Chapter 7.

  Time passed. Glenn took his role seriously and slowly rose the ranks on the board. He followed orders from Mictlantecuhtli meticulously. He would go out and reap and upon his return, find a new folder on his desk. Yoshiko was always trying to get him to slow down, but he had no time for distractions.

  On top of the reaps, Mictlantlecuhtli had Glenn sparring the Elder Reapers. Maeve’s attacks were powerful with freezing sound-based force. With her, Glenn was learning to defend and be patient for an opening attack, learning to carry the weight with every attack. Yami moved with fluid, deliberate grace, using silence and shadow. Glenn learned to master his cloak to become unnoticed, strike with absolute intention, and find peace in stillness. La Parca would defeat Glenn too quickly, poisoning the air. So Glenn was getting better at adapting and surviving. Some battles were about outlasting. Baron Samedi was the only Elder Reaper Glenn had not fought. He refused and every time Mictlantlecuhtli went looking, he ran into one of the Baron’s tricks or illusions. But there was one Elder Reaper Glenn hated sparring against: Hildr the Valkyrie.

  Hildr loved fighting Glenn. No, that is an understatement. She thrived on beating him to a bloody pulp. Hildr stood with the presence of someone born for the battlefield and built for divine judgment. She was tall and powerful, with a regal warrior's poise that made the Underworld office corridors feel like a war camp when she walked through them. IIn terms of raw power, she was the strongest among all Reapers. Her Reaper uniform fused traditional Norse Valkyrie armor with modern undertones. Wing-shaped pauldrons rested on her shoulders, forged from ethereal silver, glowing faintly with ancient runes. Her chest plate was engraved with scenes of fallen warriors, and her gauntlets beared the marks of countless battles. Her Reaper robe was dark storm-grey, trimmed in faded gold and furs from the skies of Valhalla.

  Hildr’s face was sharp and defined—noble, but with eyes that had seen a thousand deaths and judged each one without flinching. Her piercing steel-blue eyes glowed subtly, always alert. Her long ash-blonde hair was braided tightly along the sides, with loose strands caught in silver rings and feathers, symbols of her past as a soul-chooser. She wielded a unique scythe shaped like a winged spear—the blade curved like a falcon's talon, and runes pulsed along the haft. When she swung it, it sounded like the howling wind of a battlefield.

  The sparring was not fast with Hildr. The battles were long and drawn out as if Glenn were her toy and she was just playing with him, hurling insults and whips at him just to see him angry. With everyone else, he felt he was getting better, but with her, he felt humiliated, defeated, and like he was regressing. By now, every Reaper knew Glenn had some hidden power that awakened when his heart stopped. Mictlantlecuhtli stated Glenn needs to be powerful enough to not rely on only that power, so he forbade it. Glenn believed him. In a weird way, Glenn was trying to impress him and everyone else. So he obeyed. Besides, if Glenn’s heart got close to stopping, the Elder Reapers always found a way to disable him.

  Glenn came back to his desk, rubbing his body as if he were still bruised. He was actually healed, but he had phantom bruising from Hildr.

  “Hildr, again?” Yoshiko asked from her desk.

  Glenn nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t need more training. You need a day to relax. You never took me up on that date on Earth. Why don’t we go somewhere?”

  Glenn looked at her and thought about it. “I am so far behind everyone. I don’t have time to relax.”

  Glenn tried not to look too long at Yoshiko when she wasn’t looking. He focused on his assignments, his forms, and his training logs. But she was always there—like a flicker of a memory he hadn’t lived yet.

  Then one day, she caught him staring.

  “You hold that scythe like it weighs more than your guilt,” she said, nodding toward the weapon on his desk.

  Glenn blinked. “It does.”

  The next day Glenn went to train by himself.

  Yoshiko also went, and unknowingly found Glenn alone in the sparring chamber.

  “You're sloppy,” she said casually, tossing him a training blade.

  Glenn caught a blade awkwardly. “Wh-What are you doing here?”

  Glenn grunted. “I have not been able to do anything unless I awaken my power. But it seems I have to be dead for it to activate. But what if the next time, I die for real?”

