Chapter 8

  Glenn’s mind was in a blur. He didn’t know what happened after the fight but he found himself in Mictlantecuhtli’s office. He seemed to have settled in more as the new manager.

  The walls were made of polished obsidian, but everything else looked eerily... corporate. A bland motivational poster on the wall read:

  “DEATH ISN’T THE END—IT’S YOUR TARGET.”

  Another said: “Compliance is Compassion.”

  The fluorescent lights flickered with an audible buzz.

  Glenn stepped in. Mictlantecuhtli sat behind a massive stone desk—his skeletal fingers steepled, a cup labeled #1 Manager of Eternal Torment resting beside him.

  “I wanted to touch base about your recent decision to take action without... let's call it proper management alignment.” Mictlantecuhtli slid a bone-thin finger across a manila folder with Glenn’s name etched in ash.

  “I was following my instincts. Plus it was Yoshiko’s reap so I thought that was OK. And Hrym was feeding off souls, and—”

  “Oh no, no, no. This isn’t about who deserved reaping. It’s about... process. My process here in the Underworld Office is very clear: you only reap who I tell you to reap.”

  He grinned as if offering a warm hug, but his jawbone clicked slightly.

  Mictlantecuhtli continued. “Now, don’t think of this as a punishment. Think of it as a growth opportunity. A learning moment. We don’t like the term ‘discipline.’ That sounds so… judgmental. You’re not in trouble, Glenn. You’re just... consequence adjacent.”

  “What is the difference?”

  “Oh Glenn, you are becoming quite the rebel. Which is why I’m enrolling you in a delightful 12-hour ‘Ethics and Chain of Command’ seminar taught by Dantalion from HR. You’ll love it—he reads all the PowerPoints exactly as written.”

  “Oh, please no,” Glenn said under his breath.

  “What was that?”

  “I said I’ve never heard of that before.”

  “I also think it would be good for you to see how things operate. Really see the nuts and bolts of the place. So in your free time, I’ve assigned you temporarily to Lost Souls Intake Audit. It’s not a demotion, of course. No one here believes in hierarchies. Except for me, of course.”

  Mictlantecuhtli leaned forward. “You understand, right? It’s not personal. I just can’t have Reapers going around saving souls they think are worthy. That’s not your job. That’s mine.”

  “So you decide? Not the scales?”

  “No. No. Of course the scales decide. I just oversee the scales.” Mictlantecuhtli sighed. “Glenn. You are so dramatic. They are just numbers. They’re assets. Some are valuable. Others are... recyclable.”

  “And some are free to use? Like Hildr?” Glenn's tone changed to stand up for himself.

  “I will deal with Hildr. That is not our way. Management will deal with her. Also, that stunt with the skull mask? Very theatrical. Loved it. But let’s tone down the whole ‘uncontrollable power surge’ thing. It’s not in line with our brand guidelines.”

  “What is your way then? To be obedient puppets? What is the point of all this?” Glenn stood taller.

  “Not at all! Obedience comes with being a team. This is a team, Glenn. And teams follow orders, even when they don’t make sense, feel wrong, or involve morally questionable directives. That’s leadership.”

  Glenn started to turn and walk towards the exit.

  “Before you go! I need you to sign this.” Mictlantecuhtli slid Gabe a piece of paper. The title read, “Not a Write Up.”

  “What is this?” Glenn asked.

  “Well, it is not a Write Up, that is for sure. Again, you are not in trouble. It is just a piece of paper saying we talked, and you understand you did wrong, and are going to go to those classes, blah blah blah. Just need you to sign right there at the bottom.”

  “So, it is a Write Up.”

  “No. No. It says it in the name.”

  “But you wrote up what I did wrong.”

  “Yes.”

  “And give me things to do to correct myself.

  “Yes.”

  “And I have to sign this document that will stay on file with you forever.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “But it is not a Wright Up.”

  “Now you get it.”

  “Right.” Glenn signed the paper and walked out.

  As the bone-and-iron doors of Mictlantecuhtli's office hissed shut behind him, Glenn exhaled like he’d been underwater. He rubbed his temples, still feeling the passive-aggressive buzz of that “conversation.”

  Then he heard it. To Glenn’s surprise, there was a lot of commotion.

  Music. Laughter. Screaming karaoke. The scents of burnt coffee and underworld punch wafting through the air.

  He turned a corner and ran straight into one of the HA’s, their winged shoes glowing.

  “Hey, Glenn! You heading to the lounge? It’s the end-of-quarter soul audit party. Upper Management didn’t approve it, so it’s even better.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Come on. It’s mandatory. But not technically mandatory. But, like, if you don’t go, everyone notices.”

  Glenn knew it probably was a bad idea. But then he looked back at the manager’s office and thought,“Fuck it. Sure.”

  Before he knew it he was pulled with such force and speed everything became blurry. He was now in front of the lawn.

