have there?” asked Yoshiko.

  “Oh. My assignment from Mictlantecuhtli. I mean the Director. They give you your assignments here based on your own skill. There is a tier system. One through Five. You reap, bring them to be judged to be passed on, then go back to reap again. Over and over until you get good enough.” Glenn looked up at the Reaper board. “Until you get your name up there.”

  “Ohh. Was there a file on me when you came to see me?”

  “No. I-I was kind of freelancing. I was seeking out the Elder Reapers to become stronger. Management didn’t like it when I went to Yami.”

  “Well, if you ask me that sounds like the better way. This sounds tedious and robotic. How do you even find time for yourself?”

  “Myself?” Glenn realized that he has been going nonstop ever since becoming a reaper. How much time has really passed? Time seemed to flow differently in the underworld.

  “Yeah. Oh that’s right. You skipped out on the seminar. Most was rubbish but they did emphasize taking breaks and giving yourself time. You can use the break room anytime, the gym or spa, and they even give day passes to spend time on Earth.”

  “Wow. I never knew any of that.”

  “I know! How about you and I spend a day sometime together on Earth? No reaping or lessons. Just to get to know each other.”

  That sounded really nice to Glenn. He definitely could use a break. But did he deserve it?

  “Maybe. But I should take care of this first.”

  Yoshiko took the hint and pivoted the conversation back to work.

  “So what Tier is this?” Yoshiko points to Glenn’s folder. “The blood countess, Elizabeth Báthory?”

  “Looks like a Three.”

  “Oh looks like I have a Three, too! Let’s see who can reap theirs first. Winner gets to choose the day spot on Earth?”

  “Ok.” Glenn said quietly. “Well, I am going to be off.”

  Glenn got up, file in hand and walked toward the front desk.

  “Oh. Ok then. Good luck.”

  Tier Three? Why did Mictlantecuhtli give him an easy one? He is able to take on Tier Fours. He wondered what La Parcas’s tier was.

  Glenn handed the file to the HA at the lobby. The HA looked it over and handed it back. He didn’t raise his badge ID. He didn’t make any gestures. He just waited for the front desk to give the nod and he went through the door.

  He emerged in a huge masonry stone building. He walked to what looked like a window opening and peaked outside. He was in a castle.

  He opened the folder and looked at more details. Wow. This woman was responsible for killing hundreds of girls and women. And in death kept her blood lust going. Not only were Reapers not able to reap her, but she also still kept the souls of her victims prisoners here.

  Glenn realized what Mictlantecuhtli was doing. He was trying to show the evils of humanity and warp Glenn’s view. The folder said go to the basement where she was imprisoned until her death. Break the wall down and reveal the real room where she was buried alive. Her spirit should come out then.

  Wow. Glenn could have used this detail with his other reaps. Then again, he was trusting Canis to read the files.

  The castle stood in eerie silence, its once-grand halls now frozen in time, dripping with the memories of unimaginable cruelty. The walls, still red with ancient bloodstains, seemed to breathe as if the souls of the tormented still whispered from within them.

  Glenn gripped his scythe with rage, his steps echoing on the cold, stone floor. This wasn’t like his other reaps. The weight in the air was wrong, heavy, as if the air recoiled in her presence.

  He was not frightened. After all that has happened, he wanted to hit something hard. He arrived in the basement and didn’t even look around. He tried his new strength out and slammed the heel of his scythe into the back wall of the room.

  And then he saw her.

  At the end of the hidden room, standing amidst a pile of bones, The Blood Countess.

  She looked as beautiful as a venomous flower—striking but deadly. Her pale, porcelain skin glowed unnaturally, her blood-red dress dripped like fresh wounds, and her sharp, elongated nails gleamed like daggers. The worst part? She was smiling.

  “Another visitor? How delightful. Oh. But you are a male.” Her voice slithered through the air, soaked in mockery and amusement.

  Glenn tightened his grip. “Elizabeth Báthory. Your time’s up. Let’s make this quick.”