  “That’s exactly your problem. You need to change that view. Come train with me for a little. Like the first time we met.”

  They sparred in silence, the rhythm of metal on metal becoming its own kind of dialogue. She moved like poetry—elegant, restrained, yet every step calculated to reveal weakness. Glenn was all weight and impulse.

  After knocking him down for the fifth time, she extended a hand.

  “You think being dead means you stop feeling,” she said. “But it just means you have more time to understand what made you feel alive.”

  “How am I losing? I train and train. If I can’t even beat you, how am I supposed to get to Management?”

  “But Glenn, you are better. I notice an incredible difference between when we first met and now.”

  Glenn didn’t want to hear it. He picked up his weapons and left Yoshiko there wondering what she did wrong.

  Glenn was in his own head. Now he is getting beaten by every Elder Reaper. He felt as though he was regressing.

  Back at his desk he sulked. Were his powers really the only thing that made him special? Then Glenn had a thought. What if he killed himself? Yeah that could be it. Maybe him being alive or human is holding him back. He just needs to die and then his powers would be permanent right? Why didn’t he think of that before?

  Glenn looked at Mora’s scythe as he held it in his hand. Just a quick pierce through the chest should do. He closed his eyes. He gripped both hands around the scythe and then…

  “Glenn! Hey Glenn, I got it!” Yoshiko came running over with a folder in her hand.

  “Wait, what are you doing?” She pointed at him awkwardly holding his scythe.

  “Uhh. Nothing.” Glenn embarrassingly put down his scythe. “You got what?”

  “I figured out how to help you beat Hildr. Look.” Yoshiko slapped a folder on his desk.

  “My next reap. It’s a deity from Hildr’s realm named Hrym. If she was not able to reap this soul, I bet he can share a weakness or how he managed to beat her.”

  “I am not allowed to reap anyone besides my own.” Glenn responded.

  “You are not going to reap. I am. There is nothing against you assisting me, right? Like how that skeleton guy was always following you.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t want to just find a weakness. I want to actually be better.”

  “Glenn, you are getting better. Your biggest problem is you just need a win right now. Come on. Plus, imagine the look on her face when she finds out we reaped someone she couldn’t.”

  “Hm. That would be kind of satisfying.”

  “Perfect! It’s a Reaper date! Let’s go.”

  “Now?” Before Glenn knew it, Yoshiko was whisking him away.

  She ran up to the front desk and handed her file over.

  “Svalbard, Norway, please.”

  The front desk nodded and started typing away.

  Glenn and Yoshiko approached the door.

  “Ready?” She asked Glenn.

  “I guess.” And they went through.

  Glenn emerged on the other side in the small village in the middle of nowhere.

  Tucked along the icy inlet of a fjord, Isfjellshavn was a scattering of snow-covered wooden houses painted in faded reds, blues, and yellows—like stubborn blooms rising from frostbitten earth. The air smelled faintly of sea salt and chimney smoke. Every building leaned slightly, shaped by decades of storms.

  The streets were narrow and mostly empty, the snow packed hard from years of wind. Footprints told quiet stories of life—fishermen heading to the docks, a child’s sled tracks veering into the snowbanks, a dog bounding ahead of its owner.

  Glenn immediately started to shiver and held his body for warmth. “I don’t get it… people actually live here? It’s freezing. Desolate. It feels like the end of the world.”

  "That’s exactly why they live here."

  Glenn furrowed his brow.

  "Because it’s quiet. Because the world forgets them here. And in forgetting, they get to remember who they are."

  She knelt, brushing a hand over a patch of frosted lichen clinging to a stone.

  "Life isn’t always about comfort, Glenn. Sometimes it’s about choosing beauty even when it doesn’t make sense. Svalbard doesn’t try to impress anyone. It just exists. Harsh. Honest. Still alive."

  Glenn looked around. "But there’s nothing out here."

  She turned to him with a faint smile.

  "There’s everything. Stars you can actually see. Silence you can actually hear. People who’ve made peace with solitude. With death. And in that peace, they live. Really live."

  A gust of wind cut through. Yoshiko’s hair fluttered like a dark ribbon.