  Glenn stepped into sheer madness. The lounge, usually dim and sterile, had been transformed into something between a haunted nightclub and a retirement home rave. Floating soul lanterns pulsed to the beat of underworld synthwave. A Techlops in aviators manned the DJ booth, spinning a remix of Gregorian chanting and dubstep.

  Reapers from every cultural myth and historical epoch were scattered around the lounge. A group of plague doctors were line dancing. A Norse berserker in neon face paint was beatboxing. Someone had summoned tiny soul-lights that chased each other across the ceiling like rebellious fireflies.

  “Hey! Glenn!”

  Maeve waved him over from a low couch, her banshee wail laugh echoing off the walls. She was draped over several bean bags, sipping something glowing and swirling with at least three unnatural colors.

  “They call it ‘Remembrance Brew,’” she slurred, eyes glassy with emotion. “Makes you feel like you are having your best day. Kind of what alcohol does to you humans without the negative effects. Doesn’t get you drunk. Just makes you feel like you’ve had your best and worst memories at the same time.”

  Glenn raised an eyebrow. “That sounds horrifying.”

  “It is!” she beamed. “The trick is to focus on the good memories and BAM! But you kind of want more after the first sip.”

  Glenn took a cup from a tray and sipped. Images flooded his mind—his grandmother’s smile, Mora’s last breath, the squirrel who stole his scythe.

  “I think I already feel like that most days,” Glenn muttered, dazed.

  “You’re doing fine, love,” Maeve said, patting his hand. “Just don’t let Mictlantecuhtli turn you into one of them.” She pointed toward a cluster of Reapers doing perfectly synchronized clapping exercises to a motivational chant: "Efficiency is Mercy! Efficiency is Mercy!"

  Canis barreled toward him, wearing a tilted party hat, two ties (one around his neck, the other inexplicably on his femur), and sunglasses that were too big for his skull.

  “Did you know I once won a hot dog eating contest against a ghoul from HR? He choked on the third one. I didn’t even have a stomach!”

  Glenn smiled.

  “I just remembered all the animals I’ve ever saved and now I’m euphoric. This stuff is wild.” Canis gestured with a glittery cup that sparkled with soul-mist.

  “Miss you, buddy. Death just isn’t the same without you around.” Glenn said.

  “Missed who?” Maeve asked.

  Glenn blinked and Canis was gone. It was a memory. It must have been a side effect of the drink.

  “No one. It was good seeing you!”

  As Glenn walked away, Maeve shouted. “We should team up sometime! We would make a power couple.”

  Near the shadow-lit refreshment table, Glenn found Yami, the Shinigami elder Reaper, sipping his brew in dignified silence. His traditional robes shimmered like shifting ink.

  “You look like you walked out of judgment,” Yami said dryly.

  “I did,” Glenn muttered. “It had paperwork.”

  Yami raised his cup. “They fear the passionate ones. Those who care too much often burn the system from within. Be fire, Glenn. But control your blaze.”

  Glenn nodded, surprised by the unexpected poetry.

  “So I see you and Tomoe Gozen, or should I say Yoshiko, are close.”

  “We are? I guess. I think she is just helping me because I helped her.”

  “Is that it? Maybe there is something more.”

  “No. She is in love with someone else.”

  Yami paused. “Minamoto no Yoshinaka. I know him well.”

  “Can you tell me about him?” Asked Glenn.

  “Well, he was a legendary warrior forever immortalized in history. He has moved on to be with his family. But it is not my place to tell his story. Tell me Glenn, how much do you know about her? What her life was truly like. Have you cared to ask? Even I think she is shrouded in mystery.”

  Glenn realized he never asked. He was so focused on the future that he ignored all the past. “Am I doing the right thing?”

  Yami smiled. “By asking that simple question. You will find the answer.” He turned his head looking across the room where Yoshiko was . “Maybe it is a good time to find out about her?”

  Glenn gulped. He took another sip from his cup forgetting it was a special drink and started walking through the crowd. He was focused on her. He got bumped by an Oni and it drew his attention to the right.

  Charon sat in the dim corner of the lounge, sipping from a chipped clay cup that looked as old as time. He gave Glenn a slow nod.

  “Some of the lost ones whisper your name now,” he said, voice low and steady.

  “Is that good?” Glenn asked.

  “It means you’re not invisible anymore. Be careful with that. Attention draws eyes. And eyes report to places beyond even the rivers.”

  “Who the fuck are you talking to?” A voice said from behind him toward the wall. It was Hildr.

  Glenn spotted her leaning near the lounge’s armory mural, arms crossed.

  “You're celebrating, too?” Glenn asked cautiously.

  “This isn't a celebration,” she grunted. “It’s containment. Keep the young ones distracted so they keep focused.”

  “But you came.”

  “I came for the scythe polishing bar. And the fried pickles. That’s it.”