  She giggled—a laugh that did not belong in a place like this. “Time?” she mused, stepping closer. “Do you think time matters to me? To us?” She lifted her hand, tracing her sharp nails along the skull of a past victim. “Time is nothing. I am eternal.”

  Glenn exhaled sharply. Is this what evil was supposed to look like?

  Without warning, she moved—too fast. A blur of red silk and claws, her razor-sharp fingers slashed toward Glenn’s throat.

  CLANG.

  Glenn barely raised his scythe in time, blocking the strike. The force sent him skidding back across the blood-slicked floor.

  “Oh, you’re fun,” she purred, licking the blood off her own claws.

  “Please help me.”

  “Kill her!”

  “Stop her!”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  Overwhelmingly loud voices echoed through the walls but he could not see them. How many did she hide here? How many people’s lives did she end too early?

  Glenn gritted his teeth. He had fought monsters before. He had fought warriors, legends, even gods. But she…

  She was something else.

  She wasn’t fighting to win. She was fighting for fun.

  Glenn, gripping his scythe tightly, his voice laced with something between horror and disbelief, asked:

  “Why?” His voice was hoarse. “Why are you like this? Why would you do this to people?”

  The Blood Countess tilted her head, watching him with amusement, as if he had just asked the most childish question imaginable.

  Then, she laughed.

  “Why?” she echoed, stepping closer, her voice dripping with mockery and delight. “Oh, sweet Reaper, you still think there has to be a reason?”

  She placed a delicate, bloodstained finger to her lips, as if considering.

  “Power? No, no, that’s too simple.”

  “Trauma? No, I was loved and adored.”

  “Madness? Ah, I do enjoy that excuse, but I assure you, I was always perfectly aware of my choices.”

  She leaned in, her cold breath against his ear.

  “I did it because I could.”

  She steps back, spinning in her crimson-stained dress, arms outstretched as if embracing the walls that once held her victims.

  “Because the world let me. Because they gave me the power to do it.” Her smile widened, a slow, deliberate thing. “And because it was fun.”

  Glenn’s stomach twisted.

  She saw it—she saw the way his hands tightened around his weapon, how his jaw locked, how his breath caught.

  And she thrived in it.

  “What is good, Reaper? What is evil?” she taunted. “Men kill for kings and call it duty. They kill for gods and call it faith. They kill for survival and call it necessity.”

  She stepped even closer, her red eyes gleaming.

  “I killed because I enjoyed it. Does that make me worse? Or just more honest?”

  Glenn stared at her, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  Something so vile, so unapologetic, so completely unshaken by morality.

  For the first time, Glenn wondered…

  Were there souls not worth saving?

  Glenn channeled the power of Nyra’s cloak, letting the shadows ripple around him. The room darkened, and his form flickered like a phantom.

  He reappeared behind her—Mora’s scythe already swinging down.

  SLASH.

  The blade cut through her dress, grazing her leg. The wound was there for a split second before—

  It vanished. She was healing herself through the souls of her victims.

  She laughed. “Oh, darling, do you think I don’t know pain? That I don’t know suffering?”

  And then the walls screamed.

  Glenn staggered back.

  The shadows of the dead twisted and writhed, forming agonized faces—their eyes hollow, their mouths open in silent screams. The entire castle was built on her victims.

  And she was using them against him.

  The voices flooded his mind again. Begging. Pleading. Cursing.

  “She burned my sister alive.”

  “She bathed in our blood.”

  “She laughed as she fed us to the dogs.”

  Glenn clutched his head, staggering. The weight of it—too much.

  “You hear them, don’t you?” She tilted her head, grinning. “I let them speak. I like their stories.”

  She lunged again—this time going for his heart.

  But Glenn was done.

  He vanished and reappeared above her.

  He brought Mora’s scythe down.

  SHRRRRK.

  This time, it cut through her completely.

  Her form froze, her claws inches from Glenn’s face. Her mouth hung open in shock.

  For the first time, her smile was gone.

  Glenn held her there, eyes locked onto hers. “You don’t deserve mercy.”