  "Humans are remarkable that way. They settle where nothing should grow… and make it home. They find warmth in the coldest places. Hope in the bleakest skies. That’s what makes them worth fighting for, Glenn."

  “So who are we reaping here?”

  “Not here. We have to hike that way. We have a ways to go. Don’t worry. Your cloak will keep you warm. Part of the perks of a Reaper. Again, this was learned in the seminar you skipped.”

  “Hike? Out here?”

  “Stop complaining and let’s move.”

  As the town faded in the distance, they headed straight into the white desolate region. Glenn was lost but Yoshiko seemed like she knew exactly where she was going.

  Time felt like hours but then Yoshiko stopped and smiled at Glenn.

  “We are here! It’s called the Frosted Spine.”

  “How do you know all this? The folder says all this?”

  Yoshiko hesitated then responded with. “Yes.”

  The Frosted Spine stretched like the broken ribs of a long-dead beast, its peaks jagged and covered in blackened snow. The wind howled through the ravines like it mourned something ancient, and beneath the surface, the soul trails twisted and vanished into the frozen earth.

  Glenn tightened the grip on his scythe.

  “Tell me again why we’re doing this,” he muttered.

  Yoshiko adjusted the straps of her sword, her eyes scanning the horizon. “Because Hrym doesn’t just consume souls—he keeps secrets. Secrets that might unravel the truth about Hildr.”

  They stood at the edge of a massive glacial chasm. In the center, wedged between ice walls and ancient runes, was a shattered ship carved from the fingernails of the dead: Naglfar.

  Glenn swallowed. “Lovely place.”

  They descended into the chasm. The deeper they went, the colder it became. Shadows danced along the cracked hull of the ghost ship. Whispering winds brushed their ears with fragments of forgotten names.

  Then the ice trembled.

  With a thunderous groan, the glacier split, and from the heart of the mountain rose a creature as tall as a cathedral, his armor fused with ancient ice, his beard frozen into icicle spears.

  Hrym.

  His eyes glowed like dying stars. His axe, the size of a boulder, scraped the ground as he stepped forward.

  “More Reapers,” he rumbled. “You come to take what is mine?”

  Glenn raised his scythe. Yoshiko slid into a ready stance.

  “We came to offer you a wager,” Yoshiko said. “If we beat you, you tell us how you managed to evade Hildr for so long. If we lose, you have two powerful souls to do what you wish with.”

  The frost giant grunted and thought. He then stared directly at Glenn. Something filled the giant with rage. He roared, and the battle began.

  Hrym moved like an avalanche. His first swing shattered the ice bridge Glenn stood on, sending him plummeting into a snowbank. Yoshiko was already in motion, launching from ledge to ledge with deadly grace, her blade flashing in arcs of silver against the giant's armored joints.

  Glenn scrambled to his feet. He watched in awe as Yoshiko danced across the battlefield, her movements precise, flowing like water through the cracks in Hrym’s defense.

  “You going to stand there and admire me all day?” she called out.

  “Maybe just a little,” Glenn muttered, shaking himself and launching forward.

  Hrym slammed the ground, summoning jagged ice spikes to erupt in all directions. Glenn activated Nyra’s cloak, shadow-skipping across the terrain to flank him. He swung Mora’s scythe in wide, glowing arcs, carving through the ice and drawing Hrym’s attention.

  Together, they moved in sync. Yoshiko struck high; Glenn low. They exchanged nods mid-combat, anticipation in each step, reading each other's next move without needing words.

  Hrym let out a roar, unleashing a shockwave of pure frost magic. It threw them both back. Glenn hit a wall of ice with a grunt. Yoshiko flipped midair and landed in a crouch, blood dripping from her lip.

  “You alright?” Glenn asked, pulling himself up.

  She smirked. “You call that a hit? Get back in there.”

  They surged forward again. Glenn moved so fast it seemed like he created illusions with his shadow cloak, confusing Hrym with ghost versions of himself and Yoshiko. The giant thrashed, confused. Yoshiko capitalized, leaping from a spire of ice, spinning midair, and slicing across Hrym’s chest. Cracks spiderwebbed through his armor.