  She eyed him. “Don’t get cocky because you beat me. ONCE. Scoreboard shows I am still ahead. But after talking to Management, you showed your worth.”

  “Thanks for the pep talk,” Glenn said.

  She grunted again. That was probably a compliment, but Glenn didn’t care. He walked toward Yoshiko at the snack table, but he lost sight of her.

  Yoshiko appeared beside Glenn near the snack table, which had been laid out with items like throughout the centuries from all over Earth. It was like the biggest buffet you could ever imagine. Even animals that were extinct were there.

  She bumped his shoulder.

  “Did Mictlantecuhtli scold you with smiling threats?” she asked.

  Glenn sighed. “I think I got corporate gaslit.”

  “Gaslit?”

  “Never mind. Something from my time.”

  Yoshiko handed him a fresh cup of Remembrance Brew. “Then you definitely need one of these. Maybe two. Actually... just keep drinking until you start laughing at your funeral.”

  They stood side by side, watching a pair of skeletal twins try to breakdance near the punch bowl. For a rare, suspended moment, the weight of their roles faded.

  “He said I’m not allowed to care too much,” Glenn murmured.

  Yoshiko turned to him; expression soft. “That’s exactly why you scare him. You care. And that makes you dangerous in all the best ways.” She nodded toward the reapers in the room—beings forged by loss, held together by scraps of soul and humor.

  “You’re fighting for them even when you don’t realize it.”

  Glenn looked around and saw it—imperfect, wounded, weird joy. Laughter that came from pain. Camaraderie built from centuries of burden.

  “Who are you fighting for, Yoshiko?” Glenn asked, turning back to her.

  That question hit deeper than Glenn thought it would. Glenn realized she was hiding something painful.

  “We don’t have to talk about it.”

  Yoshiko took a sip of the drink. She looked into the crowd and with a teary eye she smiled.

  “I almost forgot what he looked like. This drink. I can see him. So clearly as if he is in that crowd. His name was Minamoto no Yoshinaka, my master. I followed him everywhere. I would do anything for him. I loved him and he loved me. But we could never be together. He had a wife, a family. What did she have that I didn't? I rode into every battle with the rage of love at my side. I took the heads of generals for him. But in the end,when he died,he moved on with his family. There is nothing for me on the other side, Glenn. That is why I never crossed over.”

  “Well there is someone for you here.” Glenn took her hand. “And if I cross over, you better be coming with me.”

  She pulled her hand away. “Glenn. I told you not to fall for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you deserve love. And I can’t love. Don’t you get it? He broke me. I don’t think I can ever love again.”

  “I don’t care about that. Besides, it's not like I know what love is.” Glenn stared off into the crowd and imagined Hades and Persephone slow dancing.

  That comment made her sad.

  “You care so much for others. What about you? Shouldn’t we be looking for Baron Samedi? Let’s not worry about my past and focus on yours.”

  “We will. But let us enjoy this moment. We deserve a break. Alright,” he said, lifting his glass, “Let’s party like we only partially regret our afterlives.”

  The lights dimmed to a soft purple glow. The DJ dropped a remix of a Gregorian chant mashed with synth.

  A gremlin from IT launched into a dance battle with a reaper in roller skates.

  Maeve attempted karaoke with a microphone she’d conjured from bones.

  Reapers were cry-laughing into ghostly pillows.

  Yami was meditating midair over the dance floor.

  And Hildr begrudgingly accepted a soul-cake, muttering something about “mortal foolishness.”

  And Glenn and Yoshiko were in the middle of it all, dancing.

  Everything was terrible.

  Everything was great.

  Just then, a tall, stunningly beautiful woman brushed past them, her black lace dress trailing like smoke. Her face flawless, strong-jawed, with piercing eyes and midnight hair braided with bone clasps. She was radiant, confident, and unmistakably fit.

  Yoshiko caught Glenn looking.

  “You’re staring.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I—no—I’ve never seen her around the office.”

  The woman turned with a mischievous smile. “Funny running into you two here. How lucky am I?”

  “Have we met?” Yoshiko asked.

  “Oh definitely. You can say I take Glenn’s breath away.” She said brushing her gloved hand under Glenn’s chin.

  Yoshiko’s hand tightened around her drink.

  “La Parca?” Glenn's eyes narrowed.

  “What, you can’t tell who I am without the mask? You can’t recognize me from something else? Like my body?”

  Yoshiko coughed. Loudly.

  “I hear you are looking for Baron Samedi? Why?”

  “How do you know?” Yoshiko asked aggressively.

  “It’s my job to know.” This time she said that with such seriousness it was as if her personality switched.

  “I have information on my past and I think he can help.”

  She paused for a moment in thought. “Well, since you asked so nicely, and since this lovely little brew makes me extra generous, I suppose I could take you to him.”

  She winked. “But only because I like your big scythe... and your eyes.”

  Yoshiko's eyes glared wide open.