  WHOOSH.

  The scythe pulled her soul away, and with it—the room began to crumble. He hurried out of the room back to the door. Souls shot out of the walls and into his scythe. There were hundreds. With every soul reaped, more walls crumbled as though the souls themselves were holding the castle together.

  The walls shattered; the screaming faces faded into silence. The air, once thick with suffering, felt lighter.

  But Glenn?

  He felt heavier.

  Glenn came back through the door back to the office.

  Mictlantecuhtli was standing there with a skeletalon smirk on his face.

  “Well?”

  “It’s done.”

  Mictlantecuhtli’s voice was calm, collected. Almost… satisfied.

  “This is humanity. Their cruelty. Their sickness. Go deliver the souls to be judged. Your next assignment will be at your desk when ready.”

  Glenn didn’t respond, he just off.

  “Oh and Glenn. Good job.”

  Glenn headed to the scales near the IT department. The last time he was there Anubis took him through a door so he was kind of lost this time. He stopped by IT to ask for directions.

  A little gremlin agreed to help. His name was Grizz Byteclaw, a short, wiry, and hunched with permanently frazzled fur from years of exposure to rogue magic, faulty wiring, and unstable servers.

  He walked him over to a door that acted as a gateway into the room where the Scales made their judgement of the souls.

  The gremlin held out his hand. Glenn was confused.

  “Your scythe?” Grizz demanded.

  “Oh. Sorry.” Glenn handed him the scythe. Grizz docked in what looked like a tube next to the door.

  “Did you want to speak to them or do an automatic process?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did you want to go in and watch? Or just have the computer automatically send them straight to the afterlife?”

  “I don’t have to go in? And watch those videos?”

  “Of course not. Most Reapers skip that step. However some like to make souls feel bad. Maybe it’s fun for them, I don’t know. A waste of time, in my opinion.”

  This place is not at all what Glenn thought. “It’s ok. I don’t need to know.”

  “Suit yourself.” Grizz hit a button and the tube around his light lit up. The souls sucked out of the scythe and into the tube which led into a room.

  A light above the door appeared saying “Judgement in Progress.”

  Grizz took his scythe and handed it back to Glenn.

  “Well, that’s it then. We can handle the rest.”

  Glenn grabbed his scythe and walked away. He took one last look as Grizz and the gremlins started hitting a lot of buttons and working away.

  As Glenn walked back to his desk the Reaper board caught his eye. Way way way at the bottom, Glenn saw his name. He made the board. He smiled.

  “Let’s do this.”

  Chapter 6.1

  Deathnibbles got closer to the island located on the map.

  A storm raged around him. The tiny wooden boat creaked and groaned against the thrashing waves, barely keeping itself afloat in the violent, moonlit waters. Deathnibbles stood at the helm, his fur soaked, his tiny paws gripping Hades’ old scythe. The weight of the ancient weapon felt heavier than ever—because what was beneath him…

  Was watching.

  A low, guttural rumble echoed through the ocean depths. The water trembled.

  Then, the sea split open.

  From the abyss rose Bakunawa, the great sea serpent of legend. Its massive, serpentine body coiled up into the storm clouds, its glowing red eyes locked onto Deathnibbles with ancient hunger. Moonlight reflected off its black, glistening scales, and as it let out a deep, thundering hiss, the air felt like it was being pulled toward its monstrous form.

  “Tiny creature,” the serpent’s voice was like a tide crashing against cliffs. “You are not worthy to even feed me. Turn back now or die.”

  Deathnibbles flicked his tail, his beady little eyes narrowing.

  “Yeah? Well, I’ve got bigger fish to fry! I will defeat you!” Deathnibbles wanted to say. But all that came out was “Squeak. Squeak Squeak. Grrr. Squeak!”

  Bakunawa lunged down from the storm.

  WHOOSH.

  The serpent’s massive jaws snapped shut where Deathnibbles stood moments ago.

  But the little Reaper was gone—already darting through the air, the Golden Shoes of Hermes glowing at his feet. His speed was blinding, a golden streak zipping along the surface of the water.