  Hrym snarled and raised his axe for a final, devastating blow—but Glenn stepped in, the black and silver glow of Mora’s scythe erupting in full force. He slashed upward, intercepting the swing. The impact shook the glacier.

  The battle escalated. Hrym unleashed a blizzard vortex, a swirling storm of ice and soul-echoes, dragging the temperature to bone-breaking cold. Glenn could barely see, but Yoshiko appeared through the frost like a phantom, slicing through tendrils of spiritual energy.

  “Use the wind against him!” she shouted.

  Glenn thrust Mora’s scythe into the storm, channeling its energy. Shadows wrapped around the blade and bent the storm, redirecting it back toward Hrym. The vortex imploded with a thunderous boom, staggering the giant.

  But Hrym adapted. He slammed his fist into the ice, summoning frozen constructs—souls warped into hulking beasts of ice and sorrow. They lunged. Glenn and Yoshiko split off, each taking a side.

  Glenn battled fiercely, slicing through one icy behemoth after another. The scythe burned in his hands, an extension of his anger, his purpose. But Yoshiko was a marvel—every strike was measured, every dodge elegant. Glenn caught glimpses of her as she fought like a storm given form.

  Then one of the beasts pinned Glenn, claws digging into his chest. Yoshiko appeared behind it, her blade plunging through its skull. She pulled Glenn up.

  “Don’t go dying on me now.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” he coughed.

  Together, they turned back to Hrym, who now knelt, breathing heavily, the runes on his body flickering.

  Glenn and Yoshiko exchanged a glance. No words.

  They ran.

  Yoshiko moved first, slashing through Hrym’s legs, opening wounds that froze as they bled. Glenn followed, leaping high, the cloak billowing behind him, the scythe blazing with spectral fire.

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  He brought it down in a mighty arc, cutting through the giant’s chest as Yoshiko drove her sword into Hrym’s heart.

  Hrym fell to his knees, gasping, his essence unraveling.

  “Why?” Glenn demanded. “Why defile the cycle of death?”

  Hrym let out a broken, gurgling laugh.

  “Hypocrite. I will not be criticized by a Reaper. You are all just as corrupt.”

  “No. We guide souls. We do not decide their fate afterwards” said Glenn.

  “Guide? Tell me, have you ever seen what happens to the soul after you put it on the scale? Oh, yes I know the scale. Have you ever really understood the power of souls? I can show you, Reaper. Just as I showed her.”

  “Who?”

  “Hildr,” he rasped. “She doesn’t guide souls. She reaps them for war.”

  Glenn’s grip tightened. “What war?”

  But Hrym only grinned—and lunged.

  In a burst of shadows and frost, Yoshiko sidestepped, spun, and sliced clean through Hrym’s midsection. A wave of freed souls exploded from the wound, rising like fireflies into the sky.

  Hrym collapsed, the echoes of thousands leaving his body in one final breath.

  The storm cleared. Light broke through the clouds.

  Yoshiko knelt in the snow, her armor scratched, her blade bloodied. Glenn stood beside her, panting, his scythe heavy in his grip.

  “You alright?” he asked.

  She nodded slowly. “Yeah. You did good out there.”

  He looked at her, truly looked. There was strength in her, yes. But also kindness. Resolve. Grace.

  “You were incredible,” he said, softly.

  Yoshiko met his gaze, and for a heartbeat, something passed between them—quiet, unspoken, but real.

  “We didn’t just kill a monster,” she murmured. “We might have stumbled upon something huge.”

  Glenn looked toward the mountains.

  “Hildr never reaped him because she was learning to use souls. Was she feeding him souls?”

  Yoshiko nodded solemnly. “She knows something. And we just kicked over the first stone.”

  Above them, the souls floated skyward.

  And the cold wind carried the name Hildr into the darkening sky.

  They made their way back to the town. The long distance gave Glenn a lot of time to think.

  Yoshiko was blissfully unaware of Glenn’s doubts. She smiled at him as they approached the door.

  Glenn paused. “Maybe. We shouldn’t bring up what happened here. You know, to management or Hildr.”

  Yoshiko was shocked. “What do you mean? Of course we have to tell everyone!”