  “La Parca!” Mictlantecuhtli came running over clearly having too much of the drink. “My favorite Reaper. Why don’t you come back to Management with me? At least come dance with me.”

  She turned to Glenn and said in a serious tone, “Meet me by the front desk in a couple human hours. Let everyone get affected by the drink and we will be able to sneak out unnoticed.”

  She then turned back to Mictlantecuhtli. “Of course, baby!” With a dramatic swish of her cape, she turned toward the dance floor and exited with him.

  Yoshiko was fuming. “I don’t trust her.”

  “Huh. She has almost killed me many times. Never thought she was under the mask.”

  Yoshiko chugged the rest of her drink. Her eyes dilated.

  The party was in full force, but the feeling of the Remembrance Brew still pulsed gently through Yoshiko’s chest like a second heartbeat. The lights of the lounge had begun to dim, the DJ now playing low, melancholic notes. Glenn leaned against the hallway wall, still wearing that half-lost, half-awed look he always had after one of these bizarre underworld events.

  Yoshiko stood beside him, silent for a long moment. Then she turned to him. She saw her master, Yoshinaka. She shook her head and he turned back into Glenn.

  “Come with me,” she whispered.

  He didn’t ask where. He just followed.

  She led him down a hallway lined with cracked mosaics—portraits of forgotten souls—and opened the door to a small recreational room. There were no chairs, only plush cushions scattered beneath soft spectral lanterns. The air was warm and still, thick with memory and unspoken longing.

  She looked back at him. “You remind me of him.”

  Glenn tilted his head, concerned. “Someone good or bad?”

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer, her fingers brushing his collar. Her eyes shimmered—not from the lights, but from memories she didn’t know were still buried. She saw her old master, the one who trained her, who taught her honor and control. And she saw Glenn, innocent and raw and radiant with his stubborn sense of compassion.

  And for a moment, she couldn’t tell the difference.

  Yoshiko reached for his hand. Glenn’s breath caught, but he didn’t pull away. In his eyes, there was no hesitation—only her.

  The kiss was soft at first. A question.

  She answered it by pulling him closer.

  What followed wasn’t feverish or reckless—it was slow, tender, like two people learning to speak in silence. They undressed each other slowly, with care—not out of hesitation, but out of reverence. They moved together in the low light, tracing the edges of grief, need, and fleeting joy. Glenn touched her like she was something precious. He traced every scar on her body. Yoshiko’s hands lingered over his chest, like she was trying to memorize the rhythm of his heartbeat.

  Yoshiko clung to him like she was trying to remember what it felt like to be alive. She guided his hands showing him what to do. As he made his way down he listened to her body. Her hands ran through his hair. A twitch of her leg or a pull of his hair, and he knew he was doing something right.

  They moved together like twin flames drawn back into the same flickering body. Their breaths intertwined, their hands sought not just contact but connection—something deeper than lust, older than memory. It wasn’t just flesh. It was vulnerability. It was two broken warriors finding peace in each other for one fleeting night.

  As they moved, there were no words—just the sound of skin meeting skin, of hearts unraveling together. Yoshiko saw the boy she once was forbidden to love, and Glenn saw a future he never thought he’d deserve.

  And for that hour, it wasn’t the Underworld. It wasn’t about missions, or Management, or rules.

  It was love. Pure and undressed.

  Yoshiko sat at the edge of the cushion, her back to him. Glenn lay nearby, his arm draped where she had been, eyes still half-closed.

  “That felt…” he started.

  “I know,” she said quickly, as if saying it aloud might break something inside her.

  He reached toward her, his fingers brushing hers.

  She stood. Her spine was stiff again as she grabbed her clothes.

  “I made a mistake.”

  Glenn sat up; his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  She didn’t face him.

  “I let myself forget who I am.” Her voice was tight. “I wasn’t supposed to let this happen. But I did. And now I’ve made everything worse.”

  He was quiet, stunned.

  “I don’t understand. You have to feel something. You led me down here.”

  “I know! I know.”

  “Can’t we just try? I mean I never felt anything like this. I never felt like I belonged anywhere. But I know one thing. I belong with you. No matter where that is. Earth. Hell. Heaven. I don’t care as long as you are there.”

  Yoshiko turned to him with tears in her eyes. “You don’t get it. I used you. I imagined him the whole time. I don’t love you. I love him.”

  That cut deeper than any weapon that pieced Glenn yet. It hurt so much he opened his mouth but his breath was taken from him.

  “You should go see Baron Samedi. The party should be wrapping up about now.” Yoshiko said.

  And with that, she disappeared into the hallway, leaving Glenn behind in the fading glow of spectral lanterns, the warmth of her touch still on his skin—and the cold, familiar ache of something lost.

  The echo of soul-music still drifted behind him as Glenn stepped out of the lounge and into the dim corridor. He hadn’t seen La Parca since she’d disappeared at the end of the party with her swish of drama. But something tugged at him—curiosity, instinct, or maybe the last of the Remembrance Brew still humming in his bloodstream.