  SLASH. Deathnibbles whipped his scythe outward, slicing across Bakunawa’s scaled hide—

  But the moment the blade connected, a shockwave of energy erupted, sending him flying back.

  “Ah. You wield ancient weapons,” Bakunawa growled, its wounds already sealing. “But power alone is nothing without control.”

  The serpent rose higher, its body twisting into a spiral above the sea. Then, with a mighty roar, the ocean responded.

  A vortex of water formed beneath Deathnibbles’ boat.

  CRACK.

  The boat splintered, pulled into the whirlpool.

  Deathnibbles barely jumped in time, skidding across the air with Hermes’ speed, landing on a floating piece of debris.

  Bakunawa laughed. “You are funny, rodent. Do you seek the power of gods?”

  Deathnibbles gritted his teeth, his little paws tightening around his scythe. His heart pounded.

  He couldn’t win this by brute force.

  Think. Think.

  Bakunawa’s power was the tides. It moved with the sea, with the storm.

  Which meant…

  If Deathnibbles could outmaneuver the ocean, he could outmaneuver the beast.

  He took a deep breath and focused—not on attacking, but on the rhythm of the waves, the pattern of the storm.

  “Come little one. Give me everything you got. If your resolve is greater, then I will lend you my power.”

  The moment Bakunawa lunged again, Deathnibbles didn’t dodge.

  He ran toward the attack.

  At the last second, he kicked off the debris, flipping through the air, landing on the back of the serpent’s head.

  Bakunawa snarled, whipping around—but Deathnibbles was already running up its body, using Hermes’ speed to stay ahead of its writhing coils.

  “I’m not just a rodent,” Deathnibbles hissed, leaping into the air above the serpent.

  “I’m Deathnibbles.”

  “SQUEEEEEEEEEK!”

  And then he brought the scythe down.

  SLASH!

  The blade pierced through the beast’s skull, sinking deep. Bakunawa let out a final, thunderous roar, its body convulsing—then falling back into the ocean.

  The storm vanished.

  Deathnibbles landed on the calm water and swam to a piece of the debris from his ship and stood.

  He panted, gripping his scythe, watching as Bakunawa’s form dissolved into mist.

  And from that mist, something took shape.

  Floating before him was a glowing, shimmering object—a necklace made from the fallen sea dragon in the shape of one of Bakunawa’s scales.

  It pulsed with deep, celestial energy, shifting between the colors of midnight blue, silver, and black.

  Deathnibbles reached out hesitantly, his tiny paws closing around it. The moment he put it around his neck it—

  A surge of power flooded through him.

  His feet suddenly felt lighter—this was not just speed, but something more. The sea rippled beneath him, responding to his presence.

  His shadow lengthened unnaturally, twisting in ways it never had before.

  The soul of Bakunawa had given him dominion over the tides, gravity, and darkness.

  Deathnibbles exhaled, staring down at his own paws, feeling the power thrumming through his tiny body.

  He had won.

  But this was only the first trial.

  He looked left and looked right. Endless sea. How could he get to the island now with no boat?

  “You did it.”

  A bright entity came floating down from the sky. It was Lytha.

  “I am so proud of you, little one.”

  Deathnibbles looked up in awe from the debris still on the water.

  Lytha reached out her hand.

  “Come.”

  Deathnibbles hopped on her hand. She carried it to her shoulder where he jumped off and perched.. She gave his chin a little pet and he smiled.

  “Now that you have Bakunawa’s necklace, you can defy gravity. Putting that together with those golden shoes means you can fly.”

  Deathnibbles’ little paws pointed back at himself to suggest a “me?” gesture.

  “Yes. Use the scythe. Just like you do with the shoes. And go forth to the next trial. I will meet you once it’s done.”

  Deathnibbles grabbed his scythe and focused. He started to float. At first he couldn’t control the angle and was spinning around in circles in the air. Then he got it. He zoomed around Lytha from left and right. Then, in the blink of an eye, he bolted off towards the island.