  “Listen, I have been doing really well lately. My numbers have been going up. We were supposed to uncover a weakness for me in training, not unravel some big conspiracy that-”

  “That what?”

  “That can get people killed. It’s best if I just go back to work and do what I am told.”

  Yoshiko couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then she had an idea.

  She dragged Glenn through the door and they were back at the office.

  “Wait here.” She said and she ran up and whispered something into the front desk HA’s ear.

  She came running back and held out her hand. “Do you trust me?”

  “Huh?” Why did that sound so familiar to Glenn? Then it dawned on him those were his words to her when he saved her.

  He didn’t say a word back. He simply held out his hand and grabbed hers back.

  The sun stung his pale underworld-conditioned skin, but the salt in the air reminded him of something he never had—a childhood beach day, maybe, or just the idea of one.

  “Where are we?” Glenn asked.

  “Someplace alive.” She pointed at the center of a town square to a sign that said “Sayulita” in bright colors.

  “But why?”

  “Isn’t this where you are from?”

  “I-I’m not sure where I come from.”

  Glenn looked frustrated at the thought but Yoshiko quickly grabbed him by the hands to reassure him.

  “Hey. It's ok. Just come be with me for a day. I’ve always heard of a place like this, but I never left home when I was alive.”

  Yoshiko led him through colorful markets, stopping to try unfamiliar fruit and laughing when a human became confused about where their fruit went.

  “Hey, did you know our cloaks can do this?” She walked up to a market with clothes hanging outside. She held up a sundress next to her. She closed her eyes and her cloak transformed into the sundress. She wore her hair down. He didn’t know why that detail mattered, but it did.

  Glenn followed suit and easily used his cloak to turn into something more fitting of a nice beach town.

  They hopped on the back of some golf carts driving through town exploring the sights. They got amazing coffee. They rode the carts to the beach.

  The sky was a watercolor of oranges and violets. Glenn and Yoshiko sat near a small bonfire as music played softly in the distance. Children laughed, barefoot in the sand. A woman passed by carrying tamales, offering them with a smile. Glenn watched quietly, withdrawn.

  “It’s strange… being here. After everything we’ve seen. The wars. The monsters. The Blood Countess… Hrym... It makes all of this feel so... fragile. Like a lie."

  “Is this about Hildr? Glenn, we have to do something. We have to fight for what is right. Do not fall into the corporate darkness.”

  “But maybe the darkness is all there is. Maybe the system works for a reason. Maybe following it—not getting attached—is the only way to stay sane.”

  “Do you know why humans make things like this? Paper flowers that will be crushed by the tide?”

  “Because it makes them feel something, I guess.”

  “Exactly. They choose to feel. Even when the world forgets them. Even when pain is guaranteed. They still sing. They still fall in love. They still make things—useless, beautiful things. Like music. And weddings. And tamales at sunset.”

  She nods toward an old man teaching a boy to fish with nothing but a stick and a string.

  “That man lost his wife last year. Every morning, he still brings his grandson out here. Teaches him how to fish. Not because it’ll make him rich. But because it connects them. Because love survives death, Glenn. And that matters.”

  “Sometimes I forget... why we’re doing all this. Or it's more like I don’t even know.”

  “Then let me remind you. We don’t reap souls because it’s a job. We do it because every soul is a story. And stories are how humanity survives. You’re not just guiding the dead—you’re protecting what it means to live. In a world of life and death, love transcends both.

  Glenn took a moment of silence then looked out at the glowing town. Lanterns flickered like fireflies. Laughter rose in the wind.

  “If you ever stop fighting for them, Glenn… then who will?”

  They watched fire dancers on the beach. Glenn tried to sit comfortably on the sand and failed. Yoshiko laughed.

  “You’re the least graceful Reaper I’ve ever seen.”

  “Thanks. It’s a gift.”

  Later, they laid on their backs in the sand, the stars wheeling above them.

  “You ever wonder who you’d be if you hadn’t died?” she asked.

  “Yeah. But lately I’ve been wondering who I could still be.”

  He looked at her. The way her lips pressed into a silent smile. The way she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Don’t fall for me, Glenn,” she said quietly.