  He followed the scent of sage and candle smoke until he found her—La Parca leaning against a wall near the front desk, mask back on, one foot resting on the stone.

  “Looking for me?” she asked without turning.

  “You said you’d take me to him,” Glenn said.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “You sure you’re ready for that kind of truth?”

  “Probably not. But I’m tired of being kept in the dark.”

  She smiled behind her mask. “Funny use of words. Then follow me.”

  Baron Samedi was waiting.

  The smell of rum, cigars, and old jazz filled the air. He sat in a velvet chair, one leg crossed over the other, wearing his skull-faced top hat and a grin that hinted at every secret he’d ever learned and never told.

  “Well, well, if it isn’t the golden boy of the Reaper Pool,” he drawled. “Glenn Garcia. Have a seat. Or don’t. I’m not your damn supervisor.”

  Glenn hesitated, then sat.

  “I know who you are,” Baron said. “I know who you could be. But what is most important is who you were.”

  La Parca stood silently beside him.

  Baron leaned forward. “This little office of ours? It’s rotting from the inside. Corruption, control, favoritism. But that’s not the secret you are looking for. You’ve seen it already—Mictlantecuhtli pulling strings. Hildr feeding on souls she deems ‘unworthy.’ Even Charon, poor old bastard, turned a blind eye more than once.”

  Glenn tensed. “Then why hasn’t anyone done something?”

  “We have,” Baron said. “But quietly. We’re a union of sorts. Whisper network. Resistance. Whatever you want to call it. Me, La Parca, Yami… we’ve been watching, nudging, waiting.”

  “And Maeve?” Glenn asked.

  “Neutral,” La Parca said. “Too much heart to join the corruption. Too much pain to join us.”

  Baron nodded. “And Charon? He made his choice in the end. Sacrificed himself for you. That earned my respect.”

  Glenn’s heart pounded. “Why me? Why are you watching me?”

  “Because you’re different,” Baron said. “You see, I know things. We make it our job. And you. I don’t know you, Glenn Garcia. If that is who you really are.”

  Baron poured a shot of glowing liquid into a tiny glass and handed it to Glenn. “But we don’t give out trust for free. You want the truth about your past? About your mother? About why the system cares so damn much about you?”

  Glenn nodded.

  “Then you have to pass a test,” Baron said. “A real reap. One that ain’t just about the body.”

  Glenn narrowed his eyes. “Who?”

  Baron Samedi handed Glenn a faded folder, its edges worn, the name "Claudine" scrawled in elegant handwriting across the cover.

  “She’s not just any spirit,” Baron said. “Claudine was once mortal. Lived in a village so small it barely had a name. But everyone there knew hers.”

  La Parca stepped closer, her tone quiet. “She was a healer. A comforter. The kind of soul who could ease your pain just by sitting beside you.”

  Glenn flipped through the contents—photos faded by time, scribbled field notes, and a worn pendant pressed between two pieces of paper.

  “She lost everything,” Baron continued. “Her husband. Her children. Illness took them before the world could even apologize. And still, she gave. She poured what was left of herself into others. Tending to the dying. Comforting the grieving. Holding hands through the last breath.”

  “She was given the chance,” Baron said. “After death, the Loa offered her purpose. She could’ve been a guide. A spirit of grace. Helping souls find their peace.”

  “But she refused,” La Parca said, her voice like a shadow.

  “She couldn’t move on,” Baron explained. “Still blaming herself for the ones she couldn’t save. Her grief turned inward. Fused with guilt. Now she’s something else. Not evil, not vengeful. Just... stuck.”

  Glenn’s voice was low. “A soul who gave everything to others but forgot how to heal herself.”

  Baron nodded. “That’s your test, Reaper. Bring her back to me by any means. She’s walking the seam between realms. You’ll find her in a place where memories still breathe—where the veil’s thin.”

  “Where is that?” Glenn asked.

  Baron grinned. “You’ll know it when you feel it. Now go. And don’t bring a weapon. Bring your truth.”

  “It’s also in your folder there.” La Parca.

  “Oh. Yeah. Ha. Forgot. Got caught up with all the theatrics.”

  Glenn grabbed the folder and ran off to the front desk. To be honest he didn’t care what the Baron would have told him to do. He would do any job to forget Yoshiko at the moment.

  He handed the folder to the HA at the front desk and walked to the door to Earth. Just focus on the mission he thought. There are bigger things at play than him and Yoshiko. Be the man you see yourself becoming.

  Glenn stepped through the door.

  The world he entered was quiet—too quiet. Not the hush of peace, but the stilled breath of grief. He stood in a twilight garden overgrown with silverleaf vines and white-petaled flowers that never bloomed. The trees were twisted, and the sky above was a faded dusk, painted in sorrow.

  He stepped out from a stone cottage that stood in the center of a field. Smoke curled from its chimney, but there was no warmth to the air.