  “W-What? I-I don’t even know. Wait, are you feeling something?” Glenn fumbled his words.

  There was a long silence. The waves hushed against the shore as though they, too, were waiting.

  “I used to love someone,” Yoshiko said finally, barely above a whisper. “Back when I had a name that wasn’t wrapped in legend. Before everything.”

  Glenn turned to her, propping himself up on one elbow. “Do you still?”

  Her eyes flicked to him. “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I just love the memory of being loved.”

  Glenn looked down at the sand, tracing a finger along its surface. “I never got to love anyone. Not really. Not while I was alive. Nor do I think anyone ever loved me.”

  “Maybe that’s why you’re so easy to fall for,” she said. “There’s nothing guarding your heart. You walk around like you don’t know how to protect it. And it is why you care so much for humans. You may understand them more than all of the Underworld.”

  He smiled faintly. “You think that makes me weak?”

  She shook her head. “No. It makes you dangerous. You will find love Glenn. It just can’t be me. Besides, we are coworkers.”

  A breeze rolled in from the sea. Yoshiko sat up, brushing sand from her hands.

  “We should go. I won’t tell a soul about Hildr. That is your decision to make, Glenn.” Yoshiko got up and brushed sand off her legs.

  Glenn got up,too, then he noticed something in the distance.

  From the beach Glenn could see a beam of light coming from a cliff off in the distance about 500 yards away.

  “Do you see that? Glenn asked?

  “See what?”

  “That light. Over there, coming from that cliff.”

  Glenn didn’t know why, but the light was calling to him. He started to run after it.

  “Wait up!” Yoshiko rushed after him.

  Glenn and Yoshiko hurried across the beach, back onto a dirt road that led uphill following the beam of light overhead. As he got to the top of the hill, the beam faded. He continued on the road until he came up to a small little cemetery. Gravestones of all shapes and ages leaned gently into the earth—some chipped, some carved by hand, others no more than wooden crosses bleached by sun and time.

  Marigolds, both fresh and wilted, grew wild among the plots, and faint trails of incense clung to the air like memory. Candles—many lit, some barely flickering—dotted the graves, their wax melted into soft pools on terracotta plates.

  Yoshiko observed but didn’t interrupt him. Glenn searched the grave not knowing what exactly he was looking for. Yoshiko looked around while still keeping an eye on Glenn. Then, she noticed Glenn stopped staring at one particular grave.

  She walked over to him staring at a grave of a child with an old lantern fire still lit resting on the gravestone. The grave read Glenn Garcia.

  “What is this?”

  “Well, I bet there are lots of Glenn Garcia’s out there.”

  “Look at the dates. That is the year I was born. In a place where I was told I am from. But this says I died when I was a child.”

  “Looks like someone was here.” Yoshiko pointing to the lantern.

  “Yoshiko. There is something I need to tell you. I did not reap the first Sister of Death, Mora. She sacrificed herself to put her essence into this scythe. Why? I do not know, but I think it has to do with something she said before she left. She said my mother was killed. And I think someone in Management knows. I was robbed of a real life. Someone took that from me and I need to know why. That is why I am trying to become the best Reaper. To get to Management, but then I met Canis. And you. I don’t know how to get these answers and be the Reaper you want me to be.”

  Yoshiko took his hand. “Glenn, it's ok. That is what I am trying to tell you. Stop trying to be someone. You already were the Reaper this world needed. Just be you. As far as answers go, there are a lot of secrets going around lately. I know someone who usually has a soft spot for child souls. If this is not you, we can ask him to summon the soul. If this is you… well, we take it one step at a time. Let’s head back to the office.”

  Glenn nodded. And they made their way back to the town. Glenn took one last look at the colorful beach town. He watched a family stroll by. He tried to envision that it was him with his parents. Could he have had a life here?

  As soon as they went through the door portal back to the office, a HA immediately ran up to greet them.

  The HA was bruised and very nervous.

  “Glenn! Thank Zues. Hildr is looking for you. She is very upset. She demands to see you in the training room. She found out about Hrym.”

  Glenn looked over at Yoshiko.

  “Go. Take care of this. You got this.”

  The training gym in the Underworld office was eerily quiet, but not empty. The hum of arcane wards buzzed faintly along the obsidian walls, and the floor was marked with runes that glowed dimly when stepped upon. Reapers gathered on the upper balconies, whispering to one another, drawn by the rare sight of a sparring match between Glenn Garcia and Hildr, the Valkyrie Elder Reaper.

  Glenn stood in the center of the ring, rolling his shoulders, Mora's scythe resting across his back. Across from him, Hildr towered with quiet fury, her armor trimmed in ancient Nordic steel, her spear gleaming with echoes of centuries.

  Yoshiko watched from the edge of the gym, arms crossed, face unreadable.

  "This is just a training match," Glenn said, eyeing Hildr. "Nothing personal right?"

  Hildr smirked, stepping into the circle. "Oh, every battle is personal."

  They clashed just like many times before. Spear against scythe. Sparks flew as metal screamed. Hildr moved like a tempest—each blow calculated, brutal, and precise. Glenn held his ground, spinning his scythe in defensive arcs, shadow cloak flickering as he parried.

  "You're improving," Hildr admitted, her voice like ice cracking. "Maybe that little romance with Yoshiko is giving you motivation."

  Glenn's eyes narrowed. "This isn’t about her."

  "Isn’t it?" she lunged, driving him back. "Reaping Hrym without my sanction? That was my territory. My judgment to make."

  Hildr was relentless. Strike after strike she swung down onto Glenn. Mora’s scythe was taking a brutal beating and with every blow rippled to Glenn. Glenn began to bleed, barely keeping pace. He fell to his knees.

  "Why does it matter so much to you?" he asked through gritted teeth. "He was devouring souls. He told us- he told us you do, too."

  Hildr's smile sharpened. "Not all souls deserve peace."

  Glenn hesitated. "What?"

  Hildr struck hard, sweeping Glenn’s legs and slamming him into the floor. She loomed over him.

  "I decide who is worthy. Warriors. Champions. Not weaklings. Not vermin. Those... I keep. I use. They fuel me."

  A gasp rippled through the watching crowd.

  Glenn stood, shaking. "You're hoarding souls? You’re using them?"

  She laughed. "Why shouldn’t I? Management looks the other way. And you—you, the poster boy of sentimentality. It’s pathetic."

  She launched at him again, faster than before. Glenn dodged, his cloak snagged and torn. Blood spilled from a gash across his chest.

  "You can't win this," she hissed. "You're too soft. Too human."

  Blow after blow landed. Glenn staggered, vision blurring.

  "Everyone has secrets, Glenn. And Yoshiko? She’s not what you think."

  Glenn froze.

  "You think it is a coincidence she is always around you? Because you saved her? She knows—"

  Before she could finish, a flash of silver.

  Yoshiko.

  She appeared behind Glenn and drove a dagger into his back, piercing clean through.

  He gasped.

  His heart stopped.

  “I am sorry Glenn. I was wrong to tell you not to use your powers. She is obsessed with power, so let’s show her true power. BEAT HER.”

  Yoshiko gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  For a beat, everything went still.

  Then the mask appeared.

  The black, spectral skull formed over Glenn’s face, radiating with dark shadows. His eyes burned like void stars. Shadow and death coiled around him like living armor.

  He rose.

  Hildr's confident smile faltered.

  Glenn moved faster than sight. His scythe became a blur, striking with ghostly force. Hildr blocked, deflected, but could not keep up.

  Glenn screamed, a roar of pain and fury. Shadows lashed out, wrapping around Hildr's limbs, pulling her down. His strikes broke her spear, cracked her armor.

  Yoshiko shouted from the sidelines. "Glenn! You did it!"

  But he couldn't hear her. Or wouldn’t.

  The room darkened. The walls shook. The souls within the office felt the pull of something vast and hungry.

  And then—

  "ENOUGH."

  A thunderous voice echoed.

  Mictlantecuhtli appeared in a swirl of obsidian wind and violet fire. His skeletal visage, carved like polished stone, radiated ancient authority.

  With a flick of his wrist, Glenn was frozen mid-strike, shadows writhing but held in place. Hildr collapsed to one knee, coughing blood.