  Glenn adjusted his scythe. He formed a strap and tugged it in his back. Baron hadn’t said much, just handed him the folder. Reap the soul. It felt like any other assignment. His feet moved with habit; his mind locked into the rhythm of duty.

  He stepped onto the porch and looked around.

  The door opened behind him. His scythe pulsed and he adjusted it to the ready position.

  She walked past him to go outside—barefoot, eyes sharp and sunken, her long dress trailing through the grass like a ghost. Her presence was heavy, full of sorrow, a woman carrying years of unshed tears.

  “You’re here to take me,” Claudine said, her voice calm but unwavering with her back still to Glenn.

  “Yes,” Glenn replied without thinking. “That’s... that’s my job.”

  But as soon as he said it, the words tasted wrong.

  Claudine raised her chin. “Then do it.”

  Glenn hesitated. “What?”

  “I’ve been asking that Reaper in the tall hat to take me since the day I passed.”

  “Wait. You want to be reaped and Baron said no?” Glenn put his scythe back on his strap thinking something is not right.

  “I told him though there is only one place I’ll go. One place I deserve,” she said. “But maybe if I go, I’ll finally forget.”

  He furrowed his brow. “Forget what?”

  “My children’s names,” she whispered. “My husband’s voice. The warmth of a home that I couldn’t keep alive.”

  She stepped closer. “So do it. Take it all from me. Reap me.”

  Glenn's hand went to his scythe. But it didn’t move.

  Something was wrong. He felt it deep in his chest—the pull of the Reaper’s path unraveling.

  He let go of the scythe.

  “No,” he said, suddenly uncertain. “This isn’t right.”

  Claudine’s eyes narrowed. “Then why are you here?”

  “I thought I was here to reap you. But that was never the test, was it?”

  She crossed her arms. “Test? What do you think this is, then? Mercy?”

  “I think...” Glenn paused, searching her face, “I think I’m here to understand. And to walk with you if you’ll let me.”

  Claudine turned away. “You can’t understand. You don’t know what it means to carry failure in your bones. To have people praise you for saving lives while your own family dies screaming in the next room.”

  “No, I don’t,” Glenn said gently. “And maybe I never can. But that doesn’t mean I can’t care. That I can’t try.”

  She was silent.

  “You're right. I didn’t know my parents. I don’t have a family,” he said. “I didn’t feel what you did. I never had to decide who lived or died. I’ve never felt the weight of letting go when it mattered most. But I’ve felt helpless. I’ve felt like I wasn’t enough. More recently than you know. If even a fraction of pain I feel from losing something close to me is what you went through, then I empathize with you.”

  “How can you possibly know empathy? Have you been judged by your skin or sex? Have you ever experienced real hunger?!” Her spirit force grew violent and upset, but Glenn never touched his weapon.

  He stepped closer. “Empathy isn’t knowing exactly what someone went through. It’s standing beside them anyway. It’s saying, ‘I’ll sit with you in this, even if I can’t fix it.’”

  Claudine's spirit calmed as she looked away, her voice cracking. “I don’t know how to leave them. What if they’re waiting for me? Or worse not there.”

  Glenn knelt in the grass beside her. “Then we’ll find out together. And if they’re not, then you’ll still have someone beside you.”

  Her breath caught.

  Glowing tears welled in her spectral eyes. “What can you possibly offer me?”

  “A hand to hold. A way forward. A chance to remember without drowning.”

  The wind shifted. For the first time, the petals on the trees stirred.

  “Can we stay a little longer?” She asked Glenn.

  “Of course.”

  And the sky, once dim and dying, bloomed with starlight.

  Not one word was said after that.

  Claudine stepped forward and took his hand.

  They walked to the door and Glenn opened the portal back to the office.

  He held out his scythe. “Touch it if you are ready.”

  She touched the tip of her finger to the scythe and her glow absorbed into it.

  Glenn took one last look around and went through the door.

  He returned back to the office and hurried off back to Baron Samedi.

  “Glenn!”

  Glenn knew that voice. It was Yoshiko.

  “Wait, Glenn!” She shouted again.

  He stopped and faced her but did not say a word.

  “I-I wanted to apologize.”

  “OK.” Glenn nodded and then turned back around.

  “Wait.” She grabbed his hand, turning him back.

  “That was really…how do you say it? Really fucked up. I wish I could take it back and we can go back to being just friends.”

  “We were never just friends to me.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to that. “How do you know you like me? You don’t even know me!”

  “You are right.” He started to walk away again.

  “No. No. No. Please.” She seemed desperate and nervous even.

  “Listen.” She took a deep breath. “Even if it takes a thousand years, I will make it up to you. We are seat neighbors. We have to make it work. Don’t you see?”

  “Fine.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Glenn said. Part of him wanted to run. Part of him wanted to go running back to her.

  “Well. Where are you off to?” She asked him.

  “Back to Baron Samedi. I passed his tests so he will have answers for me.”

  “Well. Then I am coming with you.”

  Glenn paused. He thought about saying no. But what was the point?

  “Fine.”

  They ran off together with Glenn showing the way.

  Baron Samedi waited in his velvet chair, puffing on a cigar.

  “Well,” he said as Glenn reappeared. “Did you do it?”

  Glenn looked at him evenly. “She wasn’t meant to be reaped. She was meant to be seen. To be listened to.”

  Baron’s grin widened.

  “La Parca owes me a drink,” he muttered.

  Then, more seriously, “You passed. You see. That is what our union is about. To be guides. But some believe we are harvesters as the name entails.”

  He took a sip of his drink and waved his hands “REAPERS. Ha.”

  Glenn said nothing. Just nodded, still feeling the warmth of Claudine’s fading presence.

  “You don’t win this war with blades, Glenn,” Baron said. “You win it with heart. And yours?” He tapped his chest. “Might be just what this place needs.”

  “Well you asked for the truth so I’ll tell you. But are you sure you want her here?” Baron looked at Yoshiko.

  Glenn and Yoshiko looked at each other. Glenn turned and nodded.

  “La Parca. Bring out the soul.” Baron said.

  La Parca came out from the back door and brought a little boy. This boy was about three years old. Latin looking and almost could be Glenn’s sibling.

  “This is Glenn Garcia.”

  Glenn shook his head in confusion. “What? What is this?”

  “It’s true. I reaped him myself.” La Parca.

  “Are you saying this boy is me?” Asked Glenn.

  “No. I am saying this boy is Glenn Garcia. It is you who we don’t know.”

  “How is this possible? Glenn was living with his grandmother right?” Yoshiko asked.

  “I’ve been trying to figure that out since you got here and somehow managed to come back with that scythe,” said the Baron.

  “We have been around for a really long time, Glenn. This doesn’t happen.” La Parca added.

  “It also comes to our understanding that your death was no accident. Go on. Tell him, kid.” said Baron.

  The little three-year-old looked up at Glenn. “My parents loved me. They always took me to the beach and let me play. But one day I fell off the rock into the water and everything went black. Then a beautiful angel came and rescued me. She said her name was Mora. She took me back to Mommy and Daddy. They argued and Mom was crying. She told them I couldn’t go with them, but one of them could go with me on one condition. They were to raise a boy in my place. A life for a life she said. My father wanted to go, but my mother wouldn’t let me go either. It was my father who came up with a solution. His mother was still in America. He would bring the child to her and then he would come to meet me after. I didn’t wait long before Dad was home.”

  “That is enough. Thank you. You can go back to your parents now.” Baron Samedi nodded at La Parca to take the kid away.

  “I hope you find your parents!” The kid yelled to Glenn before leaving.

  “This can’t be true.” Glenn took out his scythe. “What did you do?!” He yelled at it dropping to his knees.

  “What am I?” Glenn asked.

  “That is exactly what we want to know. Glenn, what you’ve done in a short time is not something a human can do. We have reason to think one or both of your parents are from Management.”

  “What are you saying? That I am part god?”

  “We don’t know. But there is one person who might. Someone close to Mora.”

  “Who?” Glenn looked confused.

  “No! She’ll kill him!” Yoshiko realized.

  “Lytha agreed to meet with Glenn. She agrees there is more than we think. At first yes she wanted to kill Glenn. Her description was pretty graphic and brutal actually. But once I told her of Mora’s secrets, she agreed.”

  “And you just believed her? She is literally DEATH.” Yoshiko's hands flared up.

  “We can all go together. I have the meet up location here locked away in my safe. Only the four of us and Yami know of this plan.” said Baron Samedi.

  “What do we do next?” asked Glenn.

  “Glenn! You can’t be serious?” Yoshiko pleaded.

  “Well first, we have to remove the tracker from your scythe. They can’t know where we are going. It will be temporary. Give it to Steve. He already knows what to do. Then when Mictlantecuhtli asks, play dumb and they will just install a new tracker. But we will have our answers by then.”

  “Got it.”

  “This is going to take some time. I need to get confirmation Lytha will be there. But once I get the word, be ready. Until then, go back to being another gear in this machine of death we spin.”

  Glenn grabbed his scythe and exited.

  He started walking up the stairs, heart pounding. He paused. Was his heart pounding? He put his hand on his chest. Does he even have a human heart?

  “Glenn!” Yoshiko grabbed his hands. “You can’t be actually considering this?”

  “This is the furthest I have gotten to the truth?! Why are you not more excited?” replied Glenn.

  “Because we don’t know if they are full of shit. Think. What if they are the bad ones? What if they are setting you up for Lytha? I don’t trust them.”

  “You just don’t trust La Parca.” Glenn made his way up the stairs.

  “It’s not about that, Glenn!” Yoshiko pleaded.