  Mictlantecuhtli turned his glowing gaze on Hildr.

  "We will speak... later."

  He gestured, and skeleton hands rose from the ground and dragged her away out of the gym.

  He looked at Glenn, still locked in spectral form.

  "And you... later."

  He vanished.

  Glenn collapsed. Yoshiko ran to his side, catching him before he hit the floor.

  His mask was gone. His eyes were wide.

  "What... was that?" he whispered.

  Yoshiko didn’t answer. She only held him.

  And the gym remained silent, watching a Reaper who had nearly lost everything—including himself.

  Chapter 7.1

  After surviving his battle atop the raging sea against Bakunawa, Deathnibbles arrived ashore on a mysterious island cloaked in thick fog and timeless silence. The jungle that greeted him hissed with ancient breath, vines like veins pulsing against obsidian-black trees. The ground itself seemed to whisper warnings. This was no ordinary land.

  This was a forgotten island, where the gods once feared to tread. Where the Cipactli, the primordial beast of creation and chaos, still stirred.

  Deathnibbles stepped onto the white sand, Hades' scythe strapped across his back, his golden shoes gleaming even in the overcast gloom. The Bakunawa's gravity-necklace pulsed faintly against his chest, sensing the monstrous presence ahead.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  From the depths of a black cenote, the ground quaked and a colossal form burst forth—a beast with hundreds of mouths across its body, each one filled with rows of jagged teeth. Its eyes were scattered, blinking in strange patterns, and its limbs slithered with grotesque strength.

  The Cipactli had awakened.

  Deathnibbles darted forward, leaping with the speed of Hermes. His scythe carved a wide arc of shadow and flame. The blade sank into one of Cipactli’s many mouths, severing a tendril of flesh. But the beast barely noticed. It rolled, twisted, snapped at the air—reality bent slightly around it.

  A roar exploded from the Cipactli's main maw, summoning waves of corrosive ichor that bubbled as they hit the earth. Deathnibbles leapt and air-dashed with his golden shoes, barely avoiding the acidic torrents.

  "Squeak!" he said angrily.

  The beast struck with a limb the size of a temple, crushing the trees behind Deathnibbles. He zoomed beneath the attack, then used the gravity-necklace to launch himself high into the air, redirecting gravity to land directly on Cipactli's spine.

  He plunged the scythe into the creature's back, but it twisted violently, throwing him across the jungle.

  Bleeding and panting, Deathnibbles stood again.

  "Squeak, squeak?" he said. "Squeak!"

  He slammed the butt of the scythe into the earth. The tides shifted. The gravity pulled downward with crushing force, dragging the beast partially into the earth. Cipactli screamed, twisting, tearing chunks of its own flesh to escape.

  Deathnibbles zoomed across the battlefield again, each footstep leaving behind golden sparks. He spun mid-air, his scythe glowing with dark energy, and aimed for the beast's heart—a shimmering eye in the center of its chest.

  He struck.

  The scythe drove deep, and Cipactli unleashed a scream so loud the jungle peeled back. Reality fractured for a brief second.

  The beast collapsed, oozing ichor and stardust.

  From the remains of Cipactli, something rose.

  A jagged, obsidian ring floated in the air, swirling with ancient symbols that flickered like stars. Deathnibbles reached out, and as he touched it, the ring tightened onto his tail like a band.

  A shockwave of power surged through him.

  The Ring of Cipactli — it granted him the ability to reshape terrain, create temporary platforms from void matter, and call forth chaotic energy blasts that could bend the laws of physics around him.

  Deathnibbles stood, battered, victorious.

  "Two down. One more to go." a voice appeared.

  He turned his gaze toward the voice. It was Lytha! He ran up her leg onto her shoulder. She greeted him with pets.

  “I couldn’t be prouder of you. You have come a long way. Are you ready for the final trial?”

  Deathnibbles nodded yes.

  “Then go forth. I believe in you. I must tend to other matters, but we will meet again.”

  Lytha set him back on the ground. One last pet on the head, and then she flew off.

  Deathnibbles stared up at a mountain on the island. Ahead awaited his final trial: Grootslang.