  “Then what is it about!?” Glenn was frustrated with Yoshiko.

  “It is too dangerous. We…We…” She struggled to think of a reason. “We should talk to Mictlantecuhtli! Yeah. We should tell Management. If your parents are there then we should trust our leadership!”

  Glenn didn’t like that at all. “Do NOT tell anyone from Management. This is my life. I finally have one.”

  “Glenn.”

  “Didn’t you hear? I am not Glenn. And besides. You never loved that person anyways.” Glenn faded into the darkness as he walked away.

  Yoshiko leaned against the wall and sank to the ground, her head in her knees.

  Chapter 8.1

  The air reeked of ancient dust and primal fear.

  Deathnibbles stood at the edge of a vast, blackened cavern—The Maw of Origins, deep in the heart of the earth where no light dared remain. The stone underpaw was slick with age-old ichor, and in the stillness he could hear it… the slow, thunderous breathing of Grootslang.

  This was no ordinary monster. Grootslang was a mistake of creation—an ancient blend of serpent and elephant, denied godhood only by a moment of hesitation from the cosmos. Now it slumbered atop a mountain of gold and bone, eyes glowing like molten amber.

  And it was waking up.

  Deathnibbles cracked his knuckles, his tiny rodent frame vibrating with gathered power. He carried: Hades' Scythe, pulsing with death energy, Hermes’ golden shoes, glowing with flickers of godspeed, Bakunawa’s tide necklace, orbiting his neck, faintly bending gravity around him, and Cipactli’s bone ring, etched with primeval runes, giving him seismic intuition and reactive flesh.

  The time had come.

  Grootslang unfurled from the shadows like a tidal wave with tusks. Its massive head lowered, twin fangs dripping with acidic hate. Its voice rolled out like thunder through gravel.

  “You are but a whisper of death. I am a scream.”

  Deathnibbles adjusted his scythe and smirked.

  “Squeak.”

  Grootslang charged, tusks poised to shatter the earth. Deathnibbles launched forward, vanishing in a flash of golden light—Hermes’ speed making him blur through the beast’s legs. He rebounded off the far wall, using Bakunawa’s gravity to invert momentum, launching upward into a spiraling arc.

  He brought the scythe down—a deathstroke curved through the air—but Grootslang’s tail struck first, smashing him into a crater.

  The ring flared, Cipactli’s gift healing the impact, tendons reforming, bones snapping back into place.

  Deathnibbles rolled out, eyes glowing.

  The necklace pulsed—gravity warped. Deathnibbles leapt onto a wall, then the ceiling, then used tidal pressure to rip boulders from the ground and fling them in a spinning orbit around the beast. The cavern twisted with gravitational force, turning into a chaotic arena.

  Grootslang roared and unleashed a concussive wave, shattering the false gravity and launching Deathnibbles across the lair.

  He skidded—then used his speed to slide under a tusk, leaving a trail of slicing scythe-marks along Grootslang’s leg. The beast bled molten gold.

  Grootslang rose in fury. Its trunk lifted, releasing a beam of voidlight—ancestral energy that could erase identity. It struck Deathnibbles squarely in the chest.

  He screamed. The beam tore into his soul.

  And then…

  The scythe glowed. Hades’ power awakened.

  The energy reversed—absorbed, then reshaped. Deathnibbles stood, eyes now black with tiny embers of Underworld flame.

  He took one slow step.

  Then another.

  The beam ended.

  “Squeak. Squeak,” he whispered.

  He dashed forward in blinding golden streaks.

  He bent the battlefield with gravity wells, pulling Grootslang’s bottom out from under it.

  He sensed every quake and dodge with his ring, dancing between deathblows.

  And with the scythe, he carved lines of judgment through Grootslang’s shadow.

  In a final leap, he inverted gravity entirely, launched into the air above the beast, spun downward in a spiraling dive, and cleaved through Grootslang’s neck in a glowing arc of deathlight.

  The monster gave one last bellow—half rage, half release—and collapsed in a storm of dust and broken stone.

  Silence.

  Then the gold began to dissolve.

  In its place, a single obsidian earring, shaped like a coiled snake and elephant tusk, drifted into Deathnibbles’ paw.

  The earring hummed with raw soul energy. By wearing it, Deathnibbles could temporarily split into two mirrored forms, each sharing his power—but only for moments at a time. It was a final gift from a creature born of myth: a power of division and unity.

  Deathnibbles stood atop the wreckage, panting, bloodied, victorious.

  “You did it.” Lytha appeared from the shadows.

  “Squeak!” Deathnibbles cheered with excitement.

  “Little one. You are now powerful enough to take on all who oppose you.”

  He nodded with agreement.

  “But the time is not yet.”

  “Squeak?”

  “I must go somewhere and meet with someone. I won’t be long. But…if I shouldn’t return, here are my coordinates. Find me. And we will bring justice together